Lincoln

  “I agree,” said Pomeroy. “It wouldn’t look too good, even though there is nothing unlawful in helping friends.” Pomeroy was on his feet. “I shall start circulating our views.” He held high the manuscript in his hand as though it were Excalibur.

  In Chase’s eyes the pamphlet was indeed well done, the work of a New York journalist named Winchell. The case against Lincoln’s renomination was made with dignity and cogency. First, Lincoln would lose to the combinations arrayed against him. McClellan would be a formidable candidate. If Grant were to enter the field, as a Democrat, there would be no contest at all. Second, another term of shilly-shallying might bankrupt the nation, as the war dragged on. Third, patronage was now out of control; only single-term presidents could control this. Chase somewhat doubted the logic of this point, as he himself had increased the number of clerks in his department more rapidly than that of any other, including the War Department. But his political managers thought the sentiment sounded well. Fourth, Chase was the better man, the better administrator and the purest in the management of public affairs. Chase subscribed wholeheartedly to this estimate of himself; therefore, the Blair charges were all the more galling and dangerous. Fifth, the more Lincoln’s partisans tried to promote his renomination, the more opposition there would be to his unsuccessful Administration. For these reasons, the supporters of Chase have now started a national organization, with a Republican National Executive Committee at Washington, whose chairman is Senator Pomeroy.

  “I shall send this circular out to every corner of the country,” said Pomeroy.

  “You better get it out quick to Pennsylvania,” said Henry D. “I’ve just heard from my brother that Simon Cameron is rounding up endorsements of Lincoln from every Republican member of the legislature, which he owns.”

  “Is not Thaddeus Stevens at work for us?” Chase had been assured by that irritable and irritating but entirely honest man that he would be able to deliver Pennsylvania to Chase.

  “Ever since Mr. Stevens denied saying that Simon Cameron wouldn’t steal a red-hot stove, there is a war between them.”

  Chase thought of the night that he had found the most graceful of departures for Cameron from the Cabinet. But the perfidy of men no longer surprised him. “I had thought Mr. Cameron still angry at the President for removing him from the Cabinet.”

  “He is convinced,” said Henry D., “that his departure was your work and Seward’s.”

  “I shall never again do a good deed!” Chase exclaimed.

  “You will, you will, Mr. Chase,” said Pomeroy at the door. Again he held up the circular. This time as a torch to light them down the corridor of history. “And as the president.”

  SEWARD AND HIS SON read the circular with disbelief. The entire text had been published in the National Intelligencer. “He will have to resign,” said Fred Seward.

  “But he won’t,” said his father, as he lit, with shaking hands, the first cigar of the day. The ruins of breakfast lay before him like Troy, he thought, blowing smoke at the ham rind; he was Odysseus.

  “Perhaps he didn’t know,” said Fred, tentatively.

  “Oh, politicians never know anything. But I don’t see the point to it. Cameron’s already delivered us Pennsylvania. Sprague can’t even deliver Rhode Island, and Ohio—his home state—is doubtful. There is, of course, Horace Greeley. Amen.”

  “Amen,” said Fred, dutifully.

  Seward went straight to the White House while Fred went on to the State Department. As usual, they were obliged to climb over blocks of marble and sheets of iron for the new Treasury annex, while across the street, in all its brand-new white-marble glory, stood the bank of Jay Cooke and Company, separated from the Treasury by Pennsylvania Avenue down whose center the Washington Horse-car Company’s carriages clattered through the half-frozen mud, a company that had been financed by Jay Cooke. If nothing else, thought Seward, Chase was fortunate in his friends.

  Seward found Nicolay alone in his office. As a newly commissioned major in the Adjutant-General’s department, Hay was in Florida, searching for a congressional seat, with the President’s blessing. On Nicolay’s table was the National Intelligencer. “Has he seen it?” asked Seward.

  “No, sir. I took it in to him. I told him what it was, and he said he’d rather not read it.”

  “Is that all.”

  “Well, he had a funny dream last night, which I won’t spoil for you since he’s telling it to everyone this morning.” Nicolay looked at the clock. “The hordes are not let in until nine o’clock now, which gives him two hours to think and write.”

