The Hour of Peril: The Secret Plot to Murder Lincoln Before the Civil War (29 page)

By February 1861, Kane had been marshal of police for barely one year, but already he had made a dramatic impact. The new marshal, wrote one local journalist, “was perhaps the best man in the city for the task confided to him, and the new force organized by him, uniformed and thoroughly drilled, was the best and most efficient the city had ever known. Old abuses were done away with, and the citizens began to look back upon the period of ruffian rule as a terrible nightmare.”

With his reforms still in their early stages, however, Marshal Kane understood that the arrival of Abraham Lincoln in Baltimore would present a harsh test. Conscious of a possible eruption of violence, Kane had already made some questionable decisions. As the
Baltimore American
would report, members of the city’s Republican Committee—“a few hundred men, particularly obnoxious to the people and public sentiment of Baltimore”—were forming plans to greet the president-elect with a ceremonial procession from the Calvert Street Station. Although marches of this type were being staged in every other city on the Lincoln Special’s route, the Baltimore committee was well aware of local feeling against Lincoln and his supporters. Accordingly, they applied to Marshal Kane for police protection. In Kane’s view, a public display of this type was an invitation to disaster. “He advised against the proceeding,” the
American
noted, “assuring the parties that while Mr. Lincoln, in his passage through Baltimore, would be treated with respect due to him personally and to his high official position, there was no guarantee that the proposed procession would be similarly respected.” In fact, as Marshal Kane knew perfectly well, the procession was almost certain to be showered with rocks and rotten eggs, just as earlier Republican marches had been. Kane strongly advised the organizers to abandon their plan, “lest it might provoke some indignity which would involve the character of Baltimore and be very unpleasant to the President-elect.” Kane would even carry this argument down to Washington, where he discussed the matter with prominent Lincoln supporters. To go forward, he feared, would “place the people of Baltimore in a false position, as neither they nor the citizens of Maryland sympathized with Mr. Lincoln’s political views.”

Kane had expressed similar views in a letter to the mayor of Washington, in response to rumors that Baltimoreans were planning to disrupt the inauguration. The mere suggestion, he insisted, ran counter to the “conservative and law-abiding” nature of the city’s residents, who sincerely believed that “the day for mobs and riots in their midst has passed, never to return.” Although the citizens of Maryland were in “strong sympathy with their Southern brethren,” as Kane freely admitted, he rejected any suggestion that they would “tolerate or connive at the unlawful doings of a mob,” or countenance an act of “violence or indignity” toward any public official passing through her borders. “The whole thing is probably a political
canard,
” he said, “receiving a slight coloring of reality from the thoughtless expressions of a class of people who, in times of excitement, are mostly to be found at street corners or in public barrooms.” That being the case, Kane concluded, it would be unnecessary, and perhaps even provocative, to supply Lincoln with an armed escort in Baltimore.

At best, Kane’s comments reflect a naïve and perhaps overweening confidence that his reforms alone would be proof against violence on the day of Lincoln’s arrival. He may well have believed that the crowds at the Calvert Street Station would show due deference to the office of the president, in spite of their hostility toward the man who was about to occupy it, so long as they were not provoked by overt displays of Republican pageantry or military force. Right or wrong, it should be remembered that Lincoln himself had also been at pains to avoid provoking the secessionists with any suggestion of a “martial cortège.” Only a few days earlier, Otis K. Hillard had testified to the Washington select committee that Lincoln would be treated with respect in Baltimore so long as he did not bring a military escort—“which they look upon in the light of a threat.” Seen through this prism, Marshal Kane’s resistance to a procession by local Republicans, which would all but demand a heavy police presence, might be seen as a peacekeeping measure. One can argue the wisdom of such a position, but it does not necessarily stand as an indictment of Kane’s intentions.

There would be many, however, who saw a darker purpose in Kane’s maneuverings. Although the marshal had publicly guaranteed Lincoln’s safety, there were those who believed that Kane, a strong advocate of secession, could not be trusted to do his duty. For Pinkerton, the question of whether Kane was reliable would loom large in the days ahead, as he tried to determine how to proceed in the face of the emerging threat against Lincoln’s life.

