Mrs. Lincoln's Rival (5 page)

“The country will never know peace as long as slavery exists within its borders,” said Kate.

“I know that’s what you and your father believe, but we’ve managed nearly a century half-slave and half-free.”

“I wouldn’t say that we’ve managed particularly well,” Kate countered. “Or, thanks to the Fugitive Slave Law, that we’re even half-free. Even in the North the law compels us to return fugitive slaves to their enslavers.”

“That law is ignored as often as it is obeyed.”

“If the Southern slave powers have their way, that will no longer be so.” Kate shook her head, sighing. “No, this confrontation has been awaiting us ever since the founding fathers failed to forbid slavery in the new nation they created. It was and has always been inevitable. I only pray that this confrontation, when it finally breaks, will be a battle of laws and legislation and not one of muskets and cannon.”

“I hope the same, with all my heart,” said Miss Lane fervently. “The more men talk of war, the easier it becomes to move closer to the edge of that precipice. I confess I don’t envy the man who will take my uncle’s place next year, and I envy only very little the woman who will take mine.”

“I hope that woman will be myself,” Kate admitted, although Miss Lane surely knew that already. “For my father’s sake, of course, and for the nation’s.”

Miss Lane smiled. “Not for your own, not even a little?” Then her expression grew somber. “I wish I could promise you my uncle’s support. He admires your father, but he would prefer a conservative Democrat to succeed him. He’ll support the party’s nominee, whomever that shall be.”

“I understand,” Kate said, “and I promise that I won’t let politics interfere with our friendship.”

“Neither shall I,” Miss Lane promised in return.

There were others in Washington, Kate knew, to whom Miss Lane could not make that promise. Miss Lane was embroiled in a bitter feud with another lady Kate greatly admired, Adele Douglas, wife of the same Stephen Douglas who had defeated Abraham Lincoln in the 1858 Senate race. Although as the president’s niece and official hostess Harriet Lane held the highest rank in society, it was Adele Douglas who was called the Belle of Washington, her invitations that everyone in the capital eagerly awaited, her style that other ladies imitated, and her beauty and elegance that won praise and admiration from all who met her.

The discord between Miss Lane and Mrs. Douglas originated not in any insult one lady had inflicted upon the other, but rather the longstanding animosity between Miss Lane’s uncle and Mrs. Douglas’s husband, an intense hatred sparked by political attacks and profound disagreements over policy. Each lady knew that Kate was friends with the other, but neither rebuked her for it or demanded that she choose one over the other. For that Kate was grateful, but as much as she liked both women, she found their rivalry petty and pointless. It bewildered her that the otherwise sympathetic Mrs. Douglas would so publicly adopt her husband’s quarrels as her own, and that the dignified Miss Lane would descend to open conflict with anyone. Why two such intelligent, refined women did not instead set aside their mistrust and work together, discreetly, to mitigate the harmful effects of their gentlemen’s disputes, Kate could not understand.

She called on Mrs. Douglas not long after she visited Miss Lane, and learned that Mrs. Douglas too was alarmed by the splintering of the capital into hostile factions along geographic lines. She shared what she knew of Mr. Lincoln, knowledge gleaned from her husband’s hard-fought Senate campaign and the rhetorical battles that had formed such a significant part of it. Kate passed the information on to her father, who thanked her but noted that Mr. Lincoln would likely figure little or not at all in the upcoming convention. By all accounts Mr. Seward retained his significant lead, and it was he whom her father must pursue and overtake.

If Mr. Seward considered Father any sort of threat, his behavior toward the Chases during their visit concealed his anxieties entirely. To Kate’s surprise, the senator from New York hosted a dinner party in their honor, a remarkably congenial event considering that all sides—North and South, Conservative and Radical, Democrat and Whig, and Republican and Know-Nothing—were represented in fairly equal numbers. The next evening, a former Ohio congressman held a party to recognize both the former and current governors of his home state, and this gathering too Mr. Seward attended. Nearly sixty years old and slight of build, he nevertheless possessed an imposing presence that somehow made other men seem smaller when they stood near him. His eyes were sharply intelligent above a hawk-like nose; his gaze keen and appraising; his ears, almost comically large; his eyebrows bushy and fading, like his hair, from red to straw. That evening he was as convivial a guest as he had been a host, and afterward Father admitted that the senator had been kinder to him than he had expected. Even Kate could not help enjoying the few conversations they shared, and she laughed despite herself when he jokingly confessed, “I find much comfort in the discovery that Ohio is home to at least three candidates for the presidency, all eminent and excellent men, but each preferring anybody out of Ohio to his two rivals within.”

