The Impeachment of Abraham Lincoln (68 page)

“About a year ago—maybe a bit more, maybe a bit less—you and Mr. Seward and Mr. Stanton decided that the threat of an impeachment trial was serious. Your divisions with the Congress had grown so great, and your humiliations of the Radicals had grown so frequent, that there was serious doubt whether the situation could be salvaged. You differed with the Congress over Reconstruction, but that was only one of many issues. And there were personal animosities as well. Your wife had recently died—excuse me—and, somehow—I don’t know—that increased the difficulties.”

The President had steepled his hands. “It was the worst time of my life,” he conceded. “Even worse than when we lost our boys. I considered leaving this horrible place, returning home. I seem to recall that a few of our friends on the Hill even suggested such a course of action.” He laughed. “Why, I do believe that Mr. Sumner might have been among the most … sympathetic.” The humor faded. “But I had not yet completed the task laid before me. The task of binding up the wounds of war.”

“Yes, sir.”

“The Radicals want to punish the South. And, Heaven knows, I understand the impulse. But we will never re-create ourselves a mighty country”—a wink. “Never mind, Miss Canner. Tell me the rest of what I did, and why.”

And so she did. She told him what she knew or guessed. He had known that the Radicals were plotting against him, and he had known that there was another, separate plot, by powerful interests opposed to him on other grounds—“principally the tariff”—and had suspected, but could not prove, that the two sets of opponents, knowingly or unknowingly, had joined forces. At the same time, as Wade’s influence advanced in the capital, Lincoln had been less and less sure whom he could trust.

“And so you sent Secretary Stanton. He was to join the Radical faction, and to pretend that he was working secretly against you, when, in fact, he was searching for that connection. I don’t know how much he found out about the plot, but I am quite sure that he learned a lot about the impeachment case. In particular, he learned the names of those likely to testify long before the Managers turned them over to your
lawyers. This enabled him to arrange for the gathering of information that might be turned against potential witnesses.”

“And how would he gather that information, Miss Canner? If, as you say, we did not know whom we could trust?”

“He used the Secret Service. The network of spies run by Mr. Seward during the war, and the network of federal police run by General Baker now.”

“Surely even the Secret Service could be corrupted.”

“No doubt. Except for one highly trusted agent. Chanticleer.”

VI

Bingham had moved on hastily from Count Three to Count Four, as the consternation in the chamber grew. It was obvious to everyone that the witness was not responding as expected, and that the Managers had made a mistake by calling him. The wily Stanton, it seemed, had changed sides again.

“Now, Mr. Stanton, let us discuss the Department of the Atlantic.”

“Please.”

“You have heard of it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“In what context?”

The eyes were growing watery again. “Sir, the President and I several times discussed the possible establishment of a military district in Washington. The district was to be called the Department of the Atlantic.”

Bingham was visibly relieved. “What was the nature of these discussions?”

“The President was worried about the security of the capital. You will recall that after the war there were rumors of a Confederate regiment hiding out in the Smoky Mountains, living off the land. If that regiment existed, and we drew down our troop strength as planned, then that regiment would have a straight line of march through North Carolina and Virginia to this city. They could cross the Potomac River up high during low tide, as General Lee did during the war, and come down through Maryland. That was the President’s concern, and I shared it.”

“And the Department of the Atlantic was the solution?”

“It might have been, sir, but we never went beyond the talking stage.”

“Why not?”

“Sir, the President was of the opinion that establishing the Department of the Atlantic would require the consent of the Congress, and that consent would not be forthcoming.”

A flurry at the prosecution table. Someone handed Bingham a note.

“Mr. Stanton, did not you tell Mr. Manager Stevens in private conversation that Mr. Lincoln wanted to establish the Department of the Atlantic, and that it was only your own adamant opposition that prevented this?”

“Sir, if I said those words, I was mistaken.”

Bingham groped for control. “Did not you tell Mr. Manager Stevens in private conversation that the President stated that he saw the establishment of the Department of the Atlantic as the only way to rein in the Congress?”

“Sir, if I said those words, I was mistaken.”

