Rebel falls, p.24
Rebel Falls, page 24
“Right on time, as always, Miss Fanny,” he said. “And good—you’ve brought your friend.”
“Is the president up?” Fanny asked.
“As you know, sometimes sleep is elusive for the poor man. So, he went riding early this morning. Here he comes now.”
We turned to see President Lincoln, with a two-man military detail far behind him, in full gallop as he swept past a castle-like building nearby.
“That’s the old soldiers’ home,” Fanny said to me. “The president often visits when he’s here. And beyond that is the cemetery that became so filled that they had to take over Bobbie Lee’s house across the Potomac in Arlington.”
“At the height of the war,” Slade added, “we had up to forty burials a week here.”
We grew quiet as the president slowed his mount to a trot and came alongside us.
“You are angels for agreeing to meet me at this early hour,” Lincoln said. He was slightly out of breath, yet in good cheer. “I feared that I sent you word too late.”
“We wouldn’t have missed it,” Fanny replied. “Besides, Rory and I have been up for hours.”
The president chuckled as he dismounted. “Perhaps our Miss Rory is up with the dawn,” he said. “But I know that you can be the life of any party, dear Fanny. You love to observe all the goings on. Write them down in that diary of yours. My guess is you’re more of a night owl. Like me.”
President Lincoln gestured for us to follow Slade through the front doors and into the dining room, with its towering octagon-style windows. There a fine table had been laid out with eggs, bacon, grits, wheat toast, sliced fruit, dark coffee, and decanters of juice. We took our seats—Lincoln at one head of the table and Fanny at the other, with me once again in the middle of it all.
Our breakfast appeared to be an impromptu gathering. Still, if I’d learned anything during my short time in Washington, it was that such spur-of-the-moment events were rarely as they seemed.
The president began by asking Fanny about her father, how he was recovering, and then he thanked me again for my efforts in Ohio. He wanted to know “from an eyewitness whom I can genuinely trust” how close the rebel steamer had come to the USS Michigan. What would I have done, what could I have done, if they had actually seized it?
“Absolutely nothing,” I told them. “That’s where Mr. Douglas and his men from the Cataract House saved the day. Confusing the rebels to the point of bewilderment when the fireworks lit up the sky.”
“‘Oh, for a muse of fire that would ascend,’” Lincoln began, “‘The brightest heaven of invention.’”
“‘A kingdom for a stage,’” I dared to answer, “‘princes to act.’”
Lincoln grinned, “You know it? You both do?”
“Henry the Fifth,” Fanny said. “Shakespeare’s opening.”
In response, Lincoln briefly raised both arms into the air, still holding his knife and fork.
“I’ll take that as a grand sign,” he declared. “A harbinger of better times to come. What could surpass breakfast with two lovely ladies who know the Bard? It gladdens the heart, and now I’m wondering what I shall endeavor to write today. Thankfully, I have fellow muses in you two and, perhaps most importantly, I have dear Mr. Slade to take care of me.”
“How’s that?” asked Fanny.
“Throughout the day, when ideas come to me, I jot them down upon slivers of paper and place them under my hat,” he said. “Still, it’s a slipshod system at best. Pieces of paper fall out, and dear Mr. Slade must gather them up. He places them in the left-hand drawer of my desk upstairs here or under a paperweight upon my desk at the White House, the one in the shape of a shepherd. For that’s what I’ve felt I’ve had to be during these long years. A shepherd trying to keep the lamb and the wolf apart.”
“And you have been,” Fanny said. “You did so to save the Union.”
The president nodded in gratitude. “It’s usually only at night that my mind slows enough for me to think. That’s when I find the slips of paper that Mr. Slade has tucked away for me. That’s where I found one that I had scribbled about John Yates Beall.”
“Captain Beall?” I replied.
“Yes, you were there for his execution, weren’t you, Miss Chase?”
The president undoubtedly knew this, for I hadn’t kept my attendance a secret.
“I was,” I said in a low voice.
