A Night of Horrors: A Historical Thriller about the 24 Hours of Lincoln's Assassination (14 page)

“Oh, William, I am sorry to have pained you,” Stanton said reaching out. Fanny stepped between the War Secretary and her father and arranged his pillows underneath him.

“Father ate solid food for the first time today since the accident. Surprisingly enough, the effort of chewing and the discomfort from that has drained him from the new energy he was gaining,” she said to Stanton while removing a pillow or two so that her father could lay back farther and repose more comfortably. She turned and smiled at Stanton, politely signaling that his visit should draw to a close. Stanton smiled in return and looked past the daughter to the father.

“So, Seward,” suddenly turning to business, “have you had a chance to consider the proposal that I’ve laid out at the request of the President? We had a good discussion today and I think most have come to agree with it. Welles, of course, had some points of dissension that I will incorporate, but I welcome your thoughts on them.” Seward slowly licked his lips and peered at Stanton from half-closed eyes. He took a deep breath as he considered his response. The vague sounds of trumpets and trombones playing martial music drifted through the windows as a parade celebrating the end of the war passed down Fifteenth Street behind Seward’s house. Suddenly, Stanton jumped to his feet clutching his hat and snatched his coat up off the bureau where Fanny had laid it.

“I’m sorry, but I must leave at once! The serenaders are coming from the War Department and I mustn’t miss them! They are expecting me to speak and I don’t want to disappoint them after all of their excellent work these many weeks and months. Good night, William. Miss Fanny, thank you and bless you for your care of your father. Get him well so he can come back to us soon. The nation needs him.” Stanton had stopped long enough to say these heart-felt words directly to Fanny Seward and then he dashed out the bedroom door and down the steps to the front door and his carriage. He consulted his pocket watch and saw that it was just after 9:00 PM. He knew that he had missed them as they were expected at 9:00. He rode the carriage quickly back to his house and came inside calling to his wife.

“Ellen, have I missed them? Have they come?”

“No, dear, come sit with me by the fire and relax,” she answered. He hung his coat and hat by the front door and made his way to the sitting room where his wife was sitting by the fire, holding a fan open next to her cheek to block the flames from overheating her face. Ellen greeted him with a smile and held her hand out to him. He walked across the room and squeezed it warmly, kissing the top of her head. He took up a book and sat down next to her.

“Now this is nice. This is something we can look forward to isn’t it? Quiet nights together by the fire, reading and talking?” Stanton watched the flames flicker and flash in the fireplace. A log shifted and fell in the grate sending a shower of sparks up the chimney. Stanton thought about the trees blossoming, the weather changing to warm days and blue skies and the new growth that comes with the spring. It was a perfect time of year for the war to come to a close: springtime.

With the end of the war many cares would be lifted and the nation would have the chance to come together and grow. Stanton knew that Lincoln would take a forgiving approach towards the South and her leaders in an effort to heal the wounds of the war, but Stanton wanted those who had served in elected and appointed positions in the U. S. Government before the war to pay a price. They, of all men in the South, should be punished for raising their hand and attacking the very country they had sworn to protect and serve. It was a betrayal beyond forgiveness for the War Secretary.

As Stanton watched the fire burn, he reflected on a conversation he’d had with the President just a few days before. He had gone to Lincoln and proffered his letter of resignation. Stanton had told Lincoln that he’d done his duty and now was a good time to make a change and bring a man in to dismantle the army and manage the South. Lincoln had not accepted it, though, telling Stanton that the nation needed him now more than ever. Then he had patted Stanton on the back and said, “Mars,
I
need you.” It was a rare moment for the President to voice his feelings to Stanton. That one statement had made his decision. Stanton had crumpled the paper and tossed it into Lincoln’s fireplace and they both laughed as it burned up in the flames.

“I believe they are here, Eddie,” Ellen said to Stanton rising from the couch. They both grabbed a shawl and pulled it around them and stood on the front stoop, listening as a small crowd of men from the War Department, along with their wives, stood with candles in hand and sang in honor of the Secretary of War. They began with
Dixie Land
, which Lincoln had recently said the Union had justly won the right to re-appropriate into the Union. Then they transitioned to
We are Coming, Father Abr’am,
and ended with
Battle Cry of Freedom
.