“Did you not tell Mr. Manager Stevens in private conversation that Mr. Lincoln, on frequent occasion, referred to this august body as obstreperous and obstructionist, and that he expressed the wish that he could shut the Congress down and send it home?”

“Yes, sir. And, might I add, that anyone who serves in the executive branch will at times yield to that view. I have had the honor of being acquainted with a number of Presidents, sir, and I daresay Mr. Lincoln yielded to that temptation a good deal less than others I have known.”

VII

“You faced two difficulties,” said Abigail. “One was concealing Mr. Stanton’s dual role. The other was finding a plausible way to route the information that he obtained out of his hands and into yours, and the hands of your counsel. Needless to say, this had to be done in such a way that it would never reflect on you, or on your Administration. If the plan went sour, it would be Mr. Stanton, and he alone, who would be punished. Beyond that, nobody from this White House could have any official role.”

The President was amused at the casual description of his convolutions. “So, how did we accomplish those tasks?”

“Through the agent Chanticleer. Chanticleer had been a highly reliable agent during the war, traveling frequently through the South, collecting information from a wide variety of sources, and returning to Washington to deliver the information to Mr. Seward. Chanticleer
was never suspected, by either side, of playing this key role during the war. Therefore, when Mr. Seward reactivated Chanticleer after the war, nobody was the wiser. Two flows of information were established. One of the flows, the identities of the prosecution witnesses and the nature of their testimony, went from Mr. Stanton to Chanticleer, who would then contact sources around the country to gather damaging facts to be used in cross-examination. These were delivered to Mr. McShane’s office quite openly, as they would be on the surface entirely innocuous, and nobody would guess that they involved the impeachment trial. The other flow—the trickier one—was information more closely related to the conspiracy. This was the more valuable information, and so a more elaborate system was devised. This information flowed from Stanton, to Chanticleer, through Rebecca Deveaux, to Mr. McShane.”

“Why would Chanticleer be necessary? I was under the impression that Miss Deveaux had worked for the Stantons.”

“I believe that to be the fulcrum, Mr. President. I suspect that the arrangement began with Rebecca, not Chanticleer. They knew each other already, you see. Rebecca had worked for at least one of the conspirators, and possibly more. She removed notes from their houses and shared them with Chanticleer. Rebecca was likely unaware of Chanticleer’s involvement in the Secret Service. Probably she was simply frightened by what she had discovered, and wanted advice. I suspect that Chanticleer went to Mr. Seward, who had previously run the Secret Service, and who, from his sickbed, devised the system under which Rebecca would continue to provide information on the conspiracy and Chanticleer would revive the slave network to investigate the backgrounds of the witnesses against you.” She was watching the President closely now, but the wise, experienced face gave not a flicker.

“But the plan went wrong. The friendship between Chanticleer and Rebecca Deveaux led to two unexpected consequences. First, Chanticleer, who knew how the world worked, was worried that something might happen to Rebecca, who was after all little more than a child. And so Chanticleer advised her to hide a document that would protect her, just in case. Chanticleer called this the deposit. This led to the second problem. The deposit could obviously not be one of the documents that Chanticleer obtained from Mr. Stanton.”

“Why not?”

“Because the conspirators would not be the only ones with a motive to
harm Rebecca. Mr. Stanton, or General Baker, might also decide that her usefulness was at an end. Rebecca needed protection against both sides.” Abigail paused for response, but none came. “And so,” she resumed, “Chanticleer gave Rebecca a precious gift. Chanticleer required protection, too, and had, back at the beginning, discovered, then hidden away, the most valuable document of all—the list of the conspirators, rumored for some time to be missing. This is what everyone has been looking for, and I believe Chanticleer had it almost from the moment it went lost in Virginia. The document first found its way into the hands of Dr. Chastain in Richmond, who kept it for his own protection. Chanticleer learned of the list through Zillah, and instructed her to obtain it. Chanticleer’s network of friends and sources was, frankly, amazing.”

The President nodded. “So Mr. Seward tells me.”

