How Few Remain (6 page)

He rode up to the entrance to the president’s home. A couple of slaves hurried forward. One of them held his horse’s head while he dismounted, then tied the animal to a cast-iron hitching post in front of the building. Jackson tossed him a five-cent piece. The slave caught the tiny silver coin out of the air with a word of thanks.

Tied close by was the two-horse team of a landau with which he was not familiar. The driver, a white man, sat in the carriage reading a newspaper and waiting for his master to emerge. That
he was white gave Jackson a clue about who his passenger might be, especially when coupled with the unfamiliar carriage.

And, sure enough, out of the president’s residence came John Hay, looking stylish if a little funereal in a black sack suit. The new minister from the United States was a strikingly handsome man of about fifty, his brown hair and beard frosted with gray. His nod was stiff, tightly controlled. “Good day, General,” he said, voice polite but frosty.

“Your Excellency,” Jackson said in much the same tones. As a young man, Hay had served as Abe Lincoln’s secretary. That in itself made him an object of suspicion in the Confederate States, but it also made him one of the few Republicans with any executive experience whatever. Jackson hoped the latter was the reason U.S. President Blaine had appointed him minister to the CSA. If not, the appointment came perilously close to an insult.

Hay had bushy, expressive eyebrows. They twitched now. He said, “I should not be surprised, General Jackson, if we were seeing President Longstreet on the same business.”

“Oh? What business is that?” Jackson thought Hay likely right, but had no intention of showing it. The less the enemy—and anyone in Richmond who did not think the United States an enemy was a fool—knew, the better.

“You know perfectly well what business,” Hay returned, now with a touch of asperity: “the business of Chihuahua and Sonora.”

He was, of course, correct: an enemy he might be, and a Black Republican (synonymous terms, as far as the Confederacy was concerned), but not a fool. Jackson said, “I cannot see how a private transaction between the Empire of Mexico and the Confederate States of America becomes a matter about which the United States need concern themselves.”

“Don’t be disingenuous,” Hay said sharply. “President Longstreet spent the last two hours soft-soaping me, and I’m tired of it. If you don’t see how adding several hundred miles to our common border concerns us, sir, then you don’t deserve those wreathed stars on your collar.” Giving Jackson no chance to reply, he climbed up into the landau. The Negro who had helped the Confederate general undid the horses. The driver set down his paper and flicked the reins. Iron tires clattering, the wagon rolled away.

Jackson did not turn his head to watch it go. Diplomacy was not his concern, not directly: he dealt only with its failures. Back
straight, stride steady, he walked up the stairs into the presidential mansion.

G. Moxley Sorrel, Longstreet’s chief of staff, greeted him just inside the door. “Good morning, General Jackson,” he said, his tone almost as wary as Hay’s had been.

“Good morning.” Jackson tried to keep all expression from his own voice.

“The president will see you in a moment.” Sorrel put what Jackson reckoned undue stress on the second word. The chief of staff had served Longstreet since the early days of the War of Secession, and had served through the time when Longstreet and Jackson, as corps commanders under Lee, were to some degree rivals as well as comrades. Over the years, Jackson had seen that Longstreet never forgot a rivalry—and what Longstreet remembered, Moxley Sorrel remembered, too.

Having little small talk in him, Jackson simply stood silent till Sorrel led him into President Longstreet’s office. “Mr. President,” Jackson said then, saluting.

“Sit down, General; sit down, please.” James Longstreet waved him into an overstuffed armchair upholstered in flowered maroon velvet. Despite the soft cushions, Jackson sat as rigidly erect as if on a stool. Longstreet was used to that, and did not remark on it. He did ask, “Shall I have a nigger fetch you some coffee?”

“No, thank you, sir.” As was his way, Jackson came straight to the point: “I met Mr. Hay as I was arriving here. If his manner be of any moment, the United States will take a hard line toward our new Mexican acquisitions.”

