Most of them had heard the story before, but they still laughed. The tea was nice, the little cakes sweet, and the gossip even sweeter.
There was a sharp knock at the door of the Green Room and it was thrown open.
“Mother, I must tell you — ”
“Robert, such a hurry, that’s not like you.” Her son was down from Harvard for a few days; no longer a boy, she thought. He had filled out during the year that he had been away.
There was more than one giggle and he flushed. “Mother, ladies, I am sorry to burst in like this. But you must all leave the Presidential Mansion at once.”
“Whatever do you mean?” Mary asked.
“The British, they are coming, they are attacking the city.”
Mary did not drop the teapot, but forced herself to set it down gently instead. A lieutenant ran in through the open door.
“Mrs. Lincoln, ladies, we got a telegraph, they were sighted in the river, they are coming! The British — a flotilla, coming up the Potomac.”
There was silence. The words were clear — but what did they mean? British ships in the Potomac and moving on the nation’s capital. There were hurrying footsteps in the hall and Secretary of War Stanton pushed in; he must have rushed over from the War Department building just across the road.
“You have heard, Mrs. Lincoln. The British are on their way. I blame myself for not thinking of this — someone should have. After their attack from the north we should have seen history repeating itself. We should have realized, thought more about 1812, they seem to fight their wars in a most predictable way.”
Mary suddenly realized what he was talking about. “They attacked Washington then, burnt the White House!”
“They did indeed and I am sure that they intend to repeat that reprehensible deed yet again. You must get your son down here at once. We should have a little time yet, pack some light bags…”
“I’ll fetch my brother,” Robert said. “You get the ladies moving.”
She was too disturbed to think straight. “You want us to flee? Why? Mr. Lincoln has reassured me many a time about the defenses that guard this city from attack.”
“Did guard, I am most unhappy to say. With the onset of the cease-fire we felt that they could be withdrawn, sent to the aid of General Grant. I blame myself, for I of all people should have considered all of the consequences, that is my duty. But like all the others I thought only of the fate of Grant and his troops. Almost all of the Washington garrison is now on its way north. Even the Potomac forts are undermanned.”
“Recall them!”
“Of course. That is being done. But time, it takes time. And the British are coming. Gather your things, ladies, I beg of you. I will arrange for carriages.”
Stanton hurried out past the waiting officer who turned to Mrs. Lincoln again. “I’ll send some troopers to help you, ma’am, if that’s all right.”
“Come, Mary, we have things to do,” Cousin Lizzie said.
Mary Lincoln could not move. It was all too sudden, too shocking. And she felt one of her headaches coming on, the big ones that put her to bed in a darkened room. She closed her eyes and tried to will it away. Not now, not at this time.
“Stay here a moment,” Mrs. Edwards said, putting a protective arm about her sister. “I’ll get Keckley, Robert is fetching Tad. I’ll have her bring the bags right down here. Then we’ll think about packing some things. Lieutenant — how much time do we have?”
“One, maybe two hours at the most before they get here. No one seems to rightly know. I think it’s best we get going now.”
Robert led Tad in; the boy ran to his mother and put his arms around her. Mary hugged him back, felt better for it. Keckley, more of a friend now than the Negro seamstress they had hired, looked concerned.
“We have some time,” Mary said. “To get away from the White House before the British arrive. Help the ladies pack some clothes for a few days.”
“Where will we go, Mrs. Lincoln?”
“Give me a moment to think about that. Please, the bags.”
Everyone in Washington seemed to know about the approaching ships and panic was in the air. All of the churchbells were ringing, while men on horseback galloped through the streets, a menace to those on foot. In the street just outside the White House a horse had gotten out of control, maddened by the frenzied whipping of her owner, and had crashed carriage and driver into the iron fence about the grounds. The man sat on the cobbles, holding his bleeding head and moaning. On any other day passersby and guards would have hurried to his aid; today he was ignored. The panic was spreading.
The Secretary of War was not the kind of man who lost control easily. Once he had arranged transportation for Mrs. Lincoln, and put a reliable officer in charge of the operation, he put them completely out of his mind. And the rest of the war as well. The defenses of the city took first priority. A glutton for work, he stood behind his tall desk, without a chair, and issued the orders for the defense of the city.
“Any word of the President?” William Seward, the Secretary of State, asked as he hurried in, pushing his way through the crowd of officers.