“Chanticleer told Rebecca to hide the list and tell no one, even Chanticleer, where it was, but to leave behind a clue that only Mr. McShane would understand. I believe that Rebecca and Mr. McShane worked together to develop the cipher, but I don’t know. In any case, Rebecca and her connection to Mr. McShane were discovered by the conspirators, and they were killed. Both of them. That was the point. The location of the list died with them.”

“I would imagine,” drawled the President, “that poor Chanticleer at that point was in a bit of a quandary.”

“Yes, sir. I think it was desperation that caused Chanticleer to contact me. And, just in case there was a slip—in case Chanticleer died, say, instead of Rebecca—arrangements were made to place my name alongside Rebecca’s in the ledger of a local hotel. Sooner or later, someone would ask if I knew her, and we would get in contact.”

“But why contact you?” Lincoln asked, not unreasonably. “You are undoubtedly a talented woman, Miss Canner, but why, of all the tens of millions in America, all the tens of thousands in Washington City, would the great Chanticleer choose to trust you?”

“Because she is my sister. Chanticleer is Judith Canner.”

VIII

“May it please the Court,” said Bingham, “we would seek to strike the testimony of this witness, in its entirety.”

Dennard stood at once, but Chase was faster. “Mr. Manager, may I point out that Mr. Stanton is your own witness.”

“Yes, Your Honor. But we have been misled. There is perfidy here somehow, although I cannot work out exactly how—”

“It is the despot Lincoln!” cried Stevens, lurching to his feet. “It is all a scheme of Lincoln’s, to embarrass us! First he intimidates Beecher, and now Sherman! Senators, sirs, we have seen today perjury as well as perfidy, and somebody will pay!”

He began to cough, and his clerk helped him back to his place.

Dennard said, “Sir, we would waive cross-examination of this witness, if his testimony is allowed to remain on the record.”

“So ordered,” said the Chief Justice, banging his gavel. A Senator or two rose, but Chase was faster. “The evidence is closed. We will resume tomorrow. This session is adjourned.”

He hurried from the bench.

IX

“My sister had amazing mobility,” said Abigail. “She went all over the South. She knew people everywhere. At the same time, she was able to keep out of harm’s way. And she knew things. She knew that I had been your emissary to Fessenden. I doubt, sir, that the knowledge was available casually in Hooker’s Division. She said she sent Rebecca to see Mr. McShane because I worked there, but Rebecca was passing him information long before I was hired. And of course the indication we had from Dr. Chastain was that Chanticleer was a woman.”

The President nodded, that slight smile on his face. “Please, go on, Miss Canner.”

“Sir, you asked where you erred. Only twice that I can see. First, if you will excuse me, you erred because you are a man. Men think of great ideas first, and of friends and family after. With respect, Mr. President, you yourself voiced that very sentiment just moments ago, when you said you could not leave this office, no matter what tragedies struck your family, because your work is unfinished. It is in the nature of men, sir, especially great men, to see themselves as indispensable. Whereas it is in the nature of women to see their friends and families as indispensable. You were a man, relying on other men for advice, and so you overlooked the possibility that my sister’s love for Rebecca would be greater than her love of her own duty, and so she might give Rebecca what she had denied her employers: the list of conspirators.”

“And my other error?”

“A minor one, sir, but it started me thinking. Why would Noah Brooks, your private secretary, be sent to warn Judith to flee when the links in the chain were being hunted down? At first I thought I might have been mistaken in associating the description of the man who took Judith with Mr. Brooks. Then I thought that perhaps Mr. Brooks, too, had joined Mr. Wade’s side in this thing. But he was too close to you, you trusted him too implicitly, and you are said, Mr. President, to be an outstanding judge of character. And so I said to myself, suppose the President did not misjudge Mr. Brooks? Suppose he did not misjudge Mr. Stanton? Then, when I saw Mr. Stanton’s bodyguard outside Mr. Seward’s house, I knew.”

The President pondered. The early-spring sun had burned its way through the late-morning haze, and the window cast a pattern of crosses on the worn blue carpet. “You have told me what you think,” Lincoln finally said. “Now tell me what it is that you want.”