Lincoln (75 page)

“By now, yes, I suppose she is. We all knew John Morgan, all his life.”

Keckley came toward them. Mary rose. “When you are well, I shall try to get you sent home.”

“Bless you, Mrs. Lincoln.”

Mary and Keckley were then joined by a hospital matron from the Sanitary Commission. She guided them through the various halls of the Patent Office, which was now one vast incongruous hospital. Unmovable inventions still remained where they had always been on permanent exhibition, surrounded now by the highly impermanent ever-mutable flesh of
wounded men. Mary delivered flowers and fruit; and spoke to this one and that one.

The matron was filled with complaints. The hospital had been overwhelmed after the defeat at Chancellorsville. “I thought Fredericksburg in December would destroy our whole system. But this is worse. They keep coming and coming, the wounded.” She was a stout woman from New England. “We have no more room here. We are trying to take over a floor or two of each hotel, but the politicians fight us.”

“Would that
they
were here,” said Mary, bitterly. “And these boys at home and well.”

“My sentiments, Mrs. President. But I do wish—if you will forgive me—the President ends this war before we lose all the young men in the country.”

“We may well lose them all at the South,” said Mary. They had stopped in front of a huge iron plow, invented, if that was the word, by General Washington. “There are fewer boys there than at the North.”

“We’ve mixed them, as you’ve seen. We are supposed to keep the prisoners separate. But we can’t. There are too many now. I wonder how much longer this will go on, our being defeated all the time.”

“My husband must find a general first. Unfortunately, the best ones are all on the other side.” Mary smiled. “I ought not to say that. I dare say I shall read in the New York
World
that I was speaking treason, but I have lost interest in the vampire press.”

“Would that they would lose interest in you, ma’am,” said Keckley, guiding Mary to the door.

The search for a general was about to begin again. While Mary was at the Patent Office, General Hooker was at the White House with the President. Once again Lincoln perched on the window-sill and once again “Fighting Joe” marched up and down the room. But the nature of the march had entirely changed from their earlier meeting. Hooker was now defensive and ill-at-ease, while Lincoln seemed worn out.

“I am certain,” began Hooker, with no great display of certainty in his manner—he had been knocked unconscious when a Confederate shell hit a pillar of the porch on which he was standing, and the pillar had fallen on him, and he had been unconscious for hours. Once recovered, he had given up drink and without drink there was, everyone said, no longer a “Fighting Joe” Hooker but simply another incompetent Union general named Hooker, whose headquarters, according to the military son of the American minister to London, was like a brothel-casino. In fact, so addicted was Hooker and his immediate staff to the flesh that Washington’s
army of prostitutes was now known as Hooker’s girls or, for short, Hookers.

“I am certain,” said Hooker, “that I can once again cross the Rappahannock, and while Lee is still regrouping, I can strike at Richmond.”

“I will follow you in this, of course,” said Lincoln. “But, for the moment, I’d be happier if you were simply to stay where you are and hold off the enemy until we have worked out some large design. Meanwhile, I have now been twice to see you in the field. I have talked to the various commanders, and what I feared might happen has begun to happen. As Burnside lost the support of his commanders—of which you were one—so now you are losing their support.”

Hooker stopped his pacing. The pale eyes stared at the President, more like those of a frightened rabbit than of a predatory fighting animal. “Who has spoken to you against me?”

“I cannot tell you. But it is now quite general.”

“Do you wish to replace me?”

Lincoln shook his head; and slid off the window-sill. “I’m not in the habit of throwing away a gun just because it has misfired once. But, for the moment, I am content not to go firing at just any target.”

“I think, sir, you should consult
all
the ranking generals of the army and not just my rivals within the Army of the Potomac.” Hooker was once more his fighting self. “You will find me held in the highest esteem.”

“As you are still in command, it is plain that I, too, hold you in the highest esteem.” Lincoln rang the bell. “We shall be in communication, General.”