On their last night in Washington, Kate and her father met Mr. Seward a third time, at a lavish party for the Ohio contingent hosted by the prominent Blair family at their country estate in Silver Spring, Maryland. It was a delightful evening, though news and rumors from the Democratic National Convention recently opened in Charleston dominated conversation. Mr. Douglas was considered most likely to receive the nomination there, and Kate could well imagine how displeased Miss Lane would be to think that Mrs. Douglas might succeed her.

For reasons other than her friend’s satisfaction, Kate resolved to do all she could to prevent that from happening.

The next day, the Chases and Dennisons boarded the train home to Columbus weary but satisfied with the results of their excursion, which in Kate’s estimation had encountered more success than disappointment. If nothing else, her father seemed to have been roused from his complacency. He had discovered for himself that Senator Seward was a formidable opponent whose affairs were well managed by the shrewd Thurlow Weed, that Judge Bates of Missouri was the fortunate beneficiary of Horace Greeley’s endorsement, and that even Mr. Lincoln’s star was on the rise thanks to his astonishingly successful lecture tour.

Her father had expected to leave Washington with his prospects more secure, but to Kate’s relief, he at last seemed to understand that he must marshal his forces swiftly if he hoped to win the nomination.

M
AY
–S
EPTEMBER
1860

B
efore the train pulled into the station in Columbus, Kate’s father had already penned numerous letters to supporters from Ohio to New York thanking them for their promises to stand firm for him at the upcoming convention and asking them to rally more out-of-state delegates to his side. With the Democrats too divided and distracted even to choose a nominee at the party’s national convention in Charleston, unity became the watchword among Republicans. In the second week of May, news came from Decatur that the Illinois Republican Convention had not only nominated Mr. Lincoln—dubbing him the “rail candidate for president” and with great fanfare carrying into the hall two fence rails he had supposedly split as a youth—but had passed a resolution stating that “the delegates from this State are instructed to use all honorable means to secure his nomination by the Chicago Convention, and to vote as a unit for him.” No such resolution bound Ohio’s delegates to Father, but he trusted that they would stand unified behind his candidacy if for no other reason than he was the designated choice of the state convention. It was evident that his success depended upon their support. Father knew he would not win the nomination on the first vote—Seward’s stature was too great for that—but delegates from other states might rally to him as an alternative to the front-runner if he survived the first ballot. Everything depended upon a unified vote for Salmon P. Chase from the Ohio delegation—an outcome Father expected but that was hardly guaranteed.

At the last moment, Father chose his brother Edward as his unofficial representative to the convention; but while Uncle Edward was loyal and true, he was essentially a political novice, lacking political connections, deal-making skills, and access to the back rooms where such deals were made. Father trusted him implicitly, however, and since he intended to follow the established custom of not attending the convention himself, Uncle Edward’s trustworthiness more than compensated for any deficiencies of political savvy.

Uncle Edward sent a telegram upon his arrival in Chicago on May 15, briefly describing the illuminated city, the crush of delegates traveling to the convention from all corners of the nation, the spectacular displays of skyrockets and nine-pounder brass cannon firing over Lake Michigan, the free-flowing alcohol and brass bands everywhere else. He promised to go early the next day to the Wigwam, the enormous structure of rough pine boards and rafters on the corner of Lake and Market streets built in a rustic imitation of New York’s Crystal Palace expressly for the convention. From there he would telegraph reports as events warranted.

Thus apprised, Father, Kate, and the rest of the Chase household settled themselves down to what they knew could be a long and apprehensive wait.

On Wednesday evening, May 16, Uncle Edward telegraphed a single report, frustrating in its brevity: “Preliminaries concluded. Various committees formed. Adjourned till 10 AM tomorrow. All is well.” The following evening, his single telegram was only slightly less taciturn: “Platform favorable to Northern interests adopted. Provision requiring two-thirds vote failed. Simple majority sufficient to nominate. Adjourned till 10 AM tomorrow.”

“Uncle Edward didn’t say, ‘All is well,’ this time,” Nettie noted.

“That doesn’t mean all is
not
well,” said Kate, absently stroking her sister’s fine golden curls. “Uncle Edward said all was well yesterday, and since he hasn’t said otherwise, we can assume that is unchanged. If something had gone wrong, he would have told us.”

But although it escaped Nettie’s notice, something had. The ruling that the nominee could be chosen by a simple majority rather than two-thirds of the votes benefited no candidate but Mr. Seward, who might have commanded a majority of the delegates even before they stepped off the train in Chicago.

“We’ll know more when he telegraphs again,” said Father resignedly. He opened his Bible, summoned the servants, and brought the household together in the library for their customary evening prayer. The ruling had been made; there was nothing they could do to change it.

