Lee and Jefferson Davis ascended to the platform. So did Alexander Stephens and Albert Gallatin Brown. The members of the Joint Committee on Arrangements already stood up there. Congressman Rogers had another list in his hand. “Yes, Bishop Johns, your place is up here, as is yours, of course, Judge Halyburton. Colonel Dimmock, you too, if you please, and the President of the Senate, and the Speaker of the House of Representatives, and you, Governor Smith. For our other distinguished guests, we have seats waiting down here at the front.” He pointed to the rows of wooden chairs there, marked off by a gilded rope.
There was only one problem with those wooden chairs—not enough of them had been set out. Senators and members of the Virginia House of Delegates, reporters and congressmen and Cabinet members rowed like Kilkenny cats as they tried to stake out places to sit. Lee watched the unseemly spectacle for a couple of minutes, then turned to Charles Dimmock. “Mr. Chief Marshal, may I beg a favor and ask that my wife be brought up here? Given her infirmity, I fear she may not be altogether safe in that seething crowd.”
“I’ll see to it, sir.” Dimmock leaned over, called a couple of junior marshals to his side. The husky young men pushed their way through the squabbling dignitaries—seeing a minister pull a congressman’s beard, Lee wondered how many duels would arise from the day’s events—make their way to Mary Custis Lee, whom her children had protectively surrounded, and, with the help of her sons, got her and her chair onto the platform.
“Thank you, Robert,” she said. “This is much better for me.” A gust of wind tugged at her bonnet. She snatched up a hand to keep it from being blown away.
When all the chairs were taken and those unable to gain them had been banished beyond the pale of the gilded rope, the band, at a signal from Sion Rogers, fell silent. The congressman shouted, “The Right Reverend Bishop Johns will now ask the Lord’s blessing on this auspicious day.”
The noise from the crowd did not cease, but it did diminish as the bishop, splendid in the glistening silks of his vestments, stepped forward to the edge of the platform. “Let us pray,” he said. Lee bent his head, but not before he saw the wind blow off the bishop’s miter. Johns made a catch a baseball player would have been proud of, set the runaway headgear more firmly in place. Several people cheered.
Ignoring them, the bishop repeated, “Let us pray. Almighty God, guide and protect us in our efforts to perpetuate the principles which, by your blessing, our fathers were able to vindicate, establish, and transmit to us, their posterity. Our hope remains reverently fixed on you, whose favor is ever vouchsafed to the cause which is just. With humble gratitude and adoration, acknowledging the. Providence which has so visibly protected the Confederacy during its brief but eventful career, we trustingly commit ourselves to you, so that, with the continuance of your favor gratefully acknowledged, we may look forward to success, to peace, and to prosperity for our nation. Amen.”
“Amen,” echoed from the crowd as Bishop Johns stepped back. Judge J. D. Halyburton of the Confederate Court at Richmond strode ponderously forward to take his place. The judge had a Bible under his arm. His voice was a bass rumble that suited the massive frame his black robe could not altogether conceaclass="underline"
“The President of the Senate of the Confederate States of America having informed me that Senator Albert Gallatin Brown of the state of Mississippi has obtained a majority of the electoral votes cast for the office of Vice President of the Confederate States of America; I now have the honor to invite Senator Brown here to me, to set his hand upon the Holy Scriptures and take his oath of office.” Judge Halyburton held out the Bible to Brown. “Raise your right hand, sir.”
As his running-mate was formally invested with the Vice Presidency, Lee looked out at the sea of faces, all turned toward the platform. Most were still and attentive, watching and doing their best to hear Brown take his oath. A small commotion a hundred yards away, or perhaps a bit more, drew Lee’s eye—several men were trying to elbow their way closer to the platform through the tightly packed crowd. Lee wondered why; most of them were tall enough to see over the heads in front of them.
Judge Halyburton was booming, “I now have the honor to invite General Lee here to me, to set his hand upon the Holy Scriptures and take his oath of office.”
Lee took off his hat as he walked over to the judge. The wind kicked up again, blowing his coat open. He tried to keep it in place with his arms, and hoped the chilly breeze would not cause him to catch cold.
“Set your hat down for a moment, if you would,” Halyburton said quietly. Lee obeyed, putting his foot down on the edge of the brim so the hat would not flyaway from him. His left hand went onto the Bible. At full volume once more, the judge said, “Raise your right hand.”
Again, Lee obeyed. Then, phrase by phrase, he repeated the Presidential oath: “I, Robert Edward Lee—do solemnly swear—that I will faithfully execute—the office of President of the Confederate States—and will, to the best of my ability—preserve, protect, and defend—the Constitution thereof.” On his own, he added, “So help me God.”
Judge Halyburton’s plump cheeks got plumper as he grinned and stuck out a hand. “Let me be the first to offer you my best wishes, President Lee.”
“Thank you, sir.” Lee retrieved his hat. As if that were a cue, the band played “Dixie” again. The crowed cheered and clapped over the music. Lee used those couple of minutes to review his inaugural address. He hoped it would not slide out of his mind the moment he began to speak. He’d spent the last several days working to memorize it, but knew he lacked the lifelong politician’s gift for storing away long stretches of prose.
The music stopped. The crowd grew…quieter. When Lee decided they were as quiet as they were going to get, he took a deep breath and began, wishing he owned Judge Halyburton’s stentorian tones: “The trust you, the people of the Confederate States of America, have reposed in me makes me all too conscious of my own inadequacies. Further, the great achievements of my predecessor, the illustrious Jefferson Davis, founding President of our happy Confederacy, set a standard I despair of emulating. In the face of formidable odds, he secured for us our independence from the government of the United States, which was determined to deny us our right to such independence. He—”
Just then, the fickle wind flicked his hat out of his hand, leaving him with the unpalatable choice of losing his dignity by letting it blow away or losing his dignity by bending to pick it up. It lay at his feet, as if mocking him. He glared down at it. Before the wind could sweep it off the platform, he stooped down and grabbed it.
Something craacked through the space his head had just occupied. A bullet, the unsleeping soldier’s part of his mind reported. He started to straighten. Another bullet tugged at his coat sleeve, parting the material neat as a scissors.
Judge Halyburton had never seen combat. All through the war, he’d served on the bench in Richmond. But nothing was wrong with his reactions. He swept out a thick arm and knocked Lee off the platform. He stumbled and went to all fours when he hit the ground below. An instant later, the judge crashed down beside him with a cry of pain, blood soaking his robes from a shoulder wound.
Lee leaped to his feet, started to scramble back onto the platform so he could see what was going on—a dignified, even boring, occasion had turned to horror in the wink of an eye. Judge Halyburton grabbed his ankle and held him back, “Stay down here, you damned fool,” he shouted. “It’s you they’re shooting at.”