Harrisburg, Pennsylvania Headquarters Army of the Susquehanna
August 3,1863 10:30 A.M
Grant looked around at the gathering in his oversized command tent. A photographer from Brady's had just finished-taking several images of them outside, and now from a distance was doing a fourth and final shot of them gathered in the open-sided tent. The group remained still until it was done and the photographer ran off to his black wagon to develop the plate as an assistant picked up the heavy camera and lugged it away.
The day was warm, another heat wave setting in, and his officers were grateful to get their jackets off, sitting about the long oak table in shirtsleeves and vests.
Maj. Gen. Edward Ord, who had arrived only yesterday with the last of the men from his Thirteenth Corps, was relaxed, sipping from a tall glass of iced lemonade. Beside him was McPherson, commander of the Fifteenth Corps, the first unit from the West to arrive in Harrisburg. Burnside, who had reassumed command of his old Ninth Corps, which had served in part of the Vicksburg campaign, sat quietly to one comer. He had arrived ahead of his two small divisions, which were still crossing Indiana and Ohio. Couch, commander of the twenty thousand militia and short-term regiments that had gathered in Harrisburg at the start of the Gettysburg campaign, was fanning himself with an oversized, wide-brimmed hat Several divisional commanders and the usual staff were gathered as well, while in the far comer sat Ely Parker, Grant's adjutant, taking notes. Beside him sat Elihu Washburne, who had arrived from Washington only within the last hour.
"It's time we started laying out our plans," Grant announced, "and I want to know our state of readiness."
"My men are ready any time you give the word, sir," McPherson said confidently. "But it is a question of supplies, remounts, support equipment."
The other generals nodded in agreement.
Grant looked over at Haupt. The general was actually dozing and Ord, smiling, nudged him awake.
"Sorry, sir."
Grant smiled indulgently. Haupt was working himself into a state of collapse. He had lost weight, his features pale, the dysentery draining him of all energy.
"Are you ready to report, sir?" Grant asked.
"Yes, sir."
Haupt stood, leaning against the table for support, and pointed to the map of the entire eastern United States, which was spread on the table.
"We've moved over forty thousand men east in the last three weeks and I must say that it is a unique accomplishment in the history of warfare. It has of course created certain problems, which my staff did anticipate but could do nothing about during the movement of forces, and now it will take some time to straighten out."
"What problems?" Burnside asked.
"Locomotives and rolling stock. We commandeered over two hundred locomotives from different lines and over two thousand flatcars and boxcars. Repositioning them back into useful service after their express run east is taking time. I could not ship them back while the entire road, involving several different lines, was cleared for eastbound traffic. Therefore these last two weeks have created some depletion o'f available trains in the West. Once the last of Burnside's men are in, we need to take a breather, to reposition that rolling stock back to their owners, who are screaming bloody murder."
"Can't they wait?" Ord asked. "We still need to bring more men in, tens of thousands more."
"Yes and no, sir. We will continue to bring in troops. I'm preparing for the next big trans-shipment of Nineteenth Corps from Philadelphia as they arrive by sea from New Orleans, but in order to keep other activities moving, including industrial and even commercial movement, we have to slow the pace slightly."
He paused, looking over at Grant, who nodded his approval.
"Go ahead, General. I'm in agreement. Our presence here, at this moment, has at least alleviated any defensive concerns; in that capacity we are fully ready to fight. It was beyond my hope that General Lee might actually attempt to sally forth from Baltimore and try to strike us here. We knew that wouldn't happen, but our friends over in the state capitol building are now relieved. We are not yet however, an offensive army."
Ord grinned, chewing meditatively on a wad of tobacco, leaned over, and spat on the ground.
'Tell that to my boys; they're eager to get at it, sir."
McPherson grinned and nodded in agreement
"Our little skirmish a couple of days ago got their blood up, sir; I kind of agree with Ord. Perhaps a demonstration down towards Carlisle?"
Grant shook his head.
"General McPherson, your men did admirably driving back Stuart's pickets. One brigade across the river, to deny them the ability to see us, is sufficient for now. We move when ready, and not before."
"I concur," Haupt said, taking out a handkerchief to wipe the sweat from his face.
"The big problem of logistics now is horses. As General Grant said, we are a defensive army at the moment; we can fight in place, but to move? Not yet, I am sorry to say."
"How soon?" Ord pressed.
"Sir, we need over twelve thousand more horses and at least six thousand mules for our supply trains, and we don't even have the wagons yet for the mules to be hitched to.
"Moving men is simple in comparison. Pile a regiment on a train, get patriotic civilians to pass up hampers of food at every stop, have wood and water in place for the locomotive, and you can go clear from Wisconsin to Maine in a week if you wish. Horses are a hell of a lot more difficult.
"At best we can maybe load a hundred horses to a train, but that is pressing it, a hell of a lot of weight for the steeper grades. They have to be unloaded every day, exercised, fed, watered. We can't go too fast A bad bump or shift, and you have a trainload of horses with broken legs. A trip of three days to move five hundred men will equal a week or more with five trains with incredible amounts of fodder placed along the way. Then, once here, sir, ten thousand horses means four hundred thousand pounds of fodder a day. Granted, we can pasture a lot of them in nearby farms, but they'll eat that out in a couple of weeks."
He shook his head wearily.
"How many of our own horses from Vicksburg will come up?" Ord asked. "A lot of my men in the cavalry and artillery are upset about losing their old mounts and trace horses, which are trained to their tasks."
"I'm having near five thousand moved by steamers up to Wheeling. From there they'll be loaded on trains. That cuts six hundred miles off the train run, but it's a lot slower and the Ohio is still in flood from all the rains, so it's even slower than expected. The first trainload should be coming in next week."
"And the others?" Grant asked.
"I'm ordering in trainloads of remounts from as far as Maine. It's a little complex, since the actual purchasing of horses is not in my department, only the transporting of them. I can have a procurement officer in Vermont tell me that he has a hundred mules, the train gets there, and half of the poor beasts are on their last legs, shipping them here a waste. The system is riddled with corruption, paybacks, purchasing of animals just about ready to drop; it's a nightmare."
Grant tossed down the butt of his cigar after using it to puff a new one to life. "When?"
"I think by the end of the month, sir." Grant exhaled noisily.
"I'd prefer sooner. That gives me only four to six weeks of campaigning weather before the onset of autumn."
"I know that, sir, I'm moving hard on it."
‘I know you are, Haupt. What else?"
"Sir, with the delay we'll need to start shipping in fodder as well for the horses already here, not much at first but it will quickly increase to ten to fifteen trainloads a day. Three to four times that amount if we are stuck into late fall. Purchasing agents are combing upstate New York for fodder, which is our best route for bringing it down to here."
"We won't be here by late fall," Grant snapped and then nodded for Herman to continue with his list.
"We need fifteen hundred wagons for supplies. Again that has to go through a different department than mine. I can cram twenty-five of them onto a train. We have orders in to factories and suppliers across the country. I think we can make good on those in short order. Fortunately there's a lot of wagon-makers right here in Pennsylvania and we're offering a premium for quick delivery. There's a purchasing agent in Reading buying them up now. He's efficient, and as fast as a trainload of them is assembled, they're shipped here. We also need three hundred more springed ambulances, twenty more forge wagons for the artillery batteries, roughly a hundred wagons for headquarters baggage, and, most important, two hundred heavy wagons for the pontoon trains."
"Why so many?" McPherson asked. "We never had that many down in Mississippi."