“I believe you are correct in that,” Longstreet answered. He scratched his chin. His salt-and-pepper beard spilled halfway down his chest. He was a few years older than Jackson. Though he had put on more flesh than the general-in-chief of the Confederate States, he also remained strong and vigorous. “The Black Republicans continue to resent us merely for existing; that we thrive is a burr under their tails. I wish Tilden had been reelected—he would have raised no unseemly fuss. But the world is as we find it, not as we wish it.”

“The world is as God wills.” Jackson declared what was to him obvious.

“Of course—but understanding His will is our province,” Longstreet said. That could have been contradiction in the guise
of agreement, at which the president was adept. Before Jackson could be sure, Longstreet went on, “And Chihuahua and Sonora are
our
provinces, by God, and by God we shall keep them whether the United States approve or not.”

“Very good, Mr. President!” Having no compromise in his own soul, Jackson admired steadfastness in others.

“I have also sent communications to this effect to our friends in London and Paris,” Longstreet said.

“That was excellently done, I am sure,” Jackson said. “Their assistance was welcome during the War of Secession, and I trust they shall be as eager to see the United States taken down a peg now as they were then.”

“General, their assistance during the war was more than merely necessary,” Longstreet said heavily. “It was the
sine qua non
without which the Confederate States should not be a free and independent republic today.”

Jackson frowned. “I don’t know about that, Your Excellency. I am of the opinion that the Army of Northern Virginia had a certain small something to do with that independence.” He paused a moment, a
tableau vivant
of animated thought. “The battle of Camp Hill for some reason comes to mind.”

Longstreet smiled at Jackson’s seldom-shown playfulness. “Camp Hill was necessary, General, necessary, but, I believe, not sufficient. Without the brave work our soldiers did, England and France should never have been in position to recognize our independence and force acceptance of that independence on the Lincoln regime.”

“Which is what I said, is it not?” Jackson rumbled.

But the president of the CSA shook his head. “No, not quite. You will remember, sir, I had rather more to do with the military commissioners of the United States than did you as we hammered out the terms under which each side should withdraw from the territory of the other.”

“Yes, I remember that,” Jackson said. “I never claimed to be any sort of diplomatist, and General Lee was not one to assign a man to a place in which he did not fit.” Jackson saw that as a small barb aimed at Longstreet, who was so slippery, he might have ended up a Black Republican had he lived in the United States rather than the Confederacy. Being slippery, though, Longstreet probably took it as a compliment. Jackson asked the next question: “What of it, sir?”

“This of it: every last Yankee officer with whom I spoke swore up and down on a stack of Bibles as tall as he was that Lincoln never would have given up the fight if he’d only been fighting against us,” Longstreet said. “The man was a fanatic—still is a fanatic, going up and down in the USA like Satan in the book of Job, stirring up trouble wherever he travels. The only thing that convinced him the United States were licked—the
only
thing, General—was the intervention of England and France on our behalf. Absent that, he aimed to keep on no matter what we did.”

“He would have done better had he had generals as convinced of the righteousness of his cause as he was himself,” Jackson remarked. “As well for us he did not.”

“As well for us indeed.” Longstreet nodded his big, leonine head. “That, however, is not the point. The point is that the English and French, by virtue of the service they rendered us, and by virtue of the services they may render us in the future, have a strong and definite claim upon our attention.”

“Wait.” Jackson had not lied when he said he was no diplomat; he needed a while to fathom matters that were immediately obvious to a man like Longstreet. But, as in his days of teaching optics, acoustics, and astronomy at the Virginia Military Institute, unrelenting study let him work out what he did not grasp at once. “You are saying, Your Excellency, are you not, that we are still beholden to our allies and must take their wishes into account in formulating our policy?”

“Yes, I am saying that. I wish I weren’t, but I am,” Longstreet replied. Jackson started to say something; the president held up a hand to stop him. “Now you wait, sir, until you have answered this question: does the prospect of taking on the United States over the Mexican provinces alone and unaided have any great appeal to you?”

“It could be done,” Jackson said at once.

“I do not deny that for an instant, but it is not the question I put to you,” Longstreet said. “What I asked was, has the prospect any great appeal to you? Would you sooner we war against the USA by ourselves, or in the company of two leading European powers?”