Kate slept poorly that night, but she rose on the morning of the third day of the convention energetic and full of anticipation. She dressed and bounded lightly downstairs to the front sitting room, where the household gathered every morning—family, guests, and servants alike—for Father’s solemn scripture reading. Then the family sat down to breakfast, as if it were an ordinary day, except that the meal was interrupted by the arrival of a telegram from Uncle Edward. “Chase submitted by Cartter to thunderous applause,” he reported. “Others named—Seward Lincoln Dayton Cameron Bates McLean by Corwin. Delano seconded Lincoln. Cannot leave Wigwam now. Will send mssgr to telegraph news.”

“Mr. Corwin,” said Kate, disbelieving. “Mr. Corwin nominated Mr. McLean.”

“And Mr. Delano seconded Lincoln instead of me,” said her father grimly. “Two Ohio delegates have forsaken me before the first ballot.”

Nettie looked from her father to her sister and back. “How could anyone from Ohio vote for anyone but you?”

“The vote hasn’t been taken yet,” Kate explained. “These are merely the nominations.”

“A delegate is hardly likely to nominate or second one man and vote for another,” Father said grumpily.

Nettie threw Kate an anxious look, and she returned what she hoped was a reassuring smile. “Politics is a strange business,” she reminded her father. “That may be a ploy to draw delegates away from Mr. Seward so he doesn’t win on the first ballot.”

Her father made no reply, but at least he did not disagree.

Restless and craving fresh air and distraction, Kate had Honeysuckle saddled and went riding through the fashionable districts along State and High streets and around the magnificent capitol. She exchanged greetings in passing from friends and acquaintances, and politely accepted premature congratulations from others. Here and there she observed signs of the great celebration planned for the evening should her father receive the nomination. Brass bands were rehearsing, a sturdy cart had been procured to haul an enormous cannon to the statehouse to announce the good news with a thunderous salute, and somewhere, Kate knew, fireworks were being made ready. She fervently hoped that the city’s preparations would not be in vain.

Less than an hour after she returned home from her ride, another telegram arrived from Uncle Edward: “First ballot,” Father read aloud, holding the paper close to his eyes. “Seward 173½, Lincoln 102, Cameron 50½, Chase 49, Bates 48, McLean 12, Collamer 10, Wade 3, Sumner 1, Fremont 1.”

Kate’s heart sank as she and her father read the telegram together in silence, once, twice, and yet again. The delegates of Ohio had not rallied around Father. Mr. Seward was first, as all had expected, but somehow Mr. Lincoln had emerged as the second favorite, with General Simon Cameron of Pennsylvania inexplicably ranked third, ahead of Father. “How can this be?” Father wondered aloud, wounded. “Not even second, but a distant fourth?”

“Not too distant,” Kate quickly replied. “We all knew Mr. Seward would take the first ballot, but he has not yet taken the nomination. Now that the delegates know how matters stand, and that some candidates have no chance at all, there will be a shifting of votes.”

“Yes, but will two hundred and thirty-three votes shift to me?”

Kate found herself at a loss for a satisfactory reply. All they could do was wait for Uncle Edward’s next telegram.

It was not long in coming, and when Father carried it into the library to read in seclusion, Kate followed close behind and read over his shoulder. “Second ballot,” Uncle Edward had tersely announced. “Seward 184½, Lincoln 181, Chase 42½, Bates 35, Dayton 10, McLean 8, Cameron 2, Clay 2. Third ballot forthcoming.”

Mr. Seward had gained a little ground, but although Father had overtaken General Cameron in the ranking, he had garnered fewer delegates than on the first ballot. The shifting of votes had gone mostly Mr. Lincoln’s way.

“It is finished,” Father murmured, letting his brother’s telegram fall to the desktop.

“It is not yet finished,” Kate protested. “It’s not finished until one man has two hundred and thirty-three delegates.”

“Katie, dear child,” her father said, reaching for her hand. “Barring some miracle, it is finished for me. Even if I claimed the votes of every candidate lower in the polling than myself, I would not have enough to catch up to Seward and Lincoln.”

“There are more delegates who
don’t
want Mr. Seward than do,” Kate countered. “Now that they’ve seen he’s vulnerable, they would be wise to shift their votes to you so that you may overtake him before he collects enough to win the nomination.”

“If Seward’s enemies consolidate their votes behind someone else to block him, why would they choose me instead of Lincoln?”