"I want two pontoon bridges across this river when we move," Grant interjected, "and I want enough bridging material together to throw two more bridges, across the Potomac. If the campaign then presses into Virginia, we will need additional bridging for half a dozen rivers from the Potomac down to Richmond."
"You plan to go that far this fall?" McPherson asked, surprise in his voice.
Grant looked up at him and shook his head.
"I'm not ready to discuss that yet, and let me remind all of you here that what is said in this tent stays here. I misspoke to even mention the bridging requirements."
Haupt, who by the simple process of planning the transportation of supplies already had a good sense of what Grant was indeed planning, lowered his gaze for a moment He knew men like Ord, McPherson, and Burnside were burning with curiosity about the forthcoming campaign, and though he could surmise what was to come, he would never breathe a word or give something away. Haupt knew Grant would reveal his plans in his own good time, and he was not about to risk Grant's wrath by hinting at anything.
There was some grumbling, but all three of the corps commanders knew the issue was closed.
"The army has orders in for the necessary pontoon boats with shipbuilders on the Hudson and along Lake Erie. Filling the order is relatively easy, but they are big, cumbersome affairs and only ten will fit on a train. I should have them down here though, at least enough for two bridges within three weeks."
"Good work, Haupt," Grant said. "Anything else?"
"Yes, sir. Railroading equipment."
"Railroading equipment?" Burnside asked, a bit surprised. "For what railroad?"
Haupt looked over at Grant, who nodded his approval.
"The Cumberland Valley Railroad ran from here clear down to Hagerstown," Haupt said.
"That's gone now," McPherson replied. "I understand the rebs are tearing up the rails, hauling them south to repair their own lines."
"If, gentlemen, and I have to emphasize the word 'if,'" Haupt continued, "our primary axis of advance is down the Cumberland, I propose to repair the line as rapidly as possible. The rebs cannot destroy the grading. As for every bridge on the line, fortunately the management of that line has records stored here in Harrisburg, so we have the specifications, and I'm ordering replacement bridges to be precut and ready to be loaded for the entire length of the line. I believe that if we advance down the Cumberland Valley, within two weeks we can have the entire line up and running again as long as I have the necessary manpower of trained personnel."
"You'll have them," Grant said sharply. "We must have a couple of thousand men in our ranks who've worked the rails before the war; we can temporarily detach them."
"That's a lot of manpower," Burnside interjected.
"Well spent," Haupt replied. "Twenty trains a day on that line could sustain the army while it advanced, cutting down drastically on our need for wagons and mules. I'm stockpiling over a hundred miles of track, twenty thousand ties, material for water tanks and switching. The Cumberland line managed to get five of its locomotives back here before the bridge was burned, and we'll get additional rolling stock and locomotives from the Pennsylvania and the Reading. The bridge a dozen miles above Marysville is still intact to the west shore, thank God, so we can run supplies directly down to you once the campaign starts.
"If, and again I'm only saying if, the campaign takes us down to the Potomac, once into Harper's Ferry, your new supply line can run out of the west from the Baltimore and Ohio. I'm stockpiling replacement bridges for that line as well. I only wish I had enough men and material. I think I could throw a connecting line from Hagerstown across down to the B amp;O in less than a month if I had five thousand men."
"We'll see," Grant said with a smile.
This man was the type of soldier he liked, and he was amazed that Haupt's skills were never fully appreciated here in the East. Haupt had only confessed to him the day before that he had been seriously contemplating retiring from the army, fed up with its bureaucracy and backstabbing. Fortunately Grant had been able to convince him to stay on to the end of the campaign, promoted him to major general, and given him complete control of all military operations on all railroads in the country.
And Haupt was indeed right. If the campaign did take them to the Potomac and beyond, it would be worth the effort to run a railroad track from Hagerstown the twenty miles to a hookup with the Baltimore and Ohio. Such an accomplishment would give him a link from Harrisburg to Harper's Ferry, and from there clear down to the Shenandoah Valley, linking as well back to the Midwest. It was the type of project undreamed of five years ago, to run a line twenty miles in one month, solely for the purpose of supporting an army in the field. Today, if need be, it could be done, and if he gave the order, it would be done. "Other supplies?" Grant asked.
Haupt stood silent for a moment and seemed to sway. Grant looked over nervously at Elihu Washburne, who sat quietly, unobtrusively, in the corner of the tent. Elihu and Haupt had formed quite a bond over the last month. The way Haupt had stood up to Stanton had won his admiration, along with the wonders he had created in terms of bringing this army together.
Elihu shook his head.
"Perhaps later, General Haupt."
"No, sir. Just a minute more, and then, yes, I think you will have to excuse me."
Haupt took a deep breath, sweat glistening on his face.
"Ammunition. Enough stockpiled now for a strong defensive action but sustainable for only two days at most. Just over one hundred rounds per man in the ranks, two caissons of assorted solid shot, shell, and canister for the field pieces. The "suppliers in New York and Massachusetts are working twenty-four hours a day, and we should be up to the levels you will need in four weeks as well.
"Artillery. You have a hundred and ten pieces with you now, a mix of Napoleons, three-inch ordnance rifles, and Parrotts, two batteries of twenty-pounders, and one battery of thirty-pounders. Again, you should have a hundred more guns in a month."
"Billy Sherman is up to his ears in guns," Ord interjected. "He must have three hundred pieces with him between the guns we left behind and the ordnance captured at Vicksburg."
'Too difficult to ship now. I'd rather use the shipping for horses and get the guns from New York," Haupt replied.
"What about all that artillery still down in Mississippi?" Ord asked. "Surely Sherman can't use all of it?"
"I told him, if it's a burden, put what he can on boats to haul north and dump the rest in the Mississippi," Grant replied coolly.
No one spoke. Such a profligate waste of material, perfectly good field guns, shocked none of them anymore. If the guns were dumped, others could be made.
"Rations?" Grant asked.
"That's going ahead of schedule; it's convenient that we are near Philadelphia and New York. Hardtack is almost up to the level to support us for a month in the field, the same with salted pork, coffee, sugar, tobacco, tea. Farmers from as far away as Berks County to the east are driving in herds of cattle and swine; we'll have a good supply of food on the hoof. Medical supplies as well are more than sufficient."
He hesitated for a moment and again seemed to sway.
"I talked with the head of your medical corps this morning. Hospitals sufficient for twenty thousand casualties will be constructed here in Harrisburg. Mostly open-sided sheds and tents to start; bedding is being shipped in; volunteer nurses are being recruited through that Miss Barton that everyone is talking about."
Twenty thousand casualties. No one spoke. Though they were hardened by the campaign for Vicksburg and even Shiloh, the sheer magnitude of so many wounded and sick was still daunting, but after Union Mills, the larger number had to be anticipated.
"Another reason I want the railroad repaired," Grant interjected. "We had hospital boats for our wounded at Vicksburg. Hauling wounded men back on a hundred miles of dirt road would be a nightmare."
"The other supplies-ether, chloroform, morphine, medical tools, stretchers, bandages, splints, crutches-all of it should be in place."
Haupt fell silent and looked over at Grant.
Grant could see that the man was about to have another violent attack.
"General Haupt, you are excused, sir, and please, will you get yourself over to my doctor and then take some rest?"
"Yes, sir," Haupt gasped and, bent over slightly at the waist, he staggered out of the tent.