A dark-skinned John Hay entered the room. He was just returned from South Carolina, where he had seen his ill brother Charles; and from Florida, where he had investigated the military and political situation for the President. With Lincoln’s blessing, Hay had been looking for a possible congressional seat once the newly reattached-to-the-Union east Floridians again held elections. Lincoln was eager to bring the Southern states, or those portions of them that were in Federal hands, back into the United States so that they could send loyal Republican representatives to Congress. If none were to be found among the sullen natives, then a number of John Hays would have to be sent to the various regions; and duly elected. Lately, it had become a matter of some urgency to regularize the returned states or fragments of states because the radical Republicans took the line that the states in rebellion were out of the Union and should be treated as an enemy nation’s conquered provinces.

But Lincoln’s line was unwavering. The Union was absolutely indivisible. No state could ever leave it; therefore, no state
bad
ever left it. Certain
rebellious elements had seen fit to make war against the central government, but when those elements were put down all would be as it was and the Southern states would send representatives to Congress, exactly as they had done in the past. Thaddeus Stevens was now openly challenging this policy; and there were, Hay could see, storms ahead for the Tycoon.

When Hooker had gone, Lincoln stared at the door through which the general had passed. Then he said, “You know, John, they say that if that pillar which fell on him at Chancellorsville had killed him, the war would have been shortened.” Lincoln smiled. “Naturally,
I
have never said anything so unkind.”

“Naturally, sir. Will you replace him?”

Lincoln shook his head. “There is no point … now.”

Hay gave the President the latest folder of dispatches from the War Department. Lincoln’s face lit up almost immediately. “Listen to this. Grant is now just below Vicksburg. Halleck sent him an order to join his army with that of General Banks to the south of him. Actually, that was my inspiration, not Halleck’s. But I enjoy giving credit to others. They like it so much. Now Grant tells Halleck that to bring the armies together would delay his operations against Vicksburg, and then he says, ‘I could not lose the time.’ There is a lesson here somewhere,” said Lincoln, putting down the folder. “Where I pick the generals and have them here in my own front yard, nothing goes right. But out west, where I don’t do much of anything, things go like a house on fire. I shall ponder the moral of this.”

Hay found that others were also pondering the same moral. He arrived at Chase’s house a few moments after General Hooker had left. Apparently, Hooker had gone straight from the Mansion to the house of his political mentor. “He stayed just long enough to compliment Kate on her engagement to Mr. Sprague. Then he went into Mr. Chase’s study for an hour, and now he is gone.” Mrs. Eames’s bright eye saw everything; she also understood what she saw. Mrs. Eames and Hay stood in an alcove massed with every sort of May flower. Hay noted that Kate was rather more slender than usual and rather more pale than usual. Decorously, she moved from group to group, as did Senator Sprague. They moved separately.

All of Washington’s grandees were on hand, as well as a number of financial men, including the brothers Cooke, who were now openly at the center of Chase’s campaign for the presidency. Since Lincoln was equally aware that his Secretary of the Treasury was now trying to secure the nomination, there were times when Hay regarded the Tycoon’s patience with Chase as greater even than that of Job’s with God. On the other hand,
he knew that Lincoln always liked to have enemies nearby in order to keep an eye on them. But did he not mind the fact that they were also able to keep
him
in view?

“I think they are well matched,” said Mrs. Eames. “In every sense.”

Hay looked at her, and saw the delicate ironic smile. “They
complement
each other,” said Hay judiciously. “Her beauty and his money.”

“Her father and … his money.”

“The money seems to be the key element,” said Hay.

“Well, this is a marriage. And,” Mrs. Eames added, “this is Washington.”

For Sprague, money was of urgent interest. He stood at the buffet in the dining room, listening to a former congressman from Texas, who said, “I’ve just received a letter from our friend Harris Hoyt.”

Sprague stared blankly at the man. “Our friend … who?”

“Well, you must’ve met him somewhere, Senator, because you gave him a letter of recommendation to General Butler in New Orleans.”

“I gave out a lot of those when I was govenor. Friends of friends. Cotton business?”

“That’s right, sir.”

“Where is he now?”

“Well, he took a ship, he told me, from Havana. He was going to Galveston but the Yankees got there first. So he landed in Mexico at Matamoros, and then he went on to Houston, from where he wrote me this letter. He says he’s got a cotton mill now, and he’s making money.”