Pinkerton’s doubts about Kane had been sparked by a comment from James Luckett, his neighbor at the office on South Street. When Pinkerton mentioned Kane’s vow to see the president-elect safely through the city, Luckett gave a high-handed dismissal. “Oh, that is easily promised, but may not be so easily done,” he declared. “Marshal Kane don’t know any more than any other man, and not so much as some others—but time will tell—time will tell.” Others would go further, claiming that Kane was either actively colluding with anti-Union conspirators or that he would turn a blind eye to their designs.

Now, watching Kane through a haze of cigar smoke at Barnum’s Hotel, Pinkerton hoped for some indication of whether the marshal could be relied upon. As he tried to edge closer without drawing suspicion, Pinkerton could only make out snatches of Kane’s conversation, but these few words seemed to confirm his darkest suspicions. The specifics were not clear, but Pinkerton heard Kane tell his companions that he saw no need for “giving a Police Escort” at some forthcoming event. Pinkerton assumed that Kane was referring to Lincoln’s arrival at the Calvert Street Station, because he knew of no other event “likely to transpire in Baltimore which might require a police escort.” Though Kane had not explicitly said so, Pinkerton took his words to mean that he “would detail but a small police force to attend the arrival,” as opposed to a cordon of armed officers, leaving Lincoln woefully underprotected. As he later explained to his employer Samuel Felton, “[I]t was impossible for Marshal Kane not to know that there would be a necessity for an Escort for Mr. Lincoln on his arrival in Baltimore.” If Kane failed to provide one, Pinkerton concluded, “I should from this time out doubt the loyalty of the Baltimore Police.”

Then, as now, opinions were strongly divided as to whether Kane was actually “disloyal” in the sense that Pinkerton assumed. It seems that Pinkerton never considered—at the time or at any later date—that Kane’s words might have referred to the plans of the Baltimore Republicans for a procession, which the marshal had done so much to discourage. It could easily be argued that any failure to protect the marchers would also, by the same fact, constitute a failure to protect Lincoln. What Pinkerton did not know, however, was that Kane was hatching a private scheme to make good on his guarantee of safe passage, one that would render the necessity of “giving a Police Escort” irrelevant.

Every action that Pinkerton took from this point forward would flow from his belief that the ranking officer of Baltimore’s police force could not be trusted to do to his duty. In other circumstances, Pinkerton would have recognized many of his own characteristics in Kane, who was a secretive man, supremely confident in his own judgment and abilities, and very much accustomed to being in charge. If Kane had not been so outspoken in his support of secession, Pinkerton might have found him to be a useful ally. As matters stood, Pinkerton’s early doubts now hardened into an implacable suspicion, one that never left him. In later years, he would miss no opportunity to describe Kane as a “rabid Rebel” who commanded a police force composed almost entirely of men with “disunion proclivities.” An account published in
Harper’s New Monthly Magazine
toward the end of the decade—based on Pinkerton’s own writings but highly embellished—would carry these suspicions to a new extreme. In this retelling of the events, one of Ferrandini’s men was said to have drawn Pinkerton aside at the height of the drama to deliver a fateful bulletin: “It is determined that that God damned Lincoln shall never pass through here alive!” the detective was told. “The damned abolitionist shall never set foot on Southern soil but to find a grave.” To underscore this declaration, Pinkerton’s informant was said to have added a chilling coda, suggesting that the plot had been sanctioned at the highest levels: “I have seen Colonel Kane, Chief of Police, and he is all right, and in one week from today the North shall want a new President, for Lincoln will be dead.”

In Baltimore, however, Pinkerton offered a far more measured assessment. “He is a man with some fine feelings,” the detective allowed, “but thoroughly Southern, and in that respect unscrupulous.” That being the case, Pinkerton could not be certain which way the marshal would jump at the critical moment. If Lincoln’s life was to be spared, Pinkerton believed he would have to do it himself.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

A SINGLE RED BALLOT

When the train entered the depot, and Mr. Lincoln attempted to pass through the narrow passage leading to the streets, a party already delegated were to engage in a conflict on the outside, and then the policemen were to rush away to quell the disturbance. At this moment—the police being entirely withdrawn—Mr. Lincoln would find himself surrounded by a dense, excited and hostile crowd, all hustling and jamming against him, and then the fatal blow was to be struck.