Grant followed him with his gaze. Over two years of war he had learned to become hard when it came to the using of men. He had looked into the eyes of far too many, knew he was ordering them to their deaths or the destruction of their commands, and then told them to go, never hesitating, never showing sentiment. War had no room for that, no matter what it might do inside his heart. Haupt was valuable, far too valuable to use up, but it was obvious that the dysentery that was tormenting him was beginning to drain his life away. And yet he had to continue to use him rather than order him back to a hospital in the rear. He had tried that once, and the following morning he had found the man in the telegraphy station, dictating orders as fast as four scribes could take them down, his mind some sort of strange calculating machine that could not stop whirling.
Grant looked back to his three corps commanders and the various staff and division commanders gathered around the table.
"I want this army ready to move within a month," he announced.
There were nods of agreement, though he could see that Ord, if given the order to jump into the Susquehanna today, would do so.
"We are constrained, as are all armies, by our supplies. General Haupt is doing his best to see us through."
"And additional men?" Bumside asked. "I am still one division short of a standard corps. I would have liked to have brought along the Twenty-third Corps from my old command in Kentucky."
"I understand, Burnside. I would have preferred it as well, but we have to maintain some kind of force in Kentucky. You will receive an additional division by the end of the month."
"From where, sir?"
Grant hesitated for a brief instant.
"Eight colored regiments, currently being recruited in Ohio, New York, and Pennsylvania, are to report here. They'll be at nearly full strength. That should be six thousand additional men. Do you object?"
He watched Burnside carefully. More than one general would flatly refuse such an offer, even if it meant his command remained under-strength.
"No problem with that at all, sir," Burnside said and then he actually smiled. "Freemen or slaves?"
"Mostly freemen from the North, though we might have a regiment or two of untrained refugees from Maryland. Why?"
"Slaves are used to the toughest work; army life is a picnic in comparison."
"Until the minie balls start whistling," McPherson interjected.
"Still, I think the black man will prove to be a tough soldier. I'll take 'em."
"Fine then, they're yours. You appoint the division and brigade commanders. Make sure they are of like mind and can inspire these men. I suspect the president will be watching this closely. I don't want these men held back, nor do I want them thrown away as a sacrifice, but they will be expected to fight when the time comes."
As he spoke, he looked over at Elihu, who nodded in agreement
"What about the Nineteenth Corps?" Ord asked.
The men around Ord nodded in agreement and anticipation. Nineteenth Corps was a familiar command to all of them. Though unfortunate to be under General Banks, they had campaigned well farther south on the Mississippi, misused at times by their leader, but good fighting men, nearly all from New England and New York. It was ironic that they, rather than western troops, had wound up on the lower Mississippi, a fate decided by the ability to ship them from northern ports to support Farrugat's naval assault up the river. The men had suffered terribly. For every battle loss, half a dozen were felled by ague or yellow fever. The men were ecstatic to be coming back north again, and would be eager for a fight on familiar terrain rather than the muddy swamps and bayous, which had bedeviled them for over a year.
Even now the convoy bearing them was coming from New Orleans, supposedly to begin docking at Philadelphia in a matter of days. The original command had close to thirty thousand in their ranks; a brigade of infantry, the locally recruited Corps d'Afrique, and some other militia to be left behind to garrison New Orleans. The famed Grierson, commander of their cavalry, a match for Stuart's men, was coming with his brigade as well, to be remounted in Philadelphia once they arrived.
Their arrival would increase his army by over thirty per cent, giving him four solid corps of combat-experienced troops, all of them used to victory.
'The Nineteenth will fall in on Harrisburg within the week. We have to be careful with all these forces coming from the western theater. I don't want any slacking off over this next month," Grant said, and now his voice was sharp. "I've seen a bit of it already, some of the men swaggering around, lording it over the militia and the ninety-day regiments."
As he spoke, he turned and looked straight at old General Couch, who had come to him repeatedly with the complaint. There were still twenty thousand militia with him in Harrisburg, and the old general wanted to take them into the field, to convince as many as possible to reenlist for the duration of the campaign, or "the current emergency," as he was calling it. A number of fistfights had already broken out between the western veterans and the green recruits from the East. The camp of one Pennsylvania militia regiment had been raided only the night before, the men actually stripped of their uniforms, shoes, rifles, tentage, and choice rations, with the culprits running off into the night, hooting and laughing. The hospital was filled this morning with several dozen cases of broken bones and one man lingering near death with a fractured skull.
"Well," Ord interjected, "the boys have a right to be proud."
Grant glared at Ord. Damn! Ord knew it was his boys and was trying to cover up for them.
"I want an army that is united," Grant snapped. "It's why I left the name Army of the Tennessee behind when we got off the boat at Cairo. This is a new army. Do you understand that, a new army, the Army of the Susquehanna."
Everyone was silent
"Do we understand each other? Any more thievery, any more brawls like last night, and I'll have the culprits bucked and gagged, then drummed out of the army, their regimental commander stripped of rank, and right up to corps someone will pay for it."
No one spoke, even Ord lowered his head, though Couch did smile, but his grin disappeared when Grant caught his eye.
"And by heavens, General Couch, if you can convince your men to sign on for the duration, enough to field another corps, they will march and they will fight like soldiers. I rode past your camp yesterday, and a pig wouldn't live in it. As for your men, if that is how they plan to look and fight, I'll ship every last one of them across to the rebels and have them sign up with Lee. With men like that in his command, it will only help us to win."
Now it was Couch's turn to look crestfallen.
"You have commanded a corps in the field, General Couch. I understand your reasons for resigning because of General Hooker. Given your experience, I expect you to whip your men into shape; militia, ninety-day regiments, I don't care. They are to be turned into soldiers ready to face Hood, Pickett Scales, and Early. You've faced them before, Couch, and I'm asking you now, will your men be able to stand on the volley line a month from now? I know the mettle of the rest of my men, but yours I am not sure of, and by God if they break and we lose this war, I will hold you responsible."
Couch nervously looked around the room, the other three corps commanders all glaring at him. "I will do my best, sir."
"You haven't answered my question, General." Couch hesitated, cleared his throat, then finally nodded. "I will have them ready, sir." Grant turned away from him.
"Remember, we are one army now, all of us. There will be no room for mistakes either on your part," and he paused for a moment, "or mine."
He caught Elihu's eye, the congressman sitting intent, soaking up every detail.
"Our republic cannot sustain another Gettysburg or Union Mills. If this army is destroyed, our cause is finished. We are stripping every available soldier from our other fronts for this action. We might very well lose some of the gains made in the past year, perhaps a length of the Mississippi, maybe even New Orleans. But that, at this moment, is not of consequence to us. I have for us one goal and one goal only, to destroy General Lee's army in the field and to take Richmond."
No one muttered an approbation, or, worse yet, gave some sort of foolish patriotic reply. All were silent.
"Gentlemen, when we cross that river and move, I do not ever want to hear again someone worrying about what Lee is doing. I want Lee to worry about what we are doing. I do not want anyone worrying that an action taken might lose a battle, and thus the war. I want everyone focused on one thought, that the actions we take will win the battle and win the war. Do I make myself clear?"
Again no response, only a few nods, though a subtle smile did crease the faces of McPherson and Ord, men who had been with him for over a year.
"I've said enough. I want full drill every day except Sunday. I expect to see the roads east of here filled with men marching daily, full packs, good march discipline, and the men in shape. They've had their time to relax, and that is finished. I want to see good food and plenty of it, but no waste. The discipline against strong drink is to be kept in force, and that goes for my officers as well."
His glare moved from man to man; some met his eyes, some lowered their heads.
"We meet again three days from now, same time. Dismissed."
The men cleared the tent; outside he could hear them immediately start to talk, comments about the "old man's ready for a fight" Ord's distinctive, high-pitched laugh about a good chewing-out making a few men nervous.
