The Spymistress (7 page)

Lizzie felt faint. “Have the rebels placed any soldiers there?”

“I surely don’t know, but the Yankees don’t either.” Nelson squinted at the distant river, shaking his head. “My nephew says with them odds, no gunboat captain would risk his ship and his crew just for the chance to shell a small city like ours, not even if he was drunk or insane.”

As evening fell and the bewildered, disappointed, relieved citizens of Richmond abandoned their lookout posts, descended Church Hill, and returned to their homes, Lizzie stepped out onto the rooftop again and looked to the east until the sun set. She saw flickering campfires along the riverbanks down by Rocketts Wharf, where the city’s defenders had bivouacked for the night, but the
Pawnee
never appeared.

A quiet night passed, and in the morning, William went out after breakfast for the papers and brought the
Dispatch
to Lizzie on the back piazza. A bold headline caught her eye: “The Excitement Yesterday.”

“Shall I read to you how the
Dispatch
accounts for the invasion that wasn’t?” she called to Mother, who was cutting flowers in the garden and laying them carefully in a basket.

“No need, dear,” she called back. “I was there.”

Lizzie smiled and read on silently. “In times like these we must be prepared for any emergency, and every rumor deserves careful and considerate attention,” the article declared, but to Lizzie the affirmation read like an embarrassed apology on behalf of a city that had flown into a panic at the first sign of real danger. The city of Richmond—and perhaps the entire state of Virginia—was woefully unprepared for war. And so would she be if she relied upon the papers and the gossip of the streets for information, never knowing for certain what events were unfolding in her own city. She must see for herself.

As soon as she could get away, Lizzie crossed the street to the Carrington residence and rapped upon the door. When Eliza appeared, she smiled brightly and inquired, “Shall we see if any new gunboats or vice-presidents have come to town?”

Soon the pair were strolling around Capitol Square, market baskets dangling from the crooks of their elbows. Watching and listening intently to the conversation and activity flowing around them, they soon learned that Vice President Stephens had arrived in Richmond before dawn that morning, that he was staying at the Exchange Hotel, and that he was at that very hour in conference with the governor and his most important advisers. They also discovered to their consternation that the
Pawnee
had never even set out upon the James the previous day, but had been steaming up the Chesapeake between Norfolk and Washington all the while Richmond was scrambling to prepare for its arrival. Meanwhile, residents of outlying villages had experienced their own version of the previous day’s panic, having heard that the Pawnee Indians had invaded the city and were viciously scalping and tomahawking its citizens.

“Rumors,” Lizzie murmured in disgust. “They will be the death of me.”

“How do such tales get started?” Eliza wondered, setting down a bunch of leeks after barely glancing at them.

“Usually with some small grain of truth, but to discern that grain from all the others...” Lizzie lowered her voice. “We should purchase something, you know, so that people don’t begin to wonder why we’re wandering about with empty baskets.”

Eliza purchased the leeks, while Lizzie selected a bunch of radishes, delectably red and shiny, with lush greens. They left the market and strolled around the Capitol, where there might be more to learn. They had just decided to turn toward home when a carriage pulled up in front of the elegant new Spotswood Hotel at the corner of Eighth and Main, a jubilant crowd of men and boys and even a few ladies following close behind. When a gentleman in his midfifties clad in a tall silk hat and fine suit stepped from the carriage, a smattering of applause broke out, which he politely acknowledged with a modest bow, his expression bemused. Although his hair was turning gray, his thick, full mustache was nearly black, his figure trim and strong, his bearing dignified.

As three other gentlemen escorted the newcomer into the Spotswood, Eliza gasped and seized Lizzie’s arm. “I know him,” she exclaimed. “He’s acquainted with my uncle, and we met at the White Springs Resort last summer. That’s Mr. Lee.”

“The colonel? Robert E. Lee?”

“I don’t suppose he’s a colonel anymore. He resigned his commission after Virginia voted to secede. He said—oh, what was it? It was in all the papers—that despite his devotion to the United States, he could not bring himself to raise his hand against his family and the people of Virginia. He said that he would never again draw his sword except in defense of his native state, and then he retired to his home in Alexandria.”