—ALLAN PINKERTON,
The Spy of the Rebellion,
1883

“THE MAN AND THE HOUR
have met,” announced one local politician as the flag-draped train pulled into yet another depot on the evening of February 16. “The whole city is agog,” declared another. “Crowds are pouring in from every direction.” The journey thus far, observed the
New York Times,
had been “one continuous ovation,” an unbroken chain of stirring speeches from train platforms and hotel balconies, and “rapturous audiences” filled with ladies who were “equally enthusiastic with the gentlemen.”

Though the praise had a familiar ring by this time, in this instance it was being heaped upon Jefferson Davis—“the other President,” as the
Times
referred to him—whose arrival in Montgomery, Alabama, marked the end of his five-day inaugural trip from Mississippi. In two day’s time, while Lincoln continued his halting progress through New York, Davis would take his oath as president of the Confederate States of America. “The time for compromise is past,” Davis declared upon arrival in Montgomery, “and we are now determined to maintain our position, and make all who oppose us smell Southern powder, feel Southern steel.”

The
New York Herald,
while objecting to the warlike tone, nevertheless believed that Davis had acquitted himself well on his inaugural journey, in pointed contrast to Lincoln: “Mr. Davis made five and twenty speeches en route, but we do not hear that he told any stories, cracked any jokes, asked the advice of the young women about his whiskers, or discussed political platforms.” This difference in styles, the
Herald
went on to say, owed much to the fact that Davis was a graduate of West Point and a hero of the Mexican-American War, while Lincoln was merely “a splitter of rails, a distiller of whiskey, a story teller and a joke maker.”

Even as Davis made his triumphant appearance in Montgomery that Saturday, Lincoln found a near disaster looming in upstate New York. Ten thousand people were massed outside Buffalo’s Exchange Street Station as the Lincoln Special approached at 4:30 that afternoon. At trackside, a delegation headed by no less a figure than former president Millard Fillmore stood waiting to receive Lincoln, but the planned exchange of greetings would soon descend into pandemonium. Although the front doors to the station had been barred, with soldiers in position to guard the access points, the eager crowd outside began swarming through the track portals as the train pulled in, resulting in what Henry Villard called “the most ill conducted affair witnessed since the departure from Springfield.”

“As Lincoln’s train approached, the mass of people gathered in the depot became alarming,” reported Buffalo’s
Commercial Advertiser.
“The rush was tremendous. A squad from Company ‘D’ threw themselves around Mr. Lincoln and his immediate party and measurably protected them, but it was impossible to protect anyone else.”

“A scene of the wildest confusion ensued,” wrote Villard. “To and fro the ruffians swayed and cries of distress were heard on all sides.” John Hay saw the soldiers and a line of local policemen struggling valiantly against the surging crowd, but they were soon “swept away like weeds before an angry current.” As Major Hunter leaped down from the train and struggled to open a path to a waiting carriage, Lincoln narrowly escaped being swept into the crush and “macerated” as hordes of people outside the station sought to force their way into a receiving area that was already filled to capacity. By comparison, Hay insisted, “the hug of Barnum’s grizzly bear would have been a tender and fraternal embrace.” Villard believed that Lincoln got through safely only due to the desperation of the small circle of men surrounding him. “The pressure was so great that it is really a wonder that many were not crushed and trampled to death,” he wrote. “His party had to struggle with might and main for their lives.” The truth of his words may be judged by the injury to Major Hunter, who was “crushed violently against the wall, receiving serious injuries.” Hunter came away with a dislocated shoulder, and he would spend the rest of the trip with his arm in a sling. An elderly man in the crowd was also badly pummeled, and before he could be pulled free, he had broken ribs and blood streaming from his nose and mouth. “Women fainted, men were crushed under the mass of bodies, and many others had their bones broken,” reported the
Commercial Advertiser.
“Once out of the depot every man uttered a brief ‘Thank God!’ for the preservation of his life. More with personal injuries were carried away and the fainted women were recovering under a free use of hydrant water.”