“And when they brought the noose down over his head,” Lincoln continued. “He insisted upon turning toward the south. To somehow pledge his allegiance.”
“Yes, they allowed him to do so.”
For a moment, we all grew silent. It was if the war had somehow returned to us, creeping out of some far corner where we prayed it had been placed forever.
“Miss Rory, I owe you an apology,” the president finally said. “I fear I was too much the brute when you both visited me at the White House. How dismissive I was as you advocated for me to spare John Yates Beall’s life.”
“You’re being too hard on yourself,” said Fanny, ready to smooth things over.
“No, no, dear Fanny,” Lincoln said. “I am being quite candid. Miss Rory was right in trying to keep Beall from the gallows.”
“But he was as evil as they come,” Fanny insisted.
“That’s for the history books to decide,” the president replied. “Still, at that moment, Rory, you spoke the unvarnished truth. I’ve done my research, asked around about you, especially among your comrades in arms in Niagara Falls.”
I didn’t like the way this conversation had turned.
“Your friends Wreet and Mr. Douglas believe that you may have helped the other rebel, Bennet Burley, escape.”
“Sir, I didn’t—”
“Now, now, this isn’t any kind of interrogation,” Lincoln said. “It’s more of a revelation on my part. That you could be that compassionate, especially after losing your Uncle Frank—arguably your mother, too—to this conflict. And then to rise to the occasion, doing what you had to do to arrest John Yates Beall on the upper trestle of the Suspension Bridge in that raging storm. You are indeed a person of contradictions and greater honesty and courage than most.”
I didn’t know what to say to this.
“You were right to argue for Beall’s life,” the president added. “I was only seeing the man’s dire plans and the near consequences of his actions, and I forgot to search for the human face behind the attempted crimes. Be more curious about where his personal philosophy went awry. But also not to allow the man to perhaps become a legend for all the wrong reasons. My God, turning south as a testament to his beloved cause? I realized last night that I need to strive to be more like you, Rory Chase. If not, our peace may be as contentious as the war.”
Soon afterward, Mr. Slade entered the dining room and ser‑ vants began to clear away the dishes. Another day for the president was fast upon him. He walked us back outside, into the bright sunshine, where Fanny’s buggy was waiting to carry us back to the federal city.
“If I’d planned things better, I would have returned with you,” Lincoln said. “For I need to be back at the White House later on. Plenty of festivities in the works, aren’t there? That said, I’ll linger here for the morning and then allow the military guard to squire me back. Today I’ll follow the rules. Be under their guard and watchful stewardship. But who’s to say what happens tomorrow and the next day?”
Then he smiled and briefly nodded to us, perhaps like he did to the poet Whitman when they passed each other on Washington’s streets. As we pulled away, the president stood by the front door, a long arm held aloft, and watched us go until we fell from view.
64
A more prudent man would have been home by now or at least heading back to the British Isles for Easter and the rolling away of the stone. But Bennet Burley found that he couldn’t leave this part of the world. Not yet. Montreal had been thick with rumors, so much strong talk that John Wilkes Booth was incensed by Captain Beall’s hanging. So much so that he was returning to the US capital as an avenging angel. Sources told him that Miss Rory was in Washington, staying with her childhood friend, Fanny Seward. As a result, Burley felt he had no other choice but to steal back across the border for a final trip south.
It was April 14, 1865, Good Friday, and from across Lafayette Square in the District of Columbia, it was easy to spy upon the Seward residence. Burley settled into the background and stood watch as this day, a supposed time of reckoning, faded to evening. Why didn’t he simply walk up to the front door and announce himself? Despite the war being over and the world seemingly eager to move on, Burley knew he remained a wanted man, a rebel with a bounty on his head. While transferring trains in New York, he had kept his hat pulled low, not wanting to draw attention to himself. Besides, he didn’t want to put Rory in a dodgy spot by forcing her to explain who this gentleman with the Scots accent was at the front door of her best friend’s home.