  The President was neither writing nor, apparently, thinking, when Seward entered the office. He was seated in his big chair in front of the freshly made fire, feet on the fender and eyes shut. He had still not recovered the weight from the smallpox attack. But his color was normal; and the energy had returned.

  “Sit down, Governor,” he said, opening his eyes and then shutting them again. “I had the most comical dream last night and I was just trying to put myself asleep again so that I could bring on another one as good. By and large, my dreams tend to be on the gloomy side.”

  “What was it?” Seward pulled up a chair so that his own feet could rest on the fender, which meant that he was at least three feet closer to the fire than the President.

  “Well, I dreamt I was in the Blue Room, receiving the folks, as is my Constitutional duty and wondrous pleasure, when people started making offensive remarks about my appearance.”

  “They would not dare!”

  “But dare they did. One said, in a very loud voice, ‘Old Abe is a very common-looking man.’ Well, everyone laughed, and I felt obliged to rise to the challenge. So I then said, ‘Common-looking people are the best in the world: that is the reason the Lord makes so many of them.’ ”

  Seward laughed. “That’s pretty good for a man asleep.”

  “Rather neat, I thought.”

  “I’m also happy to hear that, in your dreams at least, the Lord of Hosts is invoked.”

  “So now you see what stuff my dreams are made of. Yes, Governor, I’ve heard about the circular. No, I haven’t read it, and I’m not going to.”

  “I suppose Chase will now resign—again.” Seward watched Lincoln’s face with his usual fascination—fascination because the expression told him so little of what was going on in the man’s mind.

  “He has written me a letter, which I have read.” Lincoln gave Seward the letter. “I can’t imagine that it’s meant to be private.”

  Seward read the letter quickly; saw the admission of guilt in the sentence: “I had no knowledge of the existence of this letter.” Chase then admitted that although he had several times met with a number of gentlemen who wished to put him forward, he had neither encouraged nor discouraged them. He realized, however, that “if there is anything in my action or position which, in your judgment, will prejudice the public interest under my charge, I beg you to say so. I do not wish to administer the Treasury Department one day without your entire confidence.” Seward put down the letter. “He has resigned.”

  “Not exactly. He wants me to tell him to go.”

  “You won’t?”

  Lincoln sighed. “I understand him, I suppose. You know, Governor, it is a terrible thing when this presidential bug starts to gnaw at a man.”

  “So I’ve been told, Mr. President,” said Seward, cocking his head at the man who had forever displaced him in history.

  “Yes, I reckon you do at that. God knows I know firsthand. We may land here by chance—but it is not for wanting to land.”

  “What will you answer him?”

  Lincoln smiled. “I think I’ll let him stew a bit. I’ve sent him a note to say that when I have the time I’ll give him my views.”

  “I am sure that there is darkness at Sixth and E this morning.” As Seward rose to take his leave, an usher showed in Frank Blair, now in civilian clothes. Seward affected delight at the vision of the Blair clan’s most dashing
villain. Blair was equally insincere. Seward departed.

  Blair also had a copy of the Pomeroy circular in his hand. “Yes,” said Lincoln, “I know all about it.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “That depends, General. That depends.” Lincoln motioned for Blair to sit in the chair just vacated by Seward. Blair moved the chair back from the fire so that he was side by side with the President, who observed, “I don’t suppose you’ll ever get your committee of investigation.”

  “No,” said Blair. “Chase’s people are too strong. But I can still speak out.”

  “Yes, there’s no doubt about that.” Lincoln gazed thoughtfully into the fire. “I had the most comical dream last night …” He began.

  “Was it something to do with perfidy embodied, as I think of Mr. Chase?”

  “No. It was on quite a different tack. I’ll tell you some other time. What is the exact nature of your … evidence of the misdeeds of Mr. Chase and his agents?”

  “I’ve already left a copy of my notes with Mr. Nicolay. There are other pieces of evidence which I prefer to keep to myself for the time being.”