"That certainly had some heat to it."
Grant looked up to see Elihu smiling at him.
"It was needed."
Grant extended his hand and stood up. Elihu had arrived just at the start of the meeting, fresh from the arduous roundabout journey to Washington and back.
'Tell me everything," Grant said, motioning to the chair by his side.
Elihu, who had sat through the meeting in formal attire, gladly took his jacket and tie off, his finely ruffled shirt plastered to his body with sweat He groaned with delight, took a glass of lemonade, the precious ice long ago melted, and drained it off before sitting down.
"Some good, some bad."
"Go on."
"As you ordered, I brought Dan Sickles up here with me," Elihu said. Grant nodded.
"His reaction when you told him you were escorting him to meet me?"
"He wasn't pleased, tried to beg off, said duties of command, all the usual. I handed him your written order and that took the wind out of his sails, though he did mutter about having to check with Secretary Stanton."
"And?"
"The letter from the president informing him he was to comply with all your orders settled his hash. He's waiting in a tent just down from here."
Grant looked over at his adjutant, Parker, who had remained silent in the corner of the tent throughout the meeting.
"Give Mr. Washburne and me about ten minutes, then go fetch General Sickles for me."
Parker grinned. "Yes, sir." And he left the tent.
"How are things in Washington?"
"In an uproar. The siege is wearing nerves thin."
"They're most likely facing no more than one division of infantry and some cavalry."
"Still, Heintzelman is ordering all troops to stand in place within the fortifications; he fears a ruse and Stanton agrees."
Grant nodded his head.
"Fine for the moment but he should still be probing, making Lee a bit nervous, maybe forcing him to send some troops back that way."
"I carried that suggestion to the president; he said it's like watching a blind woman trying to catch a goose and cut its head off."
Grant chuckled softly.
"But Heintzelman did put up a good fight defending the city."
"Yes, he's good for a defensive fight," Grant said softly.
"Any thoughts on that?"
"Not yet, perhaps later. But what else?"
"You heard about President Davis and the state convention in Baltimore?"
"Just that they were meeting yesterday."
"The rebels have convened a new state legislature. It was sworn in late last night. Its first act was to officially declare that Maryland has withdrawn from the Union and joined the Confederate States of America. Admiral Franklin Buchanan was appointed provisional governor until an election can be held. Judge Richard Carmichael is provisional lieutenant governor and acting as governor until Buchanan can come up from Mobile."
"Interesting turn of events," Grant said noncommitally.
"A smart move by Davis. Carmichael is held in high regard, even by some pro-Unionists. I don't know if you are aware of this, but he was the presiding judge of the Seventh Circuit Court. Some damn coward and two of his cronies pistol-whipped the man nearly to death because of his pro-Southern leanings. It was an outrage felt across the entire state. He's acting as governor for the moment until Buchanan, who is a Maryland native and the highest ranking officer in the Confederate navy, comes up to take the post."
"The fact he commanded the ironclad Virginia will play well with some. Besides, I heard he's an able administrator."
"Exactly. You have a war hero with naval tradition that appeals to Baltimore. In fact, the man was born there, and is a well-respected judge who can work the political angles. A smart move by Davis."
"What about Fort McHenry?"
"Still holding out. That's a strange truce neither side wants to break at the moment. If Lee tries to seize it by a frontal attack, he'll lose thousands; the garrison is well reinforced now. On the other side, President Lincoln has ordered the garrison commander not to fire unless fired upon. If we set off another conflagration in Baltimore, it only will serve the other side."
"The heavy artillery captured around Baltimore?"
"Hard to get accurate reports on that. Some say the guns positioned up on Federal Hill are now all 'Quaker guns, just painted logs, but with so many civilians around that would be hard to conceal. There are some reports that Lee will dispatch the heavy-siege equipment toward Washington; others say he'll finally be forced to try and reduce McHenry.
"Frankly, I hope he fires on McHenry."
"Why?"
"The symbolism of it, General Grant The site of our gallant star-spangled banner remaining defiant against the British. Every artist and editorial writer in the North will have a field day with that one."
Grant had never really thought of it in that light. As for the song, he found it far too difficult to follow, the latter stanzas rather overblown.
"So far the news you bring is bearable; what's the bad news?"
Elihu smiled and shook his head.
"Lee is reportedly starting to get reinforcements. The first of Beauregard's men are reported to be in Baltimore. There are accounts he'll get upward of thirty thousand fresh troops."
"We'll see," Grant replied without any emotion.
"We know as well that he is absolutely burdened with artillery. His standing force, the guns taken at Union Mills that weren't spiked, additional field pieces at Baltimore. Word is he has two hundred and fifty guns and the ammunition to keep them firing for days. They're converting some of their infantry over to artillerymen."
Grant said nothing. In an open-field fight, the type of terrain to be found in a fair part of Maryland-expansive fields and pastures-combined with good roads to move the guns rapidly, this could be a problem.
"Sickles," Elihu continued. "He's cut up a fuss with Stanton that the Nineteenth Corps should be incorporated into his command, and Stanton agrees."
"Damn him, Stanton has to quit interfering," Grant muttered softly.
"The president said it's up to you though, since you have direct command in the field." "Thank God for that."
"Sickles is also diverting trainloads of equipment and supplies, at least that's the rumor. His Tammany friends have raised five regiments; they paid a lot for them, too. The governor of New York, when he had them sworn in, specifically stated they were taking duty with the Army of the Potomac."
"We're going to put a stop to that"
"Be careful, Sam. Even Lincoln conceded that for the moment Dan Sickles cannot be touched, so I have to ask that you tread lightly."
"I know, I know."
"That's it in rough form. The president is keeping his nerve up to the hilt. At least fifty papers up North have already declared, or will after today's announcement of Maryland's secession, that the president should negotiate a cease-fire with Davis."
"His response?"
"In confidence?"
"Of course."
"He said he wished it was winter; that way he could use the papers as kindling to warm his feet."
Grant could not help but laugh at the image it conjured. Elihu grinned.
"He made another reference to how he might use them as well, but good taste forbids me from citing him."
"More in line with what I was thinking."
"I won't quote you, either, General."
Both men smiled, the interlude interrupted by the clearing of a throat outside the open flap of the tent. It was Parker, General Sickles by his side.
Grant took a deep breath and stood up.
"General Sickles, please come in and join us."
His tone was neutral, not genial, nor cold in the manner in which he had just addressed some of his closest companions only minutes before.
Sickles stopped at the entryway and formally saluted, Grant returning the salute then motioning for the commander of the Army of the Potomac to come in.
Elihu went through the motions of being a proper host, pouring a glass of lemonade and offering it to Dan, who politely refused.
"If you don't mind, sir, after such a hot and arduous trip up here, I'd prefer something a little stronger."
"We don't serve liquor at this headquarters, General."
"Oh, really. Too bad. If you should need some, sir, do let me know; I keep an excellent selection at my headquarters. It is good for morale at times."
Dan reached into his hip pocket, pulled out a flask, picked up an empty lemonade glass, poured several ounces of brandy, and took a drink.
Grant said nothing, eyes cold.
Sickles drained half the glass and put it back down, his features going slightly red, and he smiled.
"It is good to see you, General Grant."
"I'd like a report, General Sickles, on the status of the Army of the Potomac."
"It is moving along, sir, but slowly, I regret to tell you. As I indicated to you in my report filed last week, the army has been reorganized into three corps, the old Third, the Fifth, and the Sixth. I have a little more than thirty thousand men now under arms, nearly all of them veterans of the best sort I have eighty guns, four thousand men mounted."
