Mrs. Lincoln's Rival (17 page)

Father’s labors were many, and his daughters saw less of him as he toiled late into the night in his private office suite at the Treasury Building or rushed off to the White House for cabinet meetings at an unexpected summons from the president. With the house on Sixth and E streets not yet ready, Father encouraged Kate to undertake another shopping expedition to New York to purchase the last items they needed. Father’s good friend Hiram Barney had invited the family to visit, and while Father’s obligations made it impossible for him to leave Washington, the Chase sisters were happy to accept.

Mr. Barney had served as Father’s commissioner of schools during his first term as governor of Ohio, and they had developed a strong friendship based upon mutual trust and commitment to abolition. Four years before, Mr. Barney had moved from Columbus to New York, where he had established a successful law firm. A handsome man of fifty years with a deep cleft in his square jaw, a thick dark mustache, and iron-gray hair swept back from a broad forehead, Mr. Barney possessed an air of strength, sincerity, and purpose, and he had worked tirelessly to help Father win the Republican nomination for the presidency in 1856 and 1860. Although the ventures failed, Father never forgot Mr. Barney’s loyalty, and he was proud to have secured for his old friend one of the most prestigious and lucrative posts within the Department of the Treasury patronage, the collectorship of the custom house of New York. Mr. Barney stood to earn between twenty and thirty thousand dollars a year in salary and fees, more even than the president, and he controlled the posts of hundreds of subordinate employees. Mr. Seward, a native of New York State, had wanted to fill the post with one of his own loyal friends, but in this case Father had triumphed.

Kate and Nettie were met at the station by Mr. Barney; his wife, Susan; and the eldest of their six children, Will, a young man only a few months older than Kate. Slender and bespectacled, with a quiet, intellectual reserve, Will had graduated from Harvard College and had nearly completed his studies at Harvard Law School. Kate enjoyed his company, and she was also very much looking forward to reuniting with his younger sister, a lively, pretty girl of eighteen named Susan after her mother.

“My dear girls,” Mrs. Barney exclaimed, spreading her arms for Kate and Nettie’s embraces, which they happily gave. She was a slender, fair-haired, gentle woman, with long, graceful fingers that were almost always engaged in handwork of some sort, whether knitting or embroidery or playing sonatas on the family’s piano, which was faithfully kept in perfect tune.

After resting from their journey for a day at the Barneys’ lovely home in Spuyten Duyvil, Kate took care of her errands at the shops, and then spent a pleasant week reading, riding, calling on friends, and seeing the sights. She especially enjoyed Nettie’s delight in her first experience of New York, which she took in with wide-eyed wonder.

One evening Mr. and Mrs. Barney escorted the Chase sisters and their own two eldest children to a performance of the New York Philharmonic at the Academy of Music. Afterward they were outside waiting for their carriage when shouts and commotion down the block drew their attention. “Extra! War begun!” one young newsboy bellowed. “Fire opened on Fort Sumter!”

“Anderson returning fire!” another newsboy shouted on the street corner close behind them. Startled, Kate whirled about and spotted the lad, barely visible within a crowd of anxious pedestrians, who snapped up his papers as quickly as he could take the coins from their hands.

Mr. Barney lay his hand on his wife’s shoulder for a moment before striding off toward the nearest newsboy. Instinctively Kate hurried after him, and when he opened the
Tribune
she read over his shoulder, scarcely able to breathe, as the terrible news was delivered in a column of bold, abrupt bursts:

WAR BEGUN! FIRE OPENED ON FORT SUMTER. ANDERSON RETURNING THE FIRE.

Reported Breaches in the Fort.

Alleged Success of the Rebels.

Three War Vessels Outside the Bar.

Firing Ceased for the Night.

Hostilities to be Renewed at Daylight.

Several Rebels Wounded.

Major Anderson Stronger than Supposed.

Taking a deep, shaky breath, Kate rested her hand on Mr. Barney’s arm and held on until her knees stopped trembling. Absently Mr. Barney patted her hand but kept his gaze fixed on the newspaper, his jaw clenched, the pages trembling slightly in his grip. Suddenly he folded the paper, tucked it beneath his arm, and murmured, “Come, Kate.” Numbly she kept pace with him as he escorted her back to the family, who had settled into the carriage and were looking anxiously down the sidewalk after them through the windows.

