Grant Comes East - Civil War 02 (47 page)

"Still, to have taken that ground and then lost it."

Lincoln, feeling exasperated, lowered his head, not letting the outburst come.

He had learned that as well in recent weeks. To concentrate solely on what was of the moment, and what would win this campaign and, from that, the war. Grant had impressed that upon him. Hundreds of thousands of troops had been used up these last two years in scattered operations that in the long term might bring results, but as of this moment were nothing but wasted efforts. So what if Port Hudson fell back into enemy hands? The statement had already been made that, so willing, the Union could take the entire Mississippi basin and do it again. A thrust by a desperate force might for the moment look fancy in the newspapers, but better for the Confederacy if those ten thousand men involved were here, in front of Washington, or at least moving to contain Sherman, who continued to sweep through Tennessee, bent on linking up with Rosecrans.

As for this defense of Washington, the panic of the previous month had faded. Food moved freely up the Potomac, as did troops. Gideon's brown-water navy moved up and down the river at will. There had been some concern that Lee might try to cut down to the east, to place Alexandria under bombardment, but again it was Gideon who pointed out that half a dozen Columbiads could do little, and to move his forces in that direction would place him twenty miles farther away from Baltimore, from Sickles, and from Grant.

Heintzelman had also been in a bit of a panic over that threat Lincoln had said nothing, but his patience was indeed wearing thin with the man. His last dispatch to Grant had expressed that, and he sensed that when the time came, Grant would address that problem as well.

The Cabinet started to talk among themselves again, used now to his silent lapses, filling the space until he bestirred himself again.

Finally he looked up.

"Gentlemen, I think that is all for today. If Lee should launch an all-out assault, I will call for you to discuss the situation, but I seriously doubt that will happen now. Yet again I must caution you. Calmness, gentlemen, calmness at all times. Remember, how we act is observed by others. If we should appear rattled, it would spread like a flash throughout the city, and we do not want that Regardless of what the newspapers say, what Congress says, what anyone says, it is our example at this moment that will set the mood for this city. Go about your business as usual."

The group stood up to take their leave. Lincoln made eye contact with Stanton and nodded for him to stay. The secretary of war came over to the chair by Lincoln's side and sat down as the others left, several of them looking back, curious as to what might transpire.

Lincoln smiled, trying to set him at ease.

"I'll come straight to the point, Edwin. I feel you do not like our General Grant and his plans."

The secretary of war ruffled slightly.

"Honestl
y, Mr. President, I don't He is taking a risk here."

"Edwin, it has always been you who told me war is risk."

"Yes, sir. But to risk the capital? Twenty thousand more men in this city would secure it beyond all doubt."

"I do not want Washington secure beyond all doubt," Lincoln replied calmly.

"Sir?"

"Just that"

"I don't follow you."

"Ever watch a cat in the barn, sitting on a beam, waiting for a mouse?"

"No, sir," Edwin replied coolly. Obviously he was not one to appreciate Lincoln's homespun examples.

"He only sits there because he thinks he can get the mouse. If there were no mouse, he would not stay." "Sir?"

"We're the mouse, Edwin. If Lee did not feel that he had some hope of taking this city, he would not be here. That is what we want. Heaven forbid if after all this, come autumn, Lee withdraws back into Virginia. He will escape, having savaged the Army of the Potomac. He might even detach Longstreet or Hood to regain the situation in Tennessee. And then we face another long, hard campaign next spring. Given the reversal at Union Mills, if we face a protracted campaign next year, I daresay that you, I, the whole kit and caboodle, will be out come next November. Our political opponents, both North and South, see that now.

"In the South they are hoping for a victory by the end of autumn. They thought they might have had it on that terrible night of July 4, but we stayed the course. Grant and that railroad man Haupt have worked a miracle across the last five weeks. Now we must continue to stay the course. We have shown Lee that even if he defeats an army, it does not mean he has won the war.

"The days of single great victories deciding wars are forever over. War now is the will of nations, of ordinary people. Granted, few in the North fully endorse our efforts. Many would rather walk away, but as long as we can hold but a quarter of the populace to our side, as long as we can hold four hundred thousand patriots in our ranks, we can prevail. But that means risk as well, and I'm willing to gamble Washington for that chance."

"Has Grant shared his thoughts with you?" Stanton replied sharply.

"Not fully. He was willing to, but I told him I trusted his judgment.

"As long as he holds the trust I've given him, I will leave him to do his job unless he obviously fails. Our job at the moment is to take the heat. If some senators want to run off, half-cocked, crying about defeat, let them. And let us hope that come next election, after we have won, their cries are remembered."

"If there is a next election."

Lincoln raised a quizzical eyebrow.

"There is the smell of Napoleonism around Grant," Stanton said sharply. "He keeps his own counsel. He has followers in the ranks that are too worshipful. I prefer to know what he is doing."

"Edwin. Say that about McClellan or even Hooker, and I might have listened. But not Grant. He is as common as prairie dirt. The same as me."

Lincoln chuckled softly at the analogy, and Stanton did not reply.

"I will ask you a direct question, Edwin, and will only ask it once."

"Sir?" There was a slight nervous tone to his voice.

"Will you support me, and will you support Grant to the utmost in the weeks to come? The crisis is upon us. In the next six weeks we shall either win or lose this war. There can be no half measures. General Lee is a formidable foe. He might not follow at all the path we assume. He rarely does. If Lee should at least hold even in the coming battles, or even escape back into Virginia, there to present a strong front yet again, I fear that the defeat at Union Mills, and what Seward has told us about France, might collapse our political base once and for all. It might prove to be impossible to sustain the fight come next spring, and the bitter harvest of death that more fighting will create. So, my friend, will you support me?"

