Darting through the rain, Stanton made it to Seward’s front door and entered a madhouse. Soldiers milled everywhere. Blood stained the banister leading to the upper floors. One man lay in a pool of blood with a doctor kneeling over him.
“What happened to him?” Stanton asked.
“He’s been slashed the entire length of his back,” the doctor replied. “From the looks of it, perhaps two inches deep.”
Seward’s sixteen-year-old daughter Fanny wiped tears from her eyes as she descended the stairs and staggered to Stanton, falling into his arms.
“It’s my fault,” the girl muttered. “It’s all my fault.”
“What do you mean?” Stanton asked without tolerance for her obvious emotional grief. He held her quivering shoulders at arm’s length.
“If I hadn’t opened the door to papa’s bedroom, the man wouldn’t have gotten in.”
“What man? What are you talking about?” Stanton forced his eyes to widen in shock. “What did this man do?”
“The man who stabbed papa,” Fanny replied, still blubbering.
“Get hold of yourself, child,” Stanton ordered.
“What kind of insensitive fiend are you?” bellowed a tall man with white hair who had just entered the foyer.
Stanton looked over to see Secretary of the Navy Gideon Welles, another cabinet member whom he loathed.
“Fanny just witnessed the stabbing of not only her father but also her brothers and two other men. Of course, she’s crying,” Welles said as he stood next to Stanton, towering over him.
“I’m just trying to learn the facts of this case,” Stanton replied in a huff. When taller men stood close, he always felt inferior which made him livid. In addition, when his emotions took over his asthma erupted. Stanton stifled a wheezing cough before returning his attention to Fanny. He tried to soften his tone. “Please tell me what happened.”
Fanny Seward breathed in and held it as though to compose her thoughts. “There was this loud knocking at the door. Billy answered it—“
“Who’s Billy?” Stanton interrupted.
“Billy Bell, our Negro doorman, he answered the door, and this huge man said something about having medicine—“
“What do you know about this doorman?” Stanton interrupted again. “Has he been in the household long?”
“For God’s sake, let the girl finish,” Welles said with exasperation.
“He said he was from Dr. Verdi,” Fanny continued in a soft, meek voice. “But Dr. Verdi had said nothing to us about more medicine. So Billy tried to tell him to go away but he wouldn’t. Freddie—“
“Who’s Freddie?” Stanton asked. He then remembered Seward’s son Frederick. He attended the afternoon cabinet meeting to represent his father. “Yes, I know, your brother. Go ahead.”
“Freddie heard the commotion and came out of papa’s room to find this man grappling with Billy and forcing his way upstairs.” Fanny paused to put her handkerchief to her wet eyes and look at Welles.
Welles put his large arms around her shoulders. “There, there. You’re doing just fine.”
“The man insisted on seeing papa in person, but Freddie said he was asleep. Then I came out of the room, not knowing what was going on, and said papa was awake and wanted to see Freddie.”
Stanton could not control his asthma any longer. He emitted a long and loud cough. As he wiped his mouth he mumbled, “Well, go on, go on.”
“Then this man pushed passed us all and rushed into papa’s room. It was awful.”
“Both Seward boys, Frederick and Augustus, were stabbed as was a male army nurse and the State Department messenger here on the floor,” Welles filled in as Fanny broke down weeping.
“If I hadn’t opened the door right at that moment the man would have never gotten in. It was all my fault.”
“My dear, this man was insane.” Compassion filled Welles’s voice. “From what all the servants told me, he was a monster with the strength of ten men. Nothing could have stopped him from his foul deed.” Welles glanced at the Secretary of War. “Tell her, Mr. Stanton. It wasn’t her fault.”
Stanton grunted, but he was not interested in Fanny or her story any longer. His attention went to the third floor. Stanton walked up, at first putting his hand on the banister but removing it quickly when his fingers felt a moist tackiness. His nostrils flared with the acrid smell of blood. Stanton looked down to see the banister smeared with blood, now turning a dark brown. When he reached the third floor, he saw Frederick Seward sitting on the floor in a daze, blood flowing from his head. His brother Augustus stood by his side nursing three gashes in his arm. Stanton ignored them and marched into Seward’s bedroom. The male nurse, who had bandages on his neck and head, attended the doctor who bent over the bed. At first, Stanton thought they were just looking at a bundle of bloody sheets until he saw Seward’s head, framed by a leather brace. As Stanton focused on the face, he noticed Seward’s teeth and jawbone exposed through the sagging, slashed cheek.
When Stanton leaned over the bed, Seward’s eyes focused on him. “What have you done?” he whispered.
“Did you recognize the man who attacked you?” Stanton ignored Seward’s question.
“What have you done?”
“Did he say anything to you?” Stanton spoke in a louder voice.
The doctor tugged his arm. “Do this questioning elsewhere, at another time. We have people bleeding to death here!”
“Do you know who I am?” Stanton asked with indignation.
“I don’t give a damn who you are,” the doctor growled. “Get the hell out of here!”