• • •

None of them slept well that night.

The next day, newspaper correspondents in the South reported that Fort Sumter had sustained so much damage that it had been rendered utterly indefensible. When Major Anderson concluded that their position was untenable, he had accepted General Beauregard’s terms of evacuation: He would be permitted to evacuate his command without surrendering his arms, and he and his men would be granted safe, unimpeded transport to the North.

As the exhausted, disappointed, and half-starved Union soldiers stood in formation on what remained of the parade grounds, the Stars and Stripes had been lowered, folded reverently, and presented to Major Anderson. Then, with the drum and fife corps playing “Yankee Doodle,” the federal troops had marched from the crumbling stronghold they had defended faithfully since shortly before Christmas. The following morning, they had been transferred to the Union steamship
Baltic
, which soon departed for New York with Major Anderson’s flag flying atop the mast.

In the aftermath of the shocking loss of Fort Sumter, a new patriotic fervor swept through New York City. For a moment, dissent fell silent and outrage replaced sympathy for the South as cries for a swift, forceful military response filled the air. Impromptu rallies and marches sprang up in parks and squares; the Stars and Stripes flew from nearly every mast and flagpole and balcony. “Sumter is lost but freedom is saved,” the
New York Tribune
declared. Gone at last were thoughts of appeasement, of coaxing or bribing the traitor states in the South to return to the Union. “It seems but yesterday that at least two-thirds of the journals of this city were the virtual allies of the Secessionists, their apologists, their champions,” another paper observed about the sudden shift in the temper of the city. “The roar of the great circle of batteries pouring their iron hail upon devoted Sumter has struck them all dumb.”

On Monday, when President Lincoln issued a call for seventy-five thousand troops to suppress the uprising, with a certain quota required from each state, the men of New York rushed to form infantry regiments. Seized by military zeal, young men from upstate raced to the city, eager to enlist and to see a bit of action before the rebels were defeated and the excitement passed. Within two days of the president’s call to arms, Colonel Ellsworth, Mr. Lincoln’s friend from Chicago with whom Kate had danced at the Inaugural Ball, arrived in New York seeking to form a Zouave regiment of eight hundred choice men from among the city’s firefighters. Kate had read about his plan in a brief notice in the afternoon paper on the day of his arrival, so she knew he was in the city, and she was pleased to see him across the room when they happened to attend the same levee at City Hall that evening.

“Colonel Ellsworth,” she greeted him warmly after he had worked his way through the crowd to her side. “I cannot think of any other man I would rather see at this moment. Tell me, what is the news from Washington City? Have you seen my father recently?”

“I regret that I haven’t had the pleasure of seeing Secretary Chase recently,” the colonel replied. “I know that on the night Fort Sumter fell, the entire cabinet was closeted with President Lincoln until the small hours of the morning, but regrettably, I was not privy to their discussion.”

“And what is the mood of the city?” Kate asked, hiding her disappointment.

“Much as it is here,” he said. “Patriotism and loyalty for the Union have filled every heart, although there is greater worry there that the city will be threatened by rebel militia.”

Kate nodded. For all that it was the capital of the Union, Washington was essentially a Southern city, surrounded by Maryland to the north and east, on the other side of the Chesapeake Bay, and Virginia to the west and south, with only the Potomac separating them. “If their hearts are equally patriotic and loyal, why do you come to New York to recruit for your Zouaves, instead of choosing among the men of Washington City?”

“I’m a native of New York State, and I want the New York firemen. There are no more effective men in the country and none with whom I can do so much.” As he spoke, Colonel Ellsworth’s voice became grave. “Miss Chase, I don’t mean to alarm you, but our friends at Washington are sleeping on a volcano, and I want men who are ready at any moment to plunge into the thickest of the fight.”

Her heart thumped with trepidation at his solemn certainty of coming danger. “When I’m home once again,” Kate told him steadily, “it will be a great reassurance to know that you’re commanding such courageous men in the defense of our city.”