He fell silent.
"That's it?"
"Yes, sir, there is not much else to say. The men are still recovering from the, how shall I say it, mishandling they suffered from last month, but morale is improving, the men training for the next campaign. May I ask when that will begin?"
"When we are ready, General Sickles, and not before."
Sickles nodded thoughtfully, on the surface taking no offense from the obvious rejection regarding a discussion of operational plans.
"You heard about the traitors in Maryland switching sides," and Sickles looked over at Elihu.
"Yes, the congressman just told me."
"Some sort of demonstration, perhaps on your part" Dan offered, "might be of advantage now, to show them we will not take this lightly."
"As I just said, General Sickles, when we are ready and not before."
Sickles nodded and drained the rest of the glass. He started to open his flask again, but the look in Grant's eye made him stop.
"Is there something you wish to tell me, General Grant? I have traveled a long way to meet with you, time that frankly I had hoped to spend with my command."
"My command," Grant said softly.
Sickles froze, eyes unblinking.
"Sir?'
"The Army of the Potomac is my command as well, and will obey my orders to the letter." Dan forced a smile.
"Sir, but of course. However, you being new to the East, sir, I daresay that there are unique aspects to the Army of the Potomac that will take time to fully understand."
"It is but one component of the armies of our republic. It will be run like any other army, will fight like I expect every army to fight, will answer my commands, and will see this war through to its proper conclusion."
Sickles said nothing, the smile frozen on his face.
"You, sir, have direct field command; that was the decision of the secretary of war and President Lincoln. I hope, sir, that you fully understand that responsibility and live up to the obligation of your command and the obligation to lead your men properly."
Sickles's features darkened.
"Sir. I fought with those men through the Peninsula and every campaign since right to Union Mills," his words coming out forced, through clenched teeth. "I think, sir, I do not need to be lectured on my obligation to my men."
Grant sat back in his chair, the silence in the tent chilling.
"I don't think General Grant meant any offense to you personally," Elihu interrupted.
"I should hope not I know my men and they know me. If I had been listened to at Chancellorsville, at Gettysburg on the second day, at Union Mills, we would not be in the fix we now find ourselves in."
"I will not dispute your suggested decisions in those battles, General Sickles," Grant replied. "I am just stating that in the future you will coordinate your actions with my direct orders. If we understand that, sir, I know we will work together well."
"Fine then, sir," Sickles responded, voice still strained, "I understand what you are saying. Is there anything else you wish to discuss?"
"Regarding the Nineteenth Corps."
"Sir?" Now his features shifted in an instant to open-faced innocence. "Is there a problem with their shipment to Philadelphia?"
"No. It is just that they will be detailed to this army here in Harrisburg."
"Sir. Is that prudent? I am outnumbered and Lee's army is little more than thirty miles away while you are here, a hundred miles from the front"
"You have the mile-wide Susquehanna between you and him, that river patrolled by gunboats. I doubt seriously if General Lee will make any demonstration against you, and the men you have, who as you said are all veterans, would certainly be more than a match if he tried to force a crossing. I am confident you can hold with the numbers you have."
Sickles's features were again frozen, as if he was calculating his chances of winning the argument.
"I understand, General," he said quietly.
"Fine then, I hope you may join my staff and me for dinner tonight."
"Yes, thank you, sir."
Sickles stood up to leave.
"And, General Sickles, one more thing," Grant said casually, as if he was about to address a minor issue. "Yes?"
"A week and a half ago I passed through Perryville after my visit to Washington. I went looking for you, in order to have this meeting. Your staff claimed you could not be found."
"Sir, I was surprised to hear that you were in the area. I was out inspecting units in the field. I hurried back but you had already taken train and left."
"Next time, sir, when I visit the Army of the Potomac, I expect to see its commander as well."
"I apologize for the failure of my staff, sir." "Fine then, that's all."
Sickles stiffened, features red, saluted, which salute Grant returned while remaining seated, and left. Elihu exhaled noisily.
"I hate to say it, Grant, but even I could use a drink after that."
Grant looked over at him coldly, and Elihu smiled in apology.
"Well, you certainly blistered the paint off of him."
"Had to be done. Let's hope he toes the line now. In private I'll admit he has the makings of a good general in him, a good tactical sense. I studied the reports on Chancellorsville, and the man was indeed right. If he had pushed forward as he wanted, he'd have taken Jackson apart on that flanking march. He has the stomach for a fight
"But he's too much like our old friend McClernand; he doesn't know when to keep his mouth shut and is always looking for his own political gain."
"And you fired McClernand," Elihu said.
"I hope that was different. Frankly, if I could bring that man to be part of my command, he might prove his mettle as well. At least he fights, and that's more than can be said for a lot of corps commanders. I'm willing to give him his chance. He had the guts to give it back to me a bit, which I respect. Let's see if he can give it back to Lee when the time comes."
"That comment about the liquor, that was uncalled for," Elihu replied sharply.
"You just asked for a drink yourself."
Elihu shrugged.
"Sorry."
"No need to apologize. I'm past that now. Remember, I made a promise to Lincoln on it and I find he's one man whose respect I want"
Elihu smiled.
"I know what you mean. He's grown. He's not the same man at all I put up for nomination three years ago. He's only seven years older than me, and yet I feel like he's ancient now."
Elihu looked off and smiled.
"I know you won't lose your nerve. I think that in what's to come, their president really doesn't matter. It's down to Lee or Lincoln and who will break first. That's what will decide it."
Grant said nothing. His cigar had gone out and he tossed it aside, fished in his pocket for another, and, striking a match, he puffed it to life.
"It's going to be a hot day," he said quietly.
The band played "Dixie" for what must have been the tenth time as the last of Beauregard's men marched past, hats off, cheering. As Lee watched, yet again he was caught up in that fleeting moment when war did indeed have glory to it.
The Army of Northern Virginia, except for Pickett's division, which had been assigned garrison duty within the city, and Scales's, which still shadowed Washington, was encamped in the fields west of Baltimore, along the line of fortifications that had been so easily pierced three weeks before.
The parade ground for this grand review had been carefully chosen by Walter Taylor. A gently sloping ridge, where the famed divisions of the Army of Northern Virginia could deploy across a front of nearly two miles, regiment after regiment, the hard-fighting battalions from Virginia, Georgia, Texas, the Carolinas, Florida, Mississippi, and Alabama. The heroes of Fredericksburg, of Gettysburg, and of Union Mills. Shot-torn standards were proudly held aloft, whipping in the stiff afternoon breeze. The day was still bathed in sunlight, though the western horizon was dark with approaching storms.
Before them, across the broad, open valley, the twenty thousand men that Beauregard had brought to Maryland had advanced in columns of company front, the men in general ragged and lean, veterans of the hard-fought campaigns in the swamps around Charleston, their uniforms sun bleached to light gray or butternut. A few regiments were neatly at tired, militia units from Georgia and North Carolina that till now had known only soft duty, the occasional chasing down of deserters or Unionist bushwhackers up in the hills. These men were dressed in solid gray, carried backpacks, their muskets shiny.
The arriving units had paraded down the length of the Army of Northern Virginia, passing beneath sharp, hardened eyes, veterans, some only seventeen years old but still veterans, who looked appraisingly, nodding with approval at the boys from Charleston, remaining silent at the sight of the militia, in their hearts concerned but also smugly glad because the stay-at-homes were now going to see the "elephant" for real.