“Thank you, one and all for this stirring music! What lovely voices you have! If I didn’t talk so much myself at the Department, I might have noticed that each of you can sing so well.” The crowd responded with laughter, smiling at the Secretary.

“It has come to my attention that I am referred to as Mars due to the fact that I am the highest administrator for the War in the land. That is a task that I—and each of you—would far rather to have never taken up. I would have much preferred to have gone on practicing law and to have never had the need to accept the appointment from our great leader as the Secretary of War.” There was more applause and cheering at the mention of the President.

“But the war came, and we each have done the duty that we were called to. And in doing our duty and serving in some small part our great Republic, the war has now been won! Now, we must…” Stanton stood smiling as his oration was interrupted by sustained cheering and hurrahs that the war was over at last. He put his arm around Ellen and gently hugged her to his side.

“Now, we must exert the same energy, the same effort, the same will that we put towards prosecuting the war into establishing and sustaining a just peace. As President Lincoln has said, we must care for the widow and the orphan; we must care for the injured soldiers coming home; we must even care that the South is reestablished and sustained in a manner that does not make her harbor hate in her heart for those who only fought her to maintain this great nation. I thank you for your sacrifice and your willingness to work as hard and as long as you do. And I call on all those within the sound of my voice to commit themselves and their finest efforts to securing the peace for which we have all worked so long and so hard to secure. May God bless the families of the men who fell on the battlefields. May God bring a full end to the fighting. May God bless each of you. Thank you. Thank you.” He smiled and waved at them. The crowd burst into applause.

“Three cheers for Mr. Stanton! Huzzah! Huzzah! Huzzah!” They cried out in unison. Ellen turned and beamed at her husband, so proud and so glad for him to receive the adulation he deserved for the endless nights he spent toiling away to build and sustain the great Union Army. He wrapped his other arm around her in a hug and looked down at the people who were throwing their arms in the air and calling his name. The Stantons stood holding each other while the crowd walked away, singing
The Battle Hymn of the Republic
and breaking into cheers between verses.

“Well, my love, that was well deserved and you spoke eloquently.” She said to her smiling husband.

“Thank you, Ellie. It is very gratifying, I must admit,” he answered. They hung their shawls on a hat stand next to the door as they came back inside and they looked at the clock standing in the foyer.

“Well, seeing as it is after 10:00, I think I will just head on up to bed,” Stanton said.

“You go ahead and I’ll be up shortly. I want to read a little bit more by the fire,” Ellen answered and went back to the sitting room. Stanton made his way up to his bedroom and began his bedtime ritual. He was a man of habits and slowly worked his way through the process of carefully taking off, brushing, and hanging his coat, vest, and pants. Unlike many men, he cared about how his beard appeared and carefully combed it out before getting into bed. He had started doing this after it had become so tangled that it had to be cut away like a rat’s nest. Ever since, he took the time to comb through his beard to keep it organized and straight. He untied his tie and removed his collar, then hung up his shirt.

For the first time in many months, Stanton’s mind wasn’t fixated on the war or even on reconstruction. Rather, he was thinking about the approaching day when he would be able to resign; he and Ellen could move to New York City and he could reestablish his law practice. With the recognition and success he had created as the Secretary of War, he was sure to return to the satisfaction of a national presence on the legal stage, arguing before the Supreme Court and representing the best and brightest in the nation.

As he slipped on his nightshirt, he was distracted from his reverie by a knock at the front door. He sighed and buttoned his shirt up and reached for his robe. A messenger from the War Department was most likely downstairs with some message. Maybe Grant had finally heard from Sherman, he thought. As he walked from his dressing room, he heard his wife let out a slight scream and call his name. He quickly walked to the top of the stairs and called down.

“What is it, Ellen? Who is at the door?”