  “I see.” Lincoln cleaned his glasses with the back of a kid glove that had been placed, mysteriously, in a waistcoat pocket. “Now, Frank, it is a very grave matter to suggest that the Secretary of the Treasury is guilty of corruption.”

  “I know it. That is why I think that I now must present a full and detailed account to Congress.”

  “Naturally, this will harm Mr. Chase.”

  “That is the object of the exercise.” Blair indicated the circular which he had let drop to the floor. “In the light of Chase’s treachery to you, do you object?”

  “Well, let us say that, as of today, I am more inclined to study your bill of particulars than I would have been yesterday.” Lincoln stared through the now-polished lenses of his glasses. “Frank, it is one thing to give out legal trade permits to your friends and supporters as patronage, and another to sell them and pocket the money. It is disloyal and unethical of him to do the first but it is not illegal. The second is a crime. Has Mr. Chase committed a crime?”

  Blair nodded. “I believe he has in several instances. But I must admit that it is hard to prove. When Jay Cooke gives him five thousand dollars to help him in his campaign and then Cooke receives, in turn, a higher commission for the war bonds he sells, is that corruption?”

  “It is shadowy, Frank. You wanted to know whether or not I thought you should come back to Congress or stay in the army. I said that if you could become Speaker instead of Colfax, I thought it a good idea. Otherwise, you are more valuable in the field.”

  “Well, it’s all decided now. Stanton has taken away my commission. I am out of the army.”

  Lincoln raised his left eyebrow, which also raised to a normal height the heavy upper lid. “If I sign my name to a piece of paper, you are once again a major-general in command of an army corps.”

  “You would do that?”

  “I think I must do that. Once this problem is unsnarled.”

  “Then I had better present to Congress my charges against Mr. Chase.”

  “If you feel that those charges can be upheld, I think it is your duty, embarrassing as it will be for the Administration.”

  “Oh, I’ll keep my sights on Chase. Don’t worry.”

  “Unfortunately, I am employed by the people to worry about everything. But I think Mr. Chase has made your task—and my embarrassment—a good deal easier with this circular. By allowing himself to be put forward in such a furtive way, he has distanced himself from me …”

  “Distanced? He’s gone and stabbed you under the fifth rib!”

  “Yes.” Lincoln turned and gazed thoughtfully at Blair.

  “I understand you, Mr. President,” said Blair at last.

  “Yes,” said Lincoln,” I think you do, Frank.”

  Blair suddenly grinned. “Monty says the reason why you wanted me to come back to Congress was to destroy Chase.”

  “It is curious how you Blairs see only the darkest motives in men, while I try only to dwell upon the true and the good.” The left eyebrow now suddenly dropped, obliging the left lid to cover, for an instant, the eye. The effect could not have been more like a deliberate wink.

  AT THE State Department, both of Seward’s eyes had shut in a most uncharacteristic blink of amazement. Dan Sickles was stretched out on the sofa, his stump arranged rather unattractively on the bolster that Seward often used as a pillow for his frequent naps. “What,” said Seward, opening his eyes again, “do the letters say?”

  “I haven’t seen them. But Isaac Newton tells me that there are three of them, and that in all three Mrs. Lincoln makes it clear that she has received or expects to receive money for political services rendered.”

  “Dear God in Heaven,” whispered Seward to a deity who, plainly, was capable of anything.

  “They are clever,” said Sickles. “They wait until four months before the Nomination Convention, and then they ask for money, knowing there is no time for the President to maneuver in.”

  “Does he know?”

  “I don’t think so. The infamous Watt knows Mr. Newton, as one farmer knows another. Since Mr. Newton is now head of the Agricultural Bureau with access to the President, Watt approached him. Newton then asked me what to do. As Watt now lives in New York, I said I’d speak to you.”

  Seward nodded. “You did the right thing. We must keep the President out of this.”

  “If we can. He’s the one who’ll have to pay, after all.”

  “How much?”

  “Twenty thousand dollars for the three letters,” said Sickles. “Otherwise they will be published before the Convention, and Mr. Chase will then be nominated.”