The unwritten orders from Lee's headquarters had been sharp and clear. The men of Beauregard's command, now officially the Third Corps of the Army of Northern Virginia, were to be greeted as brothers, no taunts, no airs; if victory was to be finally theirs, their blood would be needed as well.
As the last of Beauregard's men marched the two-mile length of the review, Wade Hampton's brigade put in their appearance, Jeb Stuart in the lead, his arm still in a sling from the bullet taken in Baltimore. The troopers deployed out, drew sabers, forming a battlefront a quarter-mile wide, keeping alignment, advancing first at walk, bugles sounding the walk to trot, and then a canter. The waning sun, disappearing behind the roiling storm clouds, reflected off a thousand drawn blades. "Charge!"
Stuart was in the lead by half a dozen lengths, hat blown off, mouth open, shouting the command, then roaring with delight as the troopers, leaning over in their saddles, blades pointed forward, broke into a mad gallop. A wild rebel yell erupted from the charging line, to be greeted by the enthusiastic roar of the watching army, tens of thousands of voices commingling, battle flags held aloft, waving back and forth, the music of the band drowned out, even the musicians now lowering their instruments and joining in the cheer, the music far more piercing and soul-stirring than anything they could ever hope to create.
On the slope above the army, tens of thousands of civilians from Baltimore, who had come out to witness the show, joined in the cheering as well.
Unable to contain himself, Lee stood tall in his stirrups, Traveler's head up, ears pricked back, as if ready to join in the mad dash sweeping before them, the thunder of the charge echoing, and then drowned out as ten batteries, deployed to Lee's left, fired a salute of fifty guns, the thumping roar booming down the line, the cheering of the men redoubling at the thunder of the guns, stirring the blood, filling all with the vision of all that they had done, and all they would still do when next the guns fired for real.
The last echo of one of the heavy thirty-pounders drifted away. The smoke swirled and eddied eastward, driven by the wind of the approaching storm, the distant heavens matching the reports with the roll of thunder, the shimmering golden light of the sun now disappearing behind the dark, gray-green clouds.
Stuart, turning out from the charging line, cantered up to Lee, sweat glistening on his face, and with drawn saber he saluted; his mount, with a gentle urging, lowering his head and lifting a front leg in salute as well.
Grinning, Lee returned the salute.
"Magnificent, General Stuart," he proclaimed, "a fitting climax to a glorious day."
All along the two-mile line, commands echoed from division generals, to brigadiers, to regimental commanders.
Hundreds of fifers and drummers picked up the beat, music playing, regiments forming into dense columns to march back to their encampments. Those closest to Lee, parading past, holding hats aloft, cheered him and the president of the Confederacy by his side.
Lee looked over at Davis, normally so sphinx-like. He was smiling, breathing hard.
"By the Almighty, General Lee, with an army such as this we can lick the world," Davis proclaimed.
And for a moment he believed it as well, swept into the passion of it all, the tens of thousands of his men, rested, fit, well fed, eager now to go back into the fray and finish it. They had never known real defeat, they had taken Baltimore without effort, they had brought another state into the Confederacy, and now they were reinforced back up to a strength of over fifty thousand rifles and two hundred and fifty artillery pieces. He knew that in the next action they could sweep the field again. He could see it in their eyes, these men confident of victory. And their spirit leapt into his soul. They were ready.
A pavilion of open-sided tents had been set up atop the slope, the tents linked together to form a vast covered area that could accommodate several hundred people. Tonight there would be a ball, the finest of Baltimore invited to attend with their ladies. Dinner would be a "special repast in the tradition of the Army of Northern Virginia"-fried and basted salt pork served with a sprinkling of ground hardtack, the first sweet corn of the season, and "Confederate coffee" made with chickory. It would be seen as delightful and quaint, the talk of a city so used to dining on far better fare. The cooks, of course, were substituting fresh bacon for the salt pork, the topping was made with real bread crumbs, and since the army was awash in captured coffee, the real treat would be provided instead, but still the officers and guests would wink at the substitution. One of the famed Booth family, who by chance was in Baltimore when the city was taken, would provide the after-dinner entertainment with dramatic excerpts from Shakespeare's plays, and then the
Regimental Band from the Twenty-sixth North Carolina would offer a selection of waltzes, polkas, and reels.
Lee with Davis, Beauregard, Benjamin, and Stuart at his side rode up to the pavilion. Longstreet and Hood, coming over from their respective commands, arrived at the pavilion just behind Lee.
Hood was positively beaming; he had always been one to enjoy such pageantry, and for once the mood between him and Stuart was openly jovial. Dismounting, Lee looked over at Longstreet, who stood to one side, and approached.
"Did you enjoy the parade?"
"You know I find them to be a bit tiresome, sir. Rather have the men out drilling."
"Still, it's good for their spirits. It boosts morale to see the army assembled and a proper greeting to General Beauregard's men."
"We're as ready as we'll ever be," Longstreet replied. "You could see that today."
Lee smiled; it was a concession that on Old Pete's part that the grand review had caught his soul as well.
Yes, they were ready; the question was, To do what?
One corner of the pavilion had been set aside for Davis, Lee, and his staff to have a private repast before the beginning of the afternoon's and evening's festivities. Orderlies from his staff, well turned out in new uniforms, waited, the table already spread with the finest Baltimore could offer- oysters, champagne, fried clams, half a dozen selections of wine, crabs freshly boiled and spiced crab cakes, French brandies, thinly sliced beef, sweet corn, and, of course, fried chicken.
For once he did not feel guilty as he looked at the cornucopia of food spread upon the table. His men had been indulging in the same, except, naturally, for the spirits, eating as the Army of Northern Virginia had not eaten since the hard, bitter days before Richmond, the year before.
Already spoiled by Yankee largesse in their march north to Chambersburg, and then to Gettysburg and beyond, they had known true luxury the last three weeks. With President
Davis ready to sign a voucher order, the warehouses of Baltimore had been stripped clean of anything that would feed and boost the morale of this army. The men had marveled at the cans of condensed milk issued to them to lighten their coffee. And coffee! Not just any coffee, but a selection of beans from Jamaica, Brazil, Colombia, so that a lively trade had developed between regiments issued one or the other.
Every man now had new shoes, hats, blankets, even trousers and jackets, the milliners conveniently ready with gray dye to convert trousers that only the month before had been destined for the armies of the North. Canvas for tents had been found, including the very canvas that now covered the pavilion, along with hundreds of saddles, wagons that had escaped from the rout at Westminster, ammunition for both artillery and rifles, two hundred additional ambulances for the medical corps, thousands of mules, yet more remounts for the cavalry, forge wagons for artillery, even portable bakery wagons containing ovens and steam engines "borrowed" from fire departments, which might prove of use in some unexpected way.
For an army that had marched for far too long on lean stomachs it was as if they had gone to heaven while still alive. Bullocks by the hundreds had been driven into the camps; each night the regiments offered choices of fresh beef until they could eat no more. Wagons loaded with sweet corn came in from the countryside, and fresh-faced girls made it a practice to visit the camps, bearing loaves of home-baked bread, cakes, and cookies, greeted with reverent respect, at least on the surface, by these hard-fighting veterans. They had endeared themselves to the citizens of Baltimore, who were now eager to compare the valiant and yet humble Christian boys of the South with the hawk-faced Yankees of Massachusetts and New York.
Far more than any diplomatic efforts of Benjamin, or cool leadership of Davis, the ordinary rank and file of the Army of Northern Virginia, so hard and remorseless in battle, had shown themselves, at heart, to be really nothing more than boys and young men, desperate for home, for the simple things in life, and in so doing had won Baltimore back to the South.