While New York and other states throughout the Union promptly organized volunteer troops in response to the president’s call to arms, the governors of Kentucky, Missouri, North Carolina, and Virginia scornfully declared that they would furnish no regiments to go to war against their Southern brethren. Then, on April 17, two days after Mr. Lincoln issued his proclamation, Virginia seceded from the Union. It was a terrible blow to the North, but the rebellious states of the South rejoiced, knowing that it was only a matter of time before the new independent commonwealth of Virginia added its military and economic might to the Confederacy.

The next day, Major Anderson and his officers arrived in New York to a hero’s welcome. It was a bright, breezy afternoon, so the Barneys and Chases went down to the Brooklyn wharves to witness the
Baltic
come in to the harbor. Thousands of citizens had gathered, and all the vessels in the bay and the houses along the shore had been decked with flags in honor of the heroes of Fort Sumter. As the ship approached with its escort, an artillery salute boomed from the guns at the forts and on the shore, and every nearby steeple bell rang, and everywhere the people cheered and waved flags. In reply, the
Baltic
waved her ensign and fired her cannon, to the delight of the crowd.

As the steamer came steadily and gracefully forward, Kate observed that a tattered flag of the United States flew from the foremast, and from the mizzenmast hung another, so badly damaged that it was nearly in rags. She was startled to see that the prow was shattered as if from a collision or the impact of a cannonball, and yet, thankfully, the ship was evidently seaworthy. Soldiers in ragged blue coats, dusty with what Kate imagined was the pulverized brick and mortar of the ruined fort, packed the deck, and although the men looked hungry and tired, they heartily returned the cheers from the shore, their voices hoarse but proud.

“That’s Major Anderson,” a man observing the scene from a ferryboat shouted. “On the wheelhouse. That’s him right there!”

Excitement surged as word spread through the crowd. Shading her eyes with her hand, Kate spied a slight, clean-shaven man wrapped in a military overcoat standing atop the wheelhouse. The roar of approval that greeted Major Anderson and his men—so proud and patriotic and stirring—left Kate almost breathless, and tears came into her eyes as she too applauded the returning heroes.

Later, Mr. Barney informed them that Major Anderson had taken rooms at the Brevoort House, a fine hotel on the corner of Eighth Street and Fifth Avenue, where he had been reunited with his relieved and happy wife. Although he had traveled quietly there with friends who had met him on the landing, word of his arrival had spread swiftly, and soon a raucous crowd had gathered outside, cheering loudly and calling for the major to address them. “I confess I myself have imposed upon his rest,” Mr. Barney admitted. “I’ve arranged for him to attend the bridal reception at William Aspinwall’s home in two days’ time so that we might meet him.”

“I want to meet him too,” said Nettie. “Oh, Kate, may we?”

Kate shook her head. “I thought we would leave for Washington that morning.”

“Couldn’t we stay just one day longer?” Nettie implored. “I miss home too, but it’s just one day for the chance to meet the hero of Fort Sumter. Please, Kate?”

Kate wavered.

“Yes, please do stay,” said Mr. Barney earnestly. “We would all enjoy another day of your company, and I think Mr. Chase would want you to learn the truth about Major Anderson’s adventure from the man himself, so you can give him a better account than he would get from the newspapers or some dry official report.”

That convinced her. The following morning, Kate, Nettie, and Susan strolled to the post office to mail a note to her father about their altered travel plans, chatting pleasantly about their gowns, offering suggestions for how to arrange one another’s hair, and speculating about which gentlemen of their acquaintance might also attend. On their way back to the Barney residence, they heard newsboys’ shouts and saw people racing to purchase their papers, fresh off the presses. “Massachusetts volunteers opposed in their passage through Baltimore,” a boy shouted, waving a paper in the air. “Bloody fight between the soldiers and the mob!”

Susan stopped short and pressed a hand to her heart; Nettie gave a little gasp; but after a brief moment of stunned stillness, Kate took Nettie’s hand and briskly led her to the corner with Susan trailing along behind. Quickly Kate dug into her reticule for a coin and bought the
Herald
, nearly tearing it in her haste to open it. As Susan and Nettie read along beside her, the dire headlines struck with chilling force.

THE WAR.

Highly Important News from Baltimore.

The Massachusetts Volunteers Opposed in Their Passage Through the City.