As the entourage crossed Sixth Street, Rook looked at Brown’s Hotel, on his left. This was a headquarters of secessionist sympathy. Southern politicians lived here when Congress was in session. Now they were gone, having abandoned the city in droves over the last several weeks. Still, the hotel was full, just like every place of lodging in the city. When Rook looked into the crowd along the Avenue, he could not fail to notice the large number of carpetbags. Hundreds of people visiting the city simply had nowhere to stay.
Fourth Street came and went, then Third Street, the site of the Washington Hotel and the St. Charles Hotel. After these landmarks, the crowds dwindled. At First Street, the parade found itself at the foot of Capitol Hill, which was really more of a slight rise on a flat landscape than something deserving the honorific of “Hill.” It was as if the politicians who worked atop its low summit could not resist exaggerating even this simple fact of geography. Rook felt safer near the grounds of the Capitol, where there were fewer buildings to hide conspirators. In the distance, he saw a few pieces of light artillery-an extravagant gesture, he thought, but one that Scott himself had insisted upon in case there was actually an organized attack on the new president.
The procession now turned off the Avenue and circled to the left. Minutes later, the presidential carriage halted on the north side of the Capitol, where a temporary covered passage protruded about one hundred feet from a doorway leading into the building. Lincoln had barely stepped off the vehicle before Buchanan offered him his arm, and then they were hustled down this corridor. Rook waited for them to disappear. Then he dismounted and entered the Capitol himself.
The entrance was on the Senate side of the building. Inside, several attendants brushed off Lincoln and Buchanan to remove the dust that had collected on their clothes during the ride. There was a mad scramble all around them to get in position for the formal movement onto the platform where Lincoln would give his speech and take the oath. Senators, congressmen, Supreme Court justices, the diplomatic corps, and guests all had to take their assigned places.
Rook had assigned soldiers to guard the windows above the platform. He decided to make sure they were in position. He left the Senate chamber, turned left, and climbed a staircase. As he was going up, a man was dashing down-a late arrival frantic to take his place in the procession. The rest of the building was empty except for the soldiers at the posts. Everything was as he had expected it.
Peering from a window, Rook saw thousands of people gathering to hear Lincoln’s speech. They stood shoulder to shoulder, covering acres of ground. Some had scrambled up the leafless trees for a better view. There were plenty of troops among them too. All looked well.
At the last window he intended to check, Rook came upon a bright-eyed soldier. “Any trouble here, Private?” he asked.
“No, sir.”
Rook looked outside again. Dignitaries were filing out of the rotunda and onto the platform. Suddenly Lincoln appeared. His back was to Rook, but there was no doubt about his identity. He stood several inches taller than the people around him. There was also that hat. And then there was the applause-wild cheers the likes of which Rook had not heard all day. If the crowd on the Avenue had treated Lincoln coolly, here it adored him. These were his people. Rook realized he probably did not need troops in this throng. If any person tried to harm Lincoln, he would be swarmed by a mob of avengers. This was the climax of the inauguration, the moment when Scott had speculated Lincoln would be most vulnerable to an assassin. Rook suddenly understood that Lincoln had never been so safe. He felt a tremendous sense of relief. It had been impossible to rehearse for this day, and now for the first time he was confident the inauguration would be peaceful.
He stepped away from the window and leaned against the wall. He took off his hat and rubbed his forehead. The soldier across from him was still standing at attention. The whole point of his being here was to make sure another man with a gun would not be. His job was done too.
“Shall we listen to the inaugural?” asked Rook.
“Yes, sir!” The young man was excited at the invitation.
They watched Edward D. Baker introduce Lincoln. He was a senator from Oregon and also one of the incoming president’s closest friends. Rook and the private strained to detect his voice above occasional gusts of wind blowing by the Capitol. It was just possible to hear him, but listening demanded total concentration.
When Baker finished, Lincoln rose to loud applause. From the corner of his eye, Rook noticed the private wore a huge grin-he was obviously a supporter. Lincoln removed his hat, but then realized that he did not have enough hands to hold his hat and protect the pages of his speech from the wind at the same time. He appeared uncertain about what to do. Then a stocky little figure on the stage got up. This was Stephen Douglas, the man Rook had supported for the presidency. The senator took the president’s hat and returned to his seat.
The exchange took place a few feet behind the edge of the platform, and Rook was not sure how many people in the crowd saw what had just happened. That small gesture astonished him. Lincoln’s greatest political rival had come to the rescue. Lincoln was a few lines into his speech before Rook even noticed he had started speaking, he was so struck by what Douglas had done.
Yes, thought Rook to himself, I would take a bullet for Lincoln.
FOUR
THURSDAY, MARCH 14, 1861
“This man is gonna help us, Lucius! It can feel it! All the slaves been talkin’ about it!”
Lucius looked at the short woman standing before him in the foyer. She was trying to speak in a soft voice but could not keep from raising it. This was Nelly, the neighborhood busybody. She had come from next door to borrow a cup of sugar. She was always doing that. Lucius doubted that she really needed the sugar. She just wanted to talk.
“I tell you again, Lucius: he’s gonna to help us!”
“How’s he gonna to do that?”
“He’s gonna to come down here and free us! Why else would all the white folks be so upset? I’ve lived through a bunch of these presidents, Lucius, and sometimes the white folks get upset about them. But they ain’t never been upset like they upset now. This is a whole new kind of upset!”
“Lower your voice!” said Lucius in a sharp whisper. He turned to look at the staircase leading upstairs, as if he expected Bennett to come down and scold him for listening to Nelly’s nonsense. He knew his master was waiting for a guest who would arrive soon.
Lucius was used to Nelly’s nattering. She seemed to know everybody on the Battery-and everything, too. Nelly had opinions on most subjects and enjoyed sharing them with anyone who at least would pretend to listen. It always amazed Lucius how she talked with such certainty about things she could not possibly know. Today it seemed as if she had sat in on a dining-room conversation with the Lincolns the night before.
“He’s gonna to help us, Lucius,” said Nelly again. “Hear me now. That man Lincoln is gonna to come down here and let our people go, like Moses did to Pharaoh.”
“What makes you think a white will ever care enough about a black to do that?”
“Lucius, I know of whites right here in Charleston who would free the slaves.”
“You’re crazy, Nelly.”
“I ain’t fibbin’.”
“Maybe Lincoln is a good man. But there ain’t a single white person in Charleston who cares about the slaves, except to make sure they do what they’re told.”
“Have you heard of the Underground Railroad?”
“Of course, Nelly. Don’t say it so loudly.”