Already dozens of requests for the right to marry had come up from the ranks, and Lee had been forced to pass a strict injunction that such things would have to wait until the war ended, unless it could be proven that the couple had known each other before the war and were now, by this circumstance, reunited. As a gesture of this new joining of Maryland to the cause, both he and Davis had attended a wedding only the day before, between a young boy on Stuart's staff, the same Lieutenant Jenkins who had infiltrated into Baltimore, and the object of his affection, the charming young daughter of a Methodist minister, the couple separated for two long years. Their wedding had become the social event of the month and was widely reported in all the newspapers.
As he looked around the pavilion he saw young Jenkins, still dressed in his formal uniform, and as he caught the boy's eye, he smiled as the young man blushed and lowered his head, having come from his all too brief honeymoon to participate in the review.
The entourage settled down under the pavilion, the breeze sweeping in now cool, the storm front approaching. Orderlies and staff scurried about, offering fresh pastries, coffee, wine, raw oysters, and even small, crystal shot glasses of brandy.
President Davis, showing his delight at the proceedings, accepted a glass of French wine and raised the glass high.
'To the success of our cause," he announced.
The group stood, Lee taking a glass as well, though merely swallowing a drop or two for the toast
"And to France," Benjamin added. "May they soon stand by our side."
'To France!"
The group sat down, and for a moment there was only polite conversation, commentary about the grandeur of the review, and anticipation for the evening's festivities.
Davis, sitting beside Lee, leaned over.
"I must say, never have I seen the men so fit, so eager, General Lee."
"Thank you, sir, the past weeks have indeed been a tonic for them. Our boys deserved it after all they have accomplished."
Davis nodded, sipping from his glass of wine. Benjamin came around the table to join them. "The French consul is waiting to see us, sir," he said. "In a few minutes, Judah. After all, we can't go running to him."
Judah smiled.
"He finally shared with me the dispatch he sent to the Emperor Napoleon III."
Davis, eyes sharp, looked up at Benjamin.
"I transcribed it as best I could after meeting with him this morning." Judah reached into his breast pocket, pulling out a sheet of paper, which he then handed to Davis.
"His report predicts that by the middle of autumn the Army of Northern Virginia will meet and defeat the new army being created by Grant He also predicts that General Johnston in the West will recapture Vicksburg."
Davis said nothing. The report had just come in the day before that Johnston had indeed ventured such an attack, now that most of the Army of the Tennessee, except for Sherman's corps, had come east Sherman had handed Johnston a stunning defeat, routing his army and driving it clear across Mississippi and into northern Alabama.
"Well, the dispatch went out a week and a half ago," Davis said.
"Fortunately. I think that the dispatch, combined with the dozens of newspapers, both north and south, which were sent along with it, might do the trick. Napoleon's forces are stuck in Mexico. His promises to the Hapsburg have drawn them into the fray; there are even regiments of troops from Austria being dispatched to Mexico. If ever he has a chance to ensure his success and prestige in both Europe and the New World, it is now, at this moment He will commit to us because a Union victory would be a disaster for French policy. They would be forced to abandon Mexico if Lincoln wins. We are their only hope."
Lee shifted uncomfortably. The thought of European soldiers again tramping across the Western Hemisphere left him uncomfortable. It struck at the almost hereditary spirit, inculcated into his blood, that this hemisphere was a world to be left alone by the monarchies of Europe.
Davis smiled as he scanned Judah's notes.
"How long?" Davis asked.
"It went out under a fast packet, flying French colors so it could not be stopped by the blockade."
With that, Judah grinned. Fort McHenry still held, a ring of Union warships lying out in the harbor. No ships had been allowed in since the city fell, but through a nice sleight of legal hand, a ship's ownership had been reassigned to a French company, and by international law it could not then be prevented from sailing. The incident two years earlier of Confederate diplomats being stopped on the high seas by the Union navy aboard a ship flying English colors had almost precipitated war, and since then the Lincoln administration had been careful to a fault to avoid a repeat. The ship had been allowed to pass, with the consul's assistant on board.
"The ship should arrive within the week in France. Maybe as early as three or four days from now if the passage is smooth. We paid extra for the fastest ship in the harbor and a full load of fuel on board. A month from now we might hear the results."
A group of civilian well-wishers came down and the president stood up, extending his hand, Lee standing as well and then backing away from the crowd, though for several minutes he had to endure a small crowd of young ladies who gathered around him, beaming, pressing him with questions, which he politely answered until Walter came up to him with the "usual" excuse that there were some "urgent issues that needed to be addressed."
Grateful as always for Walter's tactful help, he moved away from the crowd. Benjamin detached himself as well and walked over to Lee's side. Without comment the two drifted away, walking down to the line of artillery pieces, the gunners swabbing the bores clean. At Lee's approach a gunnery captain sensed that the general wanted some privacy, and detailed the men off. Lee returned the man's salute and nodded his head in thanks.
The storm from the west was coming closer and the other gun crews were laying tarps over limber chests and gun barrels. The breeze was cool, refreshing.
"I assume the president told you he is returning to Richmond tomorrow?" Benjamin asked.
"Yes, he mentioned it just before the review."
"But I'll be staying on for a while."
Lee smiled. He had developed a genuine affection for Benjamin, whereas the presence of Davis had seriously disrupted the routine at headquarters and imposed significantly on his own time, with Davis asking for daily conferences, discussions, and meetings with various representatives from Maryland. It was a political side of his job that he was glad to be freed from.
Lee looked across the field. He was used to a large degree of independence in his operations, answering to no one, and to have Davis now sitting in on every council of war, and attempting to be, at times, part of the planning, had made things difficult
"Impressive review today, General Lee."
Yes, it had indeed been impressive, and for a moment he had allowed it to sweep him away. There was something about tens of thousands of troops, massed together, the cheering, the music, the precision of columns on the march, that stirred his soul like nothing else. At such moments one did indeed feel invincible. War had changed so much since he had taken the oath on the plains of West Point so many years ago, but the moments of pageantry had not gone away, and they masked the illusion of what the real purpose was.
He had agreed to the pressure exerted by the president to make another try on Washington, though he felt it would be an exercise in futility, except for one hope, that by threatening the capital yet again, it just might dislodge Grant, Sickles, or both from their inaccessible enclaves north of the Susquehanna.
The ring was beginning to tighten and Lee knew it Davis had impressed upon him for the last three weeks that the thought of Baltimore falling back into Union hands was intolerable, and he had to agree, that now, after taking it after the public joining of Maryland to the Confederacy-though there had been no real benefit from that so far other than grist for the newspapers-they could not let it fall.
That meant he was tied to this region and now to an essentially defensive posture of holding the city, but at the same time forced to make another try on Washington.
And every day, he knew, the Union forces were getting stronger in spite of Union Mills, in spite of the riots, in spite of the governor of New York declaring that his regiments would only go to Sickles. In spite of all that, Grant was building.
The first heavy drops of rain came down, carrying with them that warm, rich scent of an approaching storm. Flashes of lightning snapped across the sky, the rolling booms of the thunder coming now like a counterpoint to the salvos fired by the guns.
Lee looked around; he did not want to go back to the pavilion. A headquarters tent for one of the batteries stood just behind a row of Napoleons, and the two made for it. Yet again, the men, seeing Lee approach, stiffened, saluted, looking deferential.
He hated to roust them out of their shelter but he wanted a few minutes alone with Judah before the party. He knew Judah would enjoy himself tonight, and he wanted the man now, when his mind was still clear.