  Seward began to whistle to himself, a most imprecise sort of whistle as his pendulous lower lip did not precisely meet the upper. Then he asked, “Does Mrs. Lincoln know?”

  “No.”

  “That’s a blessing. Dan, I want you to go to New York. I want you to have a chat with Mr. Watt. Isn’t he supposed to be in the army?”

  “He was. But now he isn’t. He’s operating a greenhouse. He feels that he was ill-treated over the Wikoff business.”

  “He is apt to be worse treated in this matter.” Seward was prepared to take a considerable gamble. If it failed, the Administration might well be at an end. “When you get to New York, I want you to call on my friend Simeon Draper. You know him?”

  Sickles nodded. “He’s the Seward-Weed man for the city.”

  “That’s one way of putting it, I suppose. He’s generally known as the Collector of the Port of New York. But I do use him for delicate matters. For instance, when I am obliged, as Secretary of State, to order the arrest and detainment at Fort Lafayette of anyone suspected of treason, Mr. Draper arranges the matter quietly with the Superintendent of Police, and the traitor vanishes until such time as I choose to release him—after the election, in this case.”

  Sickles swung his stump to the floor. He smiled, and twirled his moustaches like an actor. “I trust that I will have in my pocket an order for the arrest of one John Watt, who, while at the White House, purloined state papers, and gave them to the enemy?”

  “You will have it as soon as the ink is dry,” said Seward, writing rapidly on his official stationery.

  “What if Mr. Watt has given copies of the letters to others?”

  “They are simply copies—of forgeries. They prove nothing. It is the originals that concern us.” Seward signed his name with a flourish. “The originals you must get from Mr. Watt.”

  “What if he refuses to give them up?”

  “Dan, have you ever been inside Fort Lafayette?”

  “No, Governor, I am happy to say that I’ve only been detained for murder in Washington’s highly civilized if verminous cells.”

  “Well, it’s a fearsome place, the Fort. Ask Mr. Draper to describe it to Mr. Watt in great detail. Also”—Seward rolled a cigar between the
palms of his hands—“a man can simply die of the fever in no time at all in one of those dark, damp, hideous, hopeless dungeons. It is truly amazing how a man can suddenly take ill and just … die, while he’s there in the spidery slithery dark.”

  “Yes, Governor.” Sickles, well pleased, took the warrant and put it in his tunic.

  Five days after the publication of the Pomeroy circular, Frank Blair rose in the House of Representatives and began an attack on what he called the Jacobins in his native Missouri. But as Blair spoke, the powerful voice ringing throughout the chamber, the attack went beyond those Missouri abolitionists who sought to undermine the Administration. “I say here in my place and upon my responsibility as a Representative that a more profligate administration of the Treasury Department never existed under any government, that the whole Mississippi Valley is rank and fetid with the frauds and corruptions of its agents; that ‘permits’ to buy cotton are just as much a marketable commodity as the cotton itself; that these permits to buy cotton are brought to St. Louis and other western cities by politicians and favorites from all over the country and sold on ‘change’ to the highest bidder, whether he is a secessionist or not, and that, too, at a time when the best Union men in these cities are denied permits.”

  Washburne, from his front-row seat, saw that a number of Senators had come over from their side of the Capitol to hear the voice of the Blairs raised against Chase. One was Sprague, who stood at the main door, listening carefully.

  Blair was now attacking the so-called trade stores, which Chase had established in those sections of the seceded states that had been occupied by Federal troops. “These trade stores are given to political partisans and favorites, who share the profits with other men who furnish the capital, Mr. Chase furnishing capital to his friends and partisans in the shape of permits and privilege to monopolize the trade of a certain district.”

  Chase sat at his desk, reading Blair’s speech with a sense that he might, suddenly, burst. “ ‘Some of them, I suppose, employ themselves in distributing that “strictly private” circular which came to life the other day which informs us that the friends of Mr. Chase have been secretly forming an organization in his favor all over the country and which charges the Administration of Mr. Lincoln with corruption. None knew better than the friends of Mr. Chase at whose door does that corruption lie as their efforts to stifle investigation here so plainly prove.’