That would explain the adulation and the civilian attire. “He has come out of retirement, it seems,” Lizzie said, watching as Mr. Lee and his entourage disappeared inside.

Chapter Four

APRIL–JUNE 1861

S
oon thereafter, all of Richmond would learn that on the afternoon Lizzie and Eliza witnessed Robert E. Lee checking into the Spotswood Hotel, Governor Letcher bestowed upon him the rank of major general and offered him command of the whole of Virginia’s military and naval forces. Mr. Lee readily accepted, the state convention swiftly approved the appointment, and on the morning of April 23, he was formally inducted at the Capitol. The newspapers reported the day’s momentous events in rapturous language, and even Lizzie, dismayed though she was by his choice of allegiance, could not fail to be impressed and moved by his solemn humility: “I accept the position assigned me by your partiality,” he had said. “I would have much preferred had the choice fallen upon an abler man. Trusting in Almighty God, an approving conscience, and the aid of my fellow citizens, I devote myself to the service of my native State, in whose behalf alone will I ever again draw my sword.”

At last Lizzie and Mary found a rare subject on which they could agree: Robert E. Lee was a brilliant choice to lead Virginia’s armed forces, his love of Virginia and his nobility of spirit were inspiring, and he would pose a formidable challenge to any Union opponent who dared face him. “I wish he were on our side,” Lizzie grumbled to John, who heartily agreed.

Things were moving too quickly, one heart-stopping event following another like boulders tumbling down a hillside. The day after General Lee was put in charge of Virginia’s military, Confederate vice-president Stephens and a convention committee led by the aged former United States president John Tyler signed a treaty proclaiming that Virginia would adopt the Confederate constitution and place all its military resources under Confederate control.

Lizzie was badly shaken when it was all said and done. She blinked back tears when the papers reported that John Minor Botts, a Unionist Whig she had long admired, had declared the signing of the treaty illegal under state law, a courageous act with so many powerful enemies arrayed against him. When his protests were summarily dismissed, Mr. Botts had withdrawn to his rural home two miles northwest of the Capitol.

Indignant, Lizzie and her mother called on him at Elba Park to express their sympathy and enduring admiration, and they were heartened to find that despite the sudden and dramatic downturn in his political fortunes, he remained stubbornly Unionist. They spent a pleasant afternoon doing their best to raise the spirits of Mr. Botts and his wife, but as they departed, Mr. Botts kindly but firmly discouraged them from calling on him again. “I am carefully observed, day and night,” he said, nodding across the street to a placid, round-faced man in a gray suit who stood watching them over the top of a newspaper.

“Was he there when we arrived?” Mother asked, watching the man from the corner of her eye.

“Yes, and he’ll be there long after you depart, and around six o’clock, a skinny fellow with a scraggly, tobacco-stained beard will replace him.” Mr. Botts’s thick, unruly brows knitted and his stern features softened with regret. “I’m grateful for your friendship, good ladies, but your kindness imperils you. You must not seem too fond of me, or of my unpopular opinions.”

Lizzie and her mother bade him a sad farewell, uncertain when they might meet again. They departed for Church Hill without a single glance for the man in the gray suit studying them from across the street.

President Jefferson Davis must have ordered troops into Virginia the moment it joined the Confederacy, for it seemed that the ink on the treaty had scarcely dried before troops from South Carolina began to arrive in great numbers, setting up encampments at strategic points throughout the city and providing entertaining distraction to its residents. The press hailed the heroes of Fort Sumter as “an invincible and heroic race of men” and “perfect gentlemen in every respect,” and indeed all who beheld them were impressed by their smart, dashing uniforms, their military ardor, and their bold, sun-browned, manly countenances. To Lizzie’s disgust, the ladies of Richmond became thoroughly smitten, and in pairs and in crowds, they met the troops at the train station, eagerly attended every evening dress parade, and visited the camps to deliver the shirts, uniforms, and tents they had sewn, as well as tasty delicacies from their kitchens and gardens. The
Dispatch
praised the ladies as ministering angels who “have demonstrated their faith by their works. All honor to them,” and singled out the women of Church Hill for not only providing necessary supplies, but also for nursing soldiers who had fallen ill
.