Edwin sighed.

"Of course, sir."

"Good then."

Lincoln studied him carefully. The look in his eyes, the flat crease of his lips—he wondered what Edwin might say later to Seward. But at least he had wrung out of him this concession of the moment Though he did not voice it, nor would he voice it to anyone, he had reached a decision about

Stanton: Either he fully supported the campaign to come, or he was out of a job, no matter what political heat that might generate.

The windowpanes rattled yet again from the bombardment, and neither man spoke.

Along
the
Susquehanna

August
15,
1863 7:30
p.m.

Th
e coup had gone flawlessly. A dozen of his troopers, posing as farmers driving cattle, accompanied by several patriotic young women of Baltimore dressed in homespun and acting like frightened young wives, had come to the southwest bank of the river in mid-afternoon. They had signaled the ferryman on the opposite shore, who had, at first, refused to cross over. One of the men had then swum the river, and, gaining the northern bank, had offered the man five dollars in gold to help save their cattle from the "damn rebels." The man had complied and, once on the southern bank, was confronted by a dozen grinning troopers with revolvers.

The first dozen went across, seized a second ferryboat, and by dusk an entire regiment was across the river, fanning out, setting up a cordon. A third ferry had been seized as well, which even now was bringing over a battery of horse artillery.

Wade Hampton, standing on the north bank of the Susquehanna River, was filled with pride. His boys had pulled it off without a shot being fired. Even now, the town of Lancaster, but a dozen miles away, was unaware of what would come sweeping down upon them by dawn, a full brigade of Confederate cavalry, hell-bent on raiding, disrupting, and sowing panic.

The campaign was on again, and after the bucolic three weeks in Baltimore he was eager for the fight His orders from General Lee personally had been clear and concise.

They were no longer in need of supplies, Maryland had yielded up her bounty to them, and the lean, hungry Army of Northern 'Virginia was a thing of the past. His job, first and foremost, was intelligence, to ascertain what exactly Grant was up to in the Harrisburg area. Was it merely a marshaling area, or was it to be a platform for him to try and sweep down the Cumberland Valley, and perhaps march on into Virginia? Next task for him would be their old adversary, the Army of the Potomac. It was time to rattle them yet again, a task he looked forward to with pleasure. Finding the location of the powerful Nineteenth Corps was high on the priority list as well. If they were with Grant, that would indicate much as to the possible Union actions. If not, it would mean they could support a renewed thrust by the Army of the Potomac. Though there was the chance now, with Lee marching toward Washington, that the Yankees, always in panic over their capital, would ship that corps down there by water to reinforce the defenses of Washington. Finally, Lee had emphasized his role of disruption, to cut telegraph lines, to spread rumors, and to work to isolate Sickles from Grant.

Of course, though he had not discussed it too much with Lee, now was the chance to win some glory as well. Lancaster would be in their pockets tomorrow morning. A day's hard ride could even take them to Reading and what a treat it would be to cut the major junction of so many rail lines, in effect all but isolating Grant from the Eastern seaboard. It would be a whirlwind of chaos for the Yankees, exceeding anything Jeb had done the year before in the Peninsula. To think even about venturing into the outskirts of Philadelphia was not beyond reach, tearing up tracks and burning bridges as they advanced. His boys would certainly enjoy the ride in such a rich countryside, and enjoy even more the chance to wreck some locomotives along the way.

The ferryboat down below on the river docked, and twenty more of his troopers got off, leading their horses, whooping and hollering as they mounted and galloped up the slope.

It was a grand day to be in the cavalry and Wade soaked up the moment with joy. The campaign had begun.

Paris,
France

August
16,1863 3:00
a.m.

E
mperor Napoleon III studied the dispatch carefully, sitting alone. There would be time later to sit with advisors, his wife, and confidants to discuss all that it implied. The dispatch had arrived from the coast only the hour before; advance word of its coming via the semaphore link to Le Havre had kept him awake in anticipation.

News had come at the start of the month about Lincoln's defeat and the shattering of his army. The newspapers, as usual, had overblown the details but he could surmise that though nothing could ever rival his uncle's victory at Auster-litz, still it was a worthy victory for the Southern cause.

But this news now, of the fall of the Union's third largest city, the secession of yet another state, that was news indeed. Could it finally signal that the Yankee cause was unraveling?

He sipped from his glass of wine, reading the dispatch yet again, the evaluation of the Confederate army, the appraisal of President Davis and of this General Lee. Yes, he would have made a worthy marshal of the empire. He had breeding, strength, audacity, and luck.

He knew what his own generals and admirals would say. That there was too much risk. That Mexico was proving harder than first anticipated, that other countries in Europe might take advantage of the situation if France committed more resources to the Americas.

Did that ever stop his uncle? The name of Bonaparte was not made through caution.

He could see it clearly. Here was a chance to forever establish French dominance. Help the South, let them win, and that contemptible American nation divides and in short order divides yet again into internal squabblings. Within a generation, a new empire of his own creation would flourish, as that of the old empire should have flourished fifty years ago.

As for the Yankees' much vaunted ironclads, they had yet to meet a true ship of Europe.
Le
Gloire,
the pride of the French navy, and her sister ships, ironclads as powerful as anything the Yankee tinkers might fashion, would leave nothing but wreckage in their wake. Land a few brigades of troops, engineers, artillery on the border with Texas, and there build a base to operate from. Then sweep northward.

Perhaps even Spain could be Coaxed into the coalition. Cuba could offer a fine port to help sweep the arrogant blockade from the coast of Florida and perhaps even as far as South Carolina.