Instead, Burley kept watch from the park itself, following the comings and goings at the Sewards’ residence. Between family and well-wishers, it was a steady trickle. A few evenings before, it had been the Night of the Illumination, an attempt to turn night into day by deploying every available source. House lights and streetlamps were left aglow, with bonfires in the grassy areas near the Capitol and in the middle of Lafayette Park itself—all to celebrate the South’s recent surrender. After so many years of war, a buoyant mood had swept through the city and the northern lands.
Even though he’d searched the streets between here and Union Station earlier in the day, he’d seen nothing of Booth, nor the members of the Surratt family, who the actor was supposedly in league with now. He’d even passed by the Surratt boarding house on H Street, and it was locked up tight. Still, Burley couldn’t dismiss those who had warned him about Booth being here. Somewhere the devil was afoot. He could feel it in his bones.
Late that afternoon, Miss Rory and her friend Fanny Seward stepped out for a walk. Uncertain what to do, Burley withdrew into the alleyway as they passed by. When they returned home after dusk, from the lights and shadows upstairs it appeared that they stopped by to check on the secretary in his bedroom on the top floor of the three-story town house. He’d learned that Secretary Seward was in a bad way; his upper torso shattered by the fall from the carriage. He was on painkillers, barely able to talk above a whisper due to a metal brace that held his broken jaw in place. He expected that Rory tried to stay out of everyone’s way, content to hide in the small guest bedroom at the far end of the ground floor. But Fanny apparently insisted that she accompany her on visits to the upstairs bedroom, two levels above, where her father was in a large bed, propped up by pillows.
Dinner that evening appeared to be a haphazard affair to Burley. Through the window, he was able to make out Fanny, her brother Augustus, and Rory eating leftover chicken and twice-baked potatoes. Burley moved closer, until he was able to hear much of what was said. He overheard Fanny mentioning that she would take some of the food upstairs on a tray to her father and the army nurse attending to him, one George Robinson. It was well after sunset by the time Fanny’s other brother, Frederick, arrived home. He was now the assistant secretary of state, taking over many of his father’s duties since the carriage accident.
Frederick foraged for what he could find in the kitchen as the others asked about his day.
“Blessedly uneventful,” Frederick told them.
“And the president?” asked Fanny, reentering the kitchen.
“In good spirits,” Frederick replied. “So much so that he and Mrs. Lincoln are going to Ford’s Theatre tonight. She wanted to see the play there, Our American Cousin. From what I understand, the president would rather stay in. The Grants were scheduled to accompany them, but they left on the late afternoon train for New Jersey. Tad, the Lincolns’ young son, is on the town as well. He’s going to see Aladdin at the National.”
“Good for them,” Fanny said. “They deserve a little fun.”
Soon the Seward residence grew quiet for the night. Frederick and his wife, Anna, had already retired. Augustus indicated that he was ready to do the same, and Fanny returned upstairs to check on her father. That was when Burley caught a glimpse of Rory, in her nightgown and robe, in the guest room. She held a slender book, which he recognized as his Shakespeare’s Sonnets, in her hand. He thought about rapping lightly on her window pane, but he was never afforded the chance. Too soon a sharp knock came at the front door, and Burley stole around for a better look.
When no one answered, a louder round followed, and the house servant, a Black man, finally opened the door.
“I have medicine for the master of the house,” a towering figure said, holding out a vial wrapped in butcher paper.
“I’ll take it,” the servant replied.
The visitor was well over six feet tall yet, despite his size, the skin of his face was smooth, resembling a boy’s. He had dark hair and blue eyes, which searched the interior hallway of the Sewards’ home in an eager manner. He was a stranger to Burley and certainly not John Wilkes Booth.
“I’m not leaving it with the likes of you,” the intruder said, pushing past the servant.
By now, Burley was near the front door, already concerned about what might transpire.
The commotion brought Frederick to the top of the first flight of stairs.
“This is medicine,” the stranger repeated as he held out the small vial.