“The latter, certainly,” Jackson admitted. “The United States have always outweighed us. We have more men and far more factories now than I ever dreamt we should, but they continue to
outweigh us. If ever they found leaders and morale to match their resources, they would become a formidable foe.”

“This is also my view of the situation.” Longstreet drummed his fingers on the desk in front of him. “And Blaine, like Lincoln, has no sense of moderation when it comes to our country. If he so chooses, as I think he may, he can whip them up into a frenzy against us in short order. This concerns me. What also concerns me is the price London and Paris have put on a renewal of their alliance with us. The necessity for weighing one of those concerns against the other is the reason I asked to see you here today.”

“A price for continued friendship? What price could the British and French require for doing what is obviously in their interest anyhow?” By asking the question, he proved his want of diplomacy to Longstreet and, a moment later, to himself. “Oh,” he said. “They intend to try to lever us into abandoning our peculiar institution.”

“There you have it, sure enough,” Longstreet agreed. “Both the British and French ministers make it abundantly clear that their governments shall not aid us in any prospective struggle against the United States unless we agree in advance to undertake emancipation no later than a year after the end of hostilities. They are acting in conceit on this matter, and appear firmly determined to follow their words with deeds, or rather, with the lack of deeds we should otherwise expect.”

“Let them,” Jackson growled, as angry as if Britain and France were enemies, not the best friends the Confederate States had. “Let them. We’ll whip the Yankees, and after that we’ll do whatever else needs doing, too.”

“I assure you, General, I admire your spirit from the bottom of my heart,” Longstreet said. “If we are assured of success in a conflict against the USA over Chihuahua and Sonora, please tell me so, and tell me plainly.”

Jackson hesitated—and was lost. “In war, Your Excellency, especially war against a larger power, nothing is assured, as I said before. I am confident, however, that God, having given us this land of ours to do with as we will, does not intend to withdraw His gift from our hands.”

“That, I fear, is not enough.” Longstreet let out a long sigh. “You have no conception, General, to what degree slavery has become an albatross round our necks in all our intercourse, diplomatic
and commercial, with foreign powers. The explanations, the difficulties, the resentments grow worse year by year. We and the Empire of Brazil are the only remaining slaveholding nations, and even the Brazilians have begun a program of gradual emancipation for the Negroes they hold in servitude.”

“Mr. President, if we are
right
, what foreigners have to say about us matters not at all, and I believe we
are
right,” Jackson said stubbornly. “I believe, as I have always believed, that God Himself ordained our system as the best one practicable for the relationship between the white and Negro races. Changing it now at foreigners’ insistence would be as much a betrayal as changing it at the Black Republicans’ insistence twenty years ago.”

“I understand this perspective, General, and, believe me, I am personally in sympathy with it,” Longstreet said. When a politician, which was what the president of the CSA had long since become, said he was personally in sympathy with something, Jackson had learned, he meant the opposite. And, sure enough, Longstreet went on, “Other considerations, however, compel me to take a broader view of the question.”

“What circumstances could possibly be more important than acting in accordance with God’s will as we understand it?” Jackson demanded.

“Being certain we do understand it,” Longstreet answered. “If we fight the United States alone and are defeated, is it not likely that the victors would seek to impose emancipation and even, to the degree they can effect it, Negro dominance upon us, to weaken us as much as possible?”

Jackson grunted. He had never considered the aftermath of a Confederate defeat. Victory was the only consideration that had ever crossed his mind. Reluctantly, he gave President Longstreet credit for subtlety.

Longstreet said, “Can we successfully fight the United States without their coasts being blockaded, a task far beyond the power of our navy alone? Can we fight them without pressure from Canada to make them divide their forces and efforts instead of concentrating solely against us? If you tell me we are as certain, or even nearly as certain, of success without our friends as with them, defying their wishes makes better sense.”

“I think, as I have said, we can win without them,” Jackson said, but he was too honest not to add, “With them, though, the odds improve.”