“There is a soldier here who says that Secretary Seward has been attacked!”

“Humbug, Ellen, I just came from Seward’s but an hour ago. He was just going to bed and the house was full of family and friends staying with them.” He shook his head. Stanton was used to false reports being delivered and tended to dismiss messengers who arrived with wild stories.

“Sir, I can assure you that the Secretary has been attacked. Not only him, but his son as well. Both will probably die if they are not dead already,” the soldier called up to the Secretary from where he stood in the foyer, just inside the door. Stanton turned back with a start. This messenger had specifics. Then there was another knock at the door.

“What’s this you say? Both have been attacked?” He called down.

“Yes, sir. The Secretary and the Assistant Secretary are both unconscious and close to death,” the voice called back up to him. Stanton considered things for a moment.

“I must go over there and see for myself. I will be down presently.” Stanton heard somebody else coming into the house and assumed it was another messenger with the same news. He heard muffled voices and then another yelp from his wife.

“My God, Eddie, what’s going on?” Ellen called up to her husband, the pitch in her voice rising.

“What now, Ellen?” He called down from the closet as he continued to change back into his clothes.

“There is another messenger here who says the President has been shot!” Stanton shook his head to himself. This report was too outrageous to be believed. He considered it a spurious news report that had gotten the Seward attack mixed up. Lincoln was at the theater and had a bodyguard so he discounted this news as well.

“I am changing and will go back to Seward’s as it is but a few minutes away. Ellen, call for the carriage at once!” He hurried to finish redressing. He quickly fastened his collar and pulled on his pants. There was a third knock at the door.

“For God’s sake! Is there more news?” He called down. He heard footsteps coming up the stairs and finished pulling his boots on and then walked to the mirror to arrange his tie. He glanced over his shoulder and saw that it was Ellen.

“It is Secretary Welles at the door. He came at once when he heard the news of Secretary Seward being attacked. He also has heard that President Lincoln was shot. He wants to go with you to the Seward’s. Edwin, you mustn’t go. You were just there yourself and might have been attacked as well.” Her eyes brimmed with tears and he saw the fear in her eyes.

“Ellen, I will leave a guard here to protect you and the children. But I must go. You know that,” he said gently but firmly. She walked to him and wrapped herself around him.

“Please don’t go. I shudder at the thought that you could have been there and attacked along with the two of them. I beg you, Eddie, stay with me.” She broke and tears and sobs came in a rush. He patted her back and squeezed his eyes shut, knowing his duty and fighting the sense of compassion he always felt for his lovely Ellen.

“Ellen,” he held her away from him with his hands on her shoulders. “You know that I cannot stay here. I must go and see what is afoot. I am not convinced that anything has happened at this point.” He gently pushed her away to finish fastening his tie. She controlled her sobs, but the tears continued to stream down her face. Her nose was running and she wiped at it with an embroidered handkerchief tucked in her sleeve. Stanton turned, walked out the door, down the hall, and down the stairway.

“Edwin, what monstrous deeds have been done?” Welles asked as he saw the Secretary of War descending the steps.

“Gideon, we must go and find out. Did you hear that both William and Frederick had been hurt? And what’s this nonsense about the ol’ Chief? I’m very skeptical that anything has happened at all, anything at all. I was just there—at the Seward’s—you know. He was just going to bed and the entire house was full of people.” Stanton placed his hat on his head.

“You may very well be right. But I have an ominous feeling. My carriage is at the ready; let’s go. He is just across the square,” responded Welles. The two men rushed down the walkway to the waiting carriage. There were a few revelers who passed by, mostly in groups, but Washington City was quieter tonight than on the previous nights since Lee’s surrender. It seemed darker without the bright lights and fireworks of the grand illumination igniting the night sky. The air was heavy with gathering clouds that hinted of a rainfall. The fog from earlier was lifting and the two men pulled their coats closer about them. Welles and Stanton exchanged nervous glances and listened to the clopping of the horses on the packed dirt road. Welles cleared his throat as if to speak. After a moment of hesitation he finally did.