“Wait here,” Frederick said, and he walked up the second flight of stairs and poked his head inside the secretary’s bedroom.
“He’s asleep,” Frederick said, returning to the man.
Then the uppermost bedroom door reopened, and Fanny said, “Father is awake now.”
“Is he asleep or not?” the intruder called up the stairs. He was well into the foyer, moving toward the stairs.
“He’s terribly tired,” Fanny shouted down.
Frederick nodded for her to go back inside the bedroom, telling the man, “I’ll take the medicine.”
The stranger was almost at the top of the first flight of stairs, and Frederick came down a few steps to confront him. With wild eyes, the visitor still held the vial in his hand, seemingly lost in thought. Then, in a blink of an eye, he came at Frederick, pulling a revolver from under his coat. Before anyone could move, the intruder aimed the gun at Frederick’s temple and pulled the trigger. Thank God, no shot fired. The gun had jammed.
For a moment, a spell of shock hung over the Seward home. In a perfect world, the intruder would have lost his nerve right then and there, hurried down the stairs, and escaped out the front door. Instead, he deftly pivoted the revolver in his hand and brought the butt end down on Frederick’s head. Then he did the same thing again and again until Frederick fell to the floor. The servant shouted, “Murder, murder,” and ran out the door.
Pulling her robe about her, Rory raced up the stairs to help. By then, the assailant had reached the top floor, forcing open the door to the secretary’s bedroom. There he was confronted by a man whom Burley recognized as Robinson, the secretary’s nurse.
By this point, Burley was inside the entranceway, and he saw that the intruder also had a Bowie knife, which he was swinging wildly, catching Robinson across the forehead. Holding his head with both hands, Robinson toppled over, his eyes wide with shock.
“Don’t kill him,” Fanny cried out. The assailant punched her hard in the face, knocking her backward. Burley dashed up the stairs.
The secretary’s bedroom was nearly pitch black. Burley saw Secretary Seward roll away from the man with the knife, trying to hide between the mattress and the wall. As the man stabbed repeatedly at the secretary, Rory jumped onto the man’s back, scratching at his face. But the man reached over his shoulder with his free hand, grabbing her by the back of the neck. With a dismissive grunt, he tossed her hard to the floor.
Rory’s efforts, though, did allow the secretary’s older son, Augustus, to reach the bedroom, where the intruder caught him several times with the knife. That’s when Robinson, the male nurse, was able to rejoin the battle. Regaining her senses, Rory somehow staggered to her feet, too. Seeing one figure after another rise from the shadows, ready to take him on, the assailant finally decided to escape. As he headed down the stairs, Burley ran after him, freezing a few strides from the bottom of the first staircase. The madman whirled, then took a wild swing at him with his gleaming blade. Once again, in his fevered mind, Burley was back along the docks in Sandusky, about to be badly cut. Blessedly, this time the man with the knife missed him, even though Burley heard the sing of that sharpened edge as it passed under his chin. The intruder fled, yelling, “I’m mad, I’m mad,” as he disappeared into the night.
“Ben?” Rory was beside Burley now. Despite the danger, she had chased the assailant down the stairs. Above them, on the upper floors, the Seward household was in turmoil. “What are you doing here?”
Burley was light-headed from his close call. “I thought I could stop them,” he babbled. “Stop Booth.”
“But that wasn’t John Wilkes Booth,” she said.
“I heard rumors in Canada,” he tried to explain. “So much talk that I had to come.”
At that moment, both of them realized that Burley needed to get away, too. Flee before the roof came off the Union capital and he was caught up in the accusations and his previous associations with the likes of Booth and John Yates Beall and rebels of their ilk. Already, the Seward children were calling to each other on the floors above them as a crowd gathered out front. Off in the distance came the shrill of police whistles.
“They can’t find you,” Rory said. “Not here, not now.”
Realizing that she was right, Burley plunged out the door, pushing past the bystanders before anyone could stop him. Without looking back, he was soon lost in the nightmare of that cruel night, intent upon making his getaway from this cursed land.
