They stood in silence for a few minutes. When the conductor ordered passengers aboard, Springfield helped her with the bag and said good-bye. From the platform, he watched the train chug forward. Portia was on her way.
As the caboose left the station, Springfield turned and gazed at the Capitol. Plans called for a female figure-a statue of freedom-eventually to crown its dome. As he walked toward Massachusetts Avenue, Springfield said a quick prayer. He asked that by the time the statue was completed, all of Portia’s people would have their liberty.
Just then, from near the Capitol, Springfield heard a loud commotion. Was it shouting? He took off in a sprint.
“And that’s why we’re going to leave the top off the dome of the Capitol,” said Lincoln, with a big grin on his face. “You men must have proper ventilation!”
The federal soldiers erupted in laughter, cheers, and applause. Rook, Clark, and Grenier stood to the side. The colonel did not like seeing the president in the open, but he could not deny that Lincoln was in fine form. He talked to the troops with an easy camaraderie, demonstrating the political skills that had taken him to the White House.
When the men stationed in the Capitol had heard that Lincoln was coming for an impromptu visit, they streamed out of their temporary homes in the offices and committee rooms of senators and representatives. They assembled on the east side of the building, eager to greet their commander-in-chief. The new arrivals from New York were there, many of them bleary-eyed from a lack of sleep. The soldiers who had come to Washington before them joined in as well.
“Consider yourselves lucky,” said Lincoln when the clamor died down. “Most people have to win an election to take a seat in the House!”
The men howled with delight again.
Grenier scowled. “Can we go now?” she asked. The question sounded like a demand.
Her destination, the new prison in the Old Capitol, was visible across the lawn and on the other side of First Street. Rook had thought about ordering transportation for her, but in the end he decided that they would walk. She did not seem to pose any kind of danger-not with Clark accompanying them on the march down Pennsylvania Avenue.
When they had rounded the Capitol and headed for the prison, they saw hundreds of blue-coated soldiers moving into formation on the eastern front of the building. At first, Rook assumed that they were going to drill. But then a carriage arrived. When it halted, John Hay stepped out, followed by Lincoln. The soldiers cheered him-the heavy majority appeared to be firm Lincoln men. A group of civilians began to gather nearby as well.
With any luck, thought Rook, the threat of Mazorca had passed, just as Grenier had claimed. Nobody had seen him since the day before. He was clearly on the run, with his boardinghouse and refuge raided, his picture distributed, and everyone seemingly on the lookout. Perhaps he had slipped away in the middle of the night. Mazorca could be far from Washington-either gone forever, or possibly biding his time in some local haunt until he believed the city had let down its guard again.
“I cannot listen to this obnoxious man any longer,” snapped Grenier. She turned her back to Lincoln.
“Then don’t listen,” said Rook. “But we aren’t going anywhere for a few minutes.”
The colonel caught the attention of Hay, standing with the president about a hundred feet away. Lincoln’s secretary knew what Rook was thinking. He shrugged his shoulders and threw up his hands, palms open wide, to indicate helplessness.
Just then, Springfield appeared. He was almost out of breath.
“I heard this hubbub from the train station-thought it was worth investigating,” said the sergeant.
“Did you ship the package?” asked Rook.
“Yes. The train left a few minutes ago.”
“Good. Stay here with our friend,” he said, tipping his head toward Grenier. “I want to mingle a bit.”
The crowd was growing larger. Rook estimated that a thousand people gathered in Lincoln’s vicinity, and more kept arriving from the homes and stores nearby. A group of soldiers-a band carrying musical instruments-organized themselves near the steps. Rook walked toward them and climbed up for a better view.
Below, on the lawn, an officer from New York approached Lincoln. They exchanged a few words, and the president nodded.
“I’ve been asked to swear you in,” said Lincoln, speaking as loudly as he could manage. “Would you like that?”
The soldiers burst out in approval. In New York, they had been sworn in for thirty days of service. But that was not long enough. Rook knew that one of their first orders of business in Washington was to swear in for ninety days.
“Before I do, allow me a few words,” said Lincoln. Shushes and calls for quiet rippled through the crowd. Suddenly the racket in front of the Capitol dropped to almost total silence. “I have desired as sincerely as any man that our present difficulties might be settled without the shedding of blood,” said Lincoln. “I will not say that all hope is yet gone, but if the alternative is presented whether the Union is to be broken into fragments and the liberties of the people lost or blood be shed, then I know you will stand for Union.”
The throng roared its approval. The leaders of the Seventh Regiment broke their men into companies. Taking direction from Lincoln, they raised their right hands and swore in the name of God to be good soldiers. When it was done, they cheered again and congratulated each other. The band broke into “Hail Columbia,” and many of the men sang the words. Their voices swelled when they hit the chorus:
Firm, united let us be,
Rallying round our liberty,
As a band of brothers joined,
Peace and safety we shall find.
As Rook hummed the tune, he watched the commander of the Seventh Regiment of New York lead Lincoln toward the Capitol. Apparently they were going to walk its halls. Their progress was slow, as soldiers and civilians approached Lincoln to shake his hand. The officer tried to fend them off, but Lincoln kept obliging. The president seemed utterly at ease. Rook noticed that rather than clenching hands, Lincoln kept grasping men at their fingers. The colonel realized that it was probably the only thing the president could do to prevent his hand from becoming sore from all of the squeezing.
Within a few minutes, Lincoln was near the steps, close to Rook as well as close to the spot from which he had delivered his inaugural address. A crowd continued to swirl around him. From the side, Rook noticed a man of the cloth advance toward the president. He was probably the pastor from one of the churches on Capitol Hill.
His presence reminded Rook of Lincoln’s words on March 4. Toward the end of his speech, the president had commented that both Northerners and Southerners believed that they had justice on their side. If that was true, he said, then both should have the patience in “the Almighty Ruler of nations” to let justice prevail. Yet Lincoln was also resolute: “You have no oath registered in Heaven to destroy the government, while I shall have the most solemn one to ‘preserve, protect, and defend’ it.”
Rook recalled the pledge he had made to himself on that day: he had vowed to protect and defend Lincoln, even with his own life.
When the pastor’s head swiveled briefly in Rook’s direction, a flicker of recognition gripped the colonel. He wore a hat, so Rook could not see the ear. Was it the shape of the chin? A look in the eyes? The pastor turned away before Rook could be sure of anything. Yet something told him to make good on his promise right now.
Mazorca adjusted the brim of his hat another time. It already flopped down well enough to hide his ear, but he wanted to be sure. Staring over his spectacles, which he had let slip to the end of his nose so that they would disguise his face but not distort his vision, Mazorca saw Lincoln standing just fifteen feet away. The president was pumping hands and listening to a soldier say how proud he was to have cast his first presidential vote for him.