Sprague looked glum. “I wish I had some of that cotton.”

“Surely your prospective father-in-law can give you a Treasury permit.”

“He can. But he won’t.”

Chase said, yet again, that after the President’s proclamation in March there could be no trading with the enemy. Chase and Sprague had withdrawn to Chase’s study.

“The cotton’s more use to us than the money is to them.” Sprague had found a decanter containing port; and he filled a glass. Chase was aware that Sprague often drank more than he ought but he put this down to the young man’s long fatherless youth and subsequent bachelorhood. “I’m going to buy this,” said Sprague.

“Buy … what?” Chase looked, anxiously, at the decanter, an inheritance from Bishop Chase.

“The house here. Sixth and E. I’ve worked it out with Kate. She doesn’t want to be separated from you. So now she won’t be.”

Chase was stunned with delight. “Come now,” he said, at last. “You
cannot move in with a father-in-law at the very beginning of your marriage.”

“We’re not. You’re moving in with us. That is, you’re staying put. The only thing that’s changed is you won’t have to pay rent. I made a sweet deal with the owner.”

“My dear boy …” Chase was genuinely moved. He had been dreading this marriage for twenty-three years. Finally, when he knew that it must be now or never, he had tried to accustom himself to the idea of moving to a smaller place nearer the White House where he could at least try to compete with Seward for the President’s ear. Now all was beautifully changed because nothing was to be changed.

Sprague struck the philosophic note. “I guess you know I have my faults. Katie knows, God knows. We’ve had our problems these last two years. Mother thinks Katie’s too good for me. But then she thinks everyone’s too good for me.”

At Providence, Chase had met Fanny Sprague, the most formidable matriarch in all New England. Fanny’s contempt for her son William was chilling. But then Fanny’s admiration for Kate redressed, somewhat, the balance in Chase’s eyes. “Your mother is a most … exigent parent.”

“She’s a terror all right. Anyway all
my
defects come from drink. Whatever in my life that I may have done wrong comes from that. My life has been an excited and eccentric one. I know that. But now, with Katie, I’ve found a remedy. With good health and disposition, I have more hope for the future than I ever thought I would.”

There were genuine tears in Chase’s eyes, as Sprague finished both his soliloquy and the decanter of port at the same time. “I know that the two of you are bound to be happy. I like your manly admission of your weaknesses. She has hers as well, as do we all. Don’t expect perfection from her. She has had an unusual life, with an unusual attachment to a father; and no attachments to anyone else—before now. She is the Sleeping Beauty. You are the Prince. But then, after the awakening, there is … breakfast, and ordinary life, and desires in conflict. Understand her as you understand yourself, and you will both be happy.” Chase was well pleased with the happy inspiration of the Sleeping Beauty. After all, it was true, in a way. Kate had never loved or even thought that she had loved anyone on earth except her father, who had, selfishly, kept her in thrall. Now, graciously, he let her go. As for himself, he might yet marry Adéle Douglas. He would need a hostess in the White House. He would also need company once Kate had got used to marriage and motherhood and a life that would, eventually, be apart from his own.

Jay Cooke entered the study. “I’m sorry, Mr. Chase,” he said, when he saw Sprague. “I thought you were alone.”

“No, no, Mr. Cooke. Come in.”

“I don’t think Katie looks too good,” said Sprague, frowning. “She’s lost weight. I think I’ll take her north.”

“Mrs. McDowell has asked us all to Troy, New York,” said Chase.

“Dull place,” said Sprague, leaving the room.

“An unexpectedly
thoughtful
young man,” said Chase, straightening the frame of Queen Victoria’s holograph letter. Originally, he had planned to put the Emerson autograph between those of Longfellow and Tennyson but then he had had second thoughts about keeping a valuable letter addressed not so much to him as to the Secretary of the Treasury and so, with a sad heart, he had handed it over to the Treasury archives; just as now he gave Jay Cooke a check made out not to the Secretary of the Treasury but to S. P. Chase, a man who must always be above suspicion, for the nation’s sake. “This dividend, Mr. Cooke, comes from a stock which I do not actually own. Therefore, I cannot accept it.”