It was a rhetorical question, resignedly posed, but Kate decided to respond as if he meant it. “Mr. Lincoln is not as well-known as you outside his home state, and therefore less likely to prevail in November. That alone makes him a risky nominee, but in his case it is doubly true because the Democrats are likely to choose Mr. Douglas, who has defeated him before, and rather recently. You are the more prudent choice.”

Her father brooded for a long moment in silence, which he broke, at last, with a heavy sigh. “Perhaps you’re right,” he said wearily. “The third ballot will decide it.”

It seemed hours until Uncle Edward’s next telegram proved him right. The next time the messenger knocked on the door, Kate and Nettie flew to answer it, with their father and the rest of the household close behind.

“Read it, Katie,” her father instructed.

Holding the paper with trembling hands, Kate took a deep breath and said, “Uncle Edward writes, ‘Third ballot. Lincoln 231½, Seward 180, Chase 24½, rest to others. After ballot Cartter—” Her voice faltered, but she steeled herself and plunged ahead. “Cartter switched four Ohio votes to give Lincoln majority. Great enthusiasm and rush to switch votes to make unanimous. My sincere regrets.”

All eyes went to Father, who stood pale and tall and stoic in their midst. “It comes down to Ohio again,” he said in a voice devoid of emotion. “If they had been true from the outset, and remained true throughout—” He fell silent, opened his mouth again as if he would say more, but then he shook his head and slowly walked off alone. A moment later Kate heard the study door close behind him.

Tears streamed down Nettie’s fair cheeks. “It’s not fair,” she said, balling up her skirts in her fists. “It’s not right. There must be some mistake. They counted wrong.”

“Nettie,” Kate soothed, embracing her. “There is no mistake. Uncle Edward would not have gotten it wrong.”

A catch in her throat silenced her. She was close to weeping too, but she refused to break down in the foyer with all eyes upon her. Her father needed them to be strong, loyal, and reassuring as he prepared for a future far different from his expectations, and the rest of the family would follow her lead. She would grieve later, alone, where no one could see.

Later that day, as word of her father’s defeat and Mr. Lincoln’s triumph diffused through the city, a muted ceremony to honor the nominee took place. The brass bands and fireworks were canceled, but the cannon fired once at the corner of Third and State streets, and then it was over. Kate, who had hoped to attend a grand celebration at her father’s side, instead heard the thunderous salute from her father’s library, where she had set up the chessboard and invited him to play. After halfheartedly capturing a few of her pawns and losing a knight, he apologized and told her he felt a headache coming on and wanted nothing more than to lie in the quiet darkness of his bedchamber and rest his eyes.

In the days that followed, Kate stifled her indignant anger as she read how the delegates in Chicago had celebrated after making their choice—the wrong choice—and how cannons had been fired and nearly thirty thousand people had filled the streets, shouting and cheering, how the
Press
and
Tribune
buildings had been illuminated from foundation to rooftop, and how bands had played triumphant marches as Republicans paraded through the streets with fence rails on their shoulders in a nod to Mr. Lincoln’s humble origins.

“Fence rails again,” Kate muttered, shoving the papers aside in disgust. The people could have chosen as their champion a truly wise and good man, a brilliant governor, a courageous defender of the Negro, a tireless enemy of slavery, but instead they had settled for an unpolished, untried country lawyer, a one-term congressman from the wilds of Illinois—all because he told entertaining stories, could make a good speech, and wasn’t William H. Seward.

The people would realize their mistake in due course, but by then it would be too late.

• • •

Where Kate was disappointed and indignant, her father felt betrayed, bitter, and hurt. In the immediate aftermath of the convention, he could not conceal his fury at the delegates of Ohio for refusing to rally behind him unanimously. “When I reflect upon what Illinois did for Lincoln, what New York did for Seward, and what Missouri did for Bates,” he told Kate one morning as they strolled through the garden, her arm through his, “and then when I consider the actions of the Ohio delegation, I confess it wrenches my heart.”

“There is no excuse for their treachery,” Kate said hotly. “The outcome would have been entirely different had they been true.”

Although Father was tormented by thoughts of what might have been, he nevertheless mustered up the good grace to send his best regards to the victor. “I congratulate you most heartily on your nomination,” he wrote to Mr. Lincoln in Springfield, “and shall support you, in 1860, as cordially and earnestly as I did in 1858.” He praised the platform adopted at the convention and the selection of Hannibal Hamlin, “that true & able man,” as the nominee for vice-president. “They will prove, I am confident, as auspicious to the country as they are honorable to the nominees.”

Soon thereafter, Mr. Lincoln responded with a gracious letter of his own. “Holding myself the humblest of all whose names were before the convention,” he wrote, “I feel in especial need of the assistance of all; and I am glad—very glad—of the indication that you stand ready.”