“President Lincoln, members of the Cabinet, please forgive this interruption. But I know that you will want to hear the contents of this telegram.” He lifted it and read.
“Quebec is taken, the enemy is routed. Signed, General Sherman.”
In the silence that followed the President’s quiet words were clearly heard by all present.
“It is over then. The war is won.”
A UNION TRIUMPH
Oh the sound of it! Oh the glory of it!
Men shouted, children shrieked, churchbells rang on every side. People cheered themselves hoarse, then croaked on, happily unaware.
Victory shouted aloud, cried aloud, sung aloud. The British power broken with the fall of Quebec. The streets filled as the word was passed. Victory! The day, which had started damp and cold, turned warm with the warmth of victory, shone with the sun of success.
The crowds gathered outside the White House, calling loudly for the President.
“I must go out and talk to them, Mary,” Lincoln said.
“Not in that old wrinkled black suit, not on this day of jubilee.”
She prevailed upon the President to put aside his soiled and rusty black suit for at least this one day. The new suit was black swallow-tailed and made of the finest broadcloth, his linen shirt white and crisp, his foulard the finest silk from Paris.
“I am so proud of you, Father,” Mary said, clasping her hands and smiling. He returned her smile, pleased to see it there, for she had rarely smiled since Willie’s death. She had also abandoned her black garb, at least for this day, and was wearing a white silk ball dress decorated with hundreds of small black flowers.
They went hand in hand to the balcony and the crowd roared its approval. There was nothing he could say: if he spoke none could possibly hear. But they waved and smiled until, after some minutes, they felt the chill. Also the first of many carriages was coming up the drive as they went inside.
The Cabinet members had found their way to the Green Room, where they were joined by a troop of senior Senators from the Hill. The walls echoed with the sounds of mutual admiration and good cheer. Hay pushed his way
through and caught Lincoln’s eye.
“It’s the Russian Ambassador.”
“The baron with the unpronounceable name?”
“Yes, sir. Baron Stoeckl. He wants to offer his congratulations.”
“After what the British did to the Russians in Crimea I imagine he does.”
The baron was elegantly garbed and bore a soup plate-sized golden decoration around his neck. He seized Lincoln’s hand and worked it like a pump handle, so strenuously did he do this that his wig threatened to be displaced.
“May I extend my congratulations, Mr. President, my heartiest congratulations on your victory in the field of battle.” He stepped aside and indicated the elegantly garbed military man behind him. “May I introduce you to Admiral Paul S. Makhimov who is here with flagship, a coincidental but wonderfully timed visit.”
The admiral had a calloused hand and a firm grip, but a limited command of English. “You sink the sheeps, I sink Angleski sheep. Da!”
“The admiral is referring to his victories at sea during the last war.”
Lincoln extracted his hand with some difficulty and nodded agreement. “We have indeed sunk a great number of ships.”
A touch on his arm drew him away. “Mrs. Lincoln would like you to join her in welcoming the guests,” Nicolay said.
As more and more well-wishers crowded into the White House an impromptu reception line was being formed. Lincoln greeted them all with a quick word or two and a handshake. Mary, who did not relish the thought of touching so many people, held a bouquet before her in her folded hands. Nodded and smiled.
Politicians and their ladies for the most part, although there were some generals, and the one Russian admiral; most of the military officers were still in the field or at sea. There were of course the foreign dignitaries and ambassadors, as well as local residents of note.
“It is a proud day,” Miss Bettie Duvall said.
“It certainly is,” Mary Todd Lincoln said, her voice now more Southern-Todd than Yankee-Lincoln. “Have you been keeping well?”