Mary, recognizing herself, proudly clipped the article from the paper and pasted it in her scrapbook. “You could join us,” she reminded Lizzie and Mother. “We could use your help. The other Church Hill ladies wonder why you refuse.”

“What do you tell them?” Mother inquired.

“That you’re indisposed.” Mary shrugged helplessly. “What else could I say? Would you have them believe you’re lazy or disloyal? Forgive me, but your disinterest reflects badly upon all of us.”

Lizzie wanted to retort that she
was
loyal, and keenly interested, but she managed a tight smile and said, “Thank you for making our excuses.”

“I do what I can for the sake of the family,” said Mary, returning her attention to her scrapbook, “but people are beginning to talk.”

Militia companies and untrained recruits from throughout Virginia followed quickly after the South Carolinians. The first regiments set up tents and training fields at the old fairgrounds on West Broad Street, a rough settlement dubbed Camp Lee. Soon thereafter, one hundred and eighty-five cadets from the Virginia Military Institute arrived from Lexington fully armed, equipped, and prepared for war, bringing along a battery of nine field pieces, including a rifled cannon. After setting up quarters at the fairgrounds and undergoing a laudatory review by the governor on Capitol Square, the cadets began training the volunteers, many of whom were old enough to be their fathers. Leading the young drillmasters was a tall, dark-bearded major named Thomas J. Jackson, who was reputed to be somewhat awkward and peculiar, but also a brilliant strategist and a particular favorite of Governor Letcher as well as General Lee, with whom he had served in Mexico. Rumors of the gentlemen’s admiration were quickly proven true, for soon after his arrival, Thomas Jackson was promoted to colonel and placed in command of Harpers Ferry, a crucial outpost General Lee was determined to defend.

Richmond already seemed full to bursting, but the population continued to swell as Virginians who had been visiting or working in the North fled south, seeking sanctuary in their native state. Before long, the strain of welcoming so many strangers began to wear on the residents of Richmond. Even the newspapers, which generally regarded the city’s transformation into an armed camp with euphoric approval, began to draw attention to the potential danger. The
Examiner
warned that “Richmond contains at present a large number of secret enemies of the South, in petticoats as well as pantaloons” who must be watched closely lest they pass useful information to their cronies in the North.

The Richmond city council evidently shared their concerns, for they passed an “Ordinance Concerning Suspicious Persons” decreeing that any citizen who suspected another of entertaining or expressing dangerous sentiments must inform the mayor. Lizzie could not help but think of the numerous letters she had written to her sister Anna in Philadelphia describing the changes secession had wrought within their beloved city. If her letters were intercepted, a malicious person could twist an ordinary conversation between sisters into something sinister and treasonous. Henceforth she would have to censor herself, and warn Anna to choose her words carefully too.

The city council’s halfhearted attempt to prevent overzealous Southern patriots from forming anti-Unionist vigilante mobs by obliging the mayor to suppress the creation of vigilance committees did nothing to ease Lizzie’s anxieties. Under the new ordinance, any neighbor with a grudge could inform on any other, since believing that the accused “entertained dangerous sentiments” was sufficient grounds for arrest.

“If I am to be prosecuted,” Lizzie said defiantly, pacing the length of the parlor while her mother knitted in her chair by the window, “may it be for something I do—some bold, brave action in defense of the Union—and not merely for what I
feel
.”

“I would prefer that you not be prosecuted at all,” said Mother, shuddering. “Remember Mr. Botts’s wise council and be cautious.”

“How could I forget?” Lizzie went to the window and peered outside, glowering at the bunting and banners proudly adorning nearly every window and door frame and flagpole up and down the street. A sudden movement caught her eye, and she turned just in time to glimpse a tall figure disappearing behind the broad trunk of an oak tree in a neighbor’s garden. She waited for him to emerge on the other side, but he did not reappear. Unsettled, she watched awhile longer before concluding that her anxious mind was playing tricks on her, and as she turned away from the window, she silently berated herself for imagining phantoms and villains where none existed. She must be strong, clear-eyed, and skeptical, and must never allow her nerves to get the better of her. She would need every scrap of her wits about her in the days to come.