Lee made eye contact with a major, who stood before him nervously.
"Major, I truly hate to disturb you," Lee said quietly. "But may I ask your indulgence? The secretary and I need to talk."
"An honor, sir," the major said, obviously delighted that his tent had been so chosen, and he guided his men off.
Lee and Benjamin stepped under the awning and faced the storm, watching as the wall of rain approached, lashing the opposite crest.
"I'd like to talk frankly, General Lee," Judah said, looking straight over at him.
"I hope you would do just that."
"I believe France will enter the war, but any hopes for England I doubt now, and they are the strength we really need. If Napoleon III comes in, the English will just smile and sit back, waiting to see him take a major defeat. The Prussians would enjoy that as well. The effect you created at Union Mills will have far-reaching consequences, General Lee."
"The maneuvering between European powers was never part of my intent. All I want to do is finish this war."
The rain swept across the field, driving the two back into the tent From the pavilion they could hear shouts, laughter, some cries of distress.
"The conversation with Rabbi Rothenberg," Lee said, lowering his head. "I've dwelt on it ever since."
"I have, too."
"Did you broach the subject to the president?"
"Yes, I did. Twice now. He has categorically refused to even consider it. He says that we are on the edge of a final victory. To make such a concession now would actually be a sign of weakness, according to him. He even suggested that some states might even secede from the Confederacy if we attempted it."
Lee sighed. That thought had of course occurred to him. What an absurdity, but then again, what was to prevent it? After all, once the Union was broken, the precedent had been set. Yes, perhaps several of the states, so dependent were they on the slave economy, just might do that One final suicidal gesture.
"All my arguments failed, even the foreign policy advantage with England, which I pushed the hardest. He is confident the war will be resolved by October, and even if we did what the rabbi said, it would be six months or more before it would begin to impact the British government, while on the other hand Napoleon can pretty well do as he pleases, whenever he wants."
Lee put his hands behind his back and gazed out at the storm now lashing the open fields, gusts of wind causing the tent to billow and flutter.
"I've been ordered by the president to allow owners to repossess escaped slaves hiding here in Maryland."
"I know."
"Slave owners here may also lease their slaves to the Confederacy and send them south."
"And what will you do?" Judah asked. "You know what will happen; free blacks by the hundreds, maybe thousands, will be kidnapped in all the confusion."
Lee shook his head.
"I keep thinking of the logic of what Rabbi Rothenberg said. I will confess I find it difficult to imagine the black man as my social equal. But before God? That is what troubles me. Where would the Savior stand upon this question? That song the Yankees love to sing, 'as He died to make men holy, let us die to make men free.' It does have power to it, even if it is nothing but rhetoric."
"And the president's orders?"
Lee said nothing for a moment.
"I'm sworn to obey all orders of my government"
"And will you?"
Lee looked over at Judah.
"Please don't press me. I find the order repugnant. But can I refuse, then expect the unswerving obedience of my own men? For in battle that is what I will need if we are to win."
"You can do so as a moral statement" Judah said. Lee looked at him appraisingly. Then he smiled and said nothing.
"Perhaps we can still resolve this issue by finishing the fight as quickly as possible," Lee finally replied.
"Do you honestly think you can do mat?"
"Mr. Secretary, if I were not confident that I can still win, now there would indeed be a moral question. I would have to tell the president that, and I have not done so. Yes, the odds are steep; their strength is gathering yet again. But on the other side, it is no worse than it was seven weeks ago when we crossed into Pennsylvania. I will have to face two armies. One, our old opponents, the Army of the Potomac. After Union Mills they will be off balance, terribly off balance, and nervous. I can exploit that. The second army? It is an unknown, but then again so are we to them. They are in strange territory as well.
'Tomorrow Wade Hampton will take his brigade north. I need to know more about Grant. We have newspaper reports, but they are unreliable, as you know. The position of their Nineteenth Corps is a crucial piece of information. Which army they are positioned with will indicate much."
"Wouldn't it be easier just to get some spies up there, or scouts? Though I'm no tactician, sir, I'll be the first to admit."
Lee smiled. It was an obvious reference to Davis's daily interference at the staff meetings, urging positioning of regiments, wishing to move them like chess pieces. Davis, as a former brigade commander himself in Mexico, and as secretary of war in the previous administration, did have a good head for things military. He had, in fact, been far less interfering than Lincoln. But in this campaign, sensing that victory was near, he had taken to interfering more.
"Please, sir, your advice is always welcome to me," Lee said.
"I'm uneasy about this raid you are ordering north of the Susquehanna." "Why?"
"The river is still swollen, places to ford are few. Just a thought on my part, sir."
"I want to stir them up. If we can penetrate, get the information I seek, then perhaps push farther, threaten Lancaster, or even Reading, or the outskirts of Philadelphia, it will trigger another panic, possibly renewed riots. I think it is worth the risk."
"Rabbi Rothenberg, with his love of Napoleon, told me that the Army of Northern Virginia is like Napoleon's army in June of 1815." "How is that?"
"Wellington and Blucher's armies. Together they would outnumber us. If you can drive a wedge between them, defeat one, and then turn upon the other, there is still a chance."
Lee smiled and said nothing. The intensity of the storm was at its height, sheets of cold rain lashing down, and he stood by the entrance to the tent, looking off, flashes of lightning arcing the sky.
Philadelphia
August 11, 1863 4:00 P.M.
Cpl. John Miller stood at attention under the blazing sun. He and the men of his company had been standing thus for the last ten minutes as their white drill sergeant paced up and down the line, delivering a lecture as old as the armies of Caesar, discussing with them their lineage, legitimacy, how "his" army had indeed fallen on hard times if the men before him were now part of it, how the best thing possible would be their complete slaughter on the first volley and other such minor threats.
The sergeant did not really know his audience. Most of the men around John had known nothing but a life of abuse and denial. Most of them were freemen, born in the North or in Baltimore. Nearly all had been laborers, farmhands, dock-workers, mill workers. For John, this session under the sun was a minor annoyance compared to being in Abbott's mill in July, when the hot iron was going through the rollers, sparks flying.
His body was a crosshatching of scars, deep burns, so many in fact that his white lieutenant, seeing him one evening with his shirt off, came up and sympathically asked if his master had whipped him. The young man was embarrassed when John told him about the scars, actually concerned that he might have insulted him by implying he had been a slave. That conversation, talking about his work in the mill, his being foreman to twenty colored workers, his knowledge of writing, even some of the literature he took pleasure in, resulted in the two stripes on his sleeve the next day and an increase in pay, which meant that Sarah and the children, staying with her sister, would no longer be dependent on kin for charity.
"All right, you benighted bastards, let's do it one more time," the sergeant roared.
"Forward march!"
The company line, eighty men formed in two ranks, stepped off, moving like an undulating wave across the parade ground. John, as corporal, on the right of the line, kept looking toward the center, carefully measuring his pace to match the sergeant's.
"Keep watching the center, keep watching the center," he hissed, reaching out to push the man next to him up. The line buckled and wavered, keeping some semblance of formation.
The sergeant, now marching backward, kept up a steady cadence count; most all the men had finally mastered that, the steady tramp of left, right, left, right
"Company, by the right wheel, march!"
John instantly stopped in place, the man behind him almost banging into him as he took one more step.
The line started to turn, again wavering, one man tripping in the front rank, stumbling, breaking up the center.
"Move it, double time, double time!"
The line swung, bent like a snake, almost disintegrated.
"Halt!"
"God in heaven above, preserve me," the sergeant cried, taking off his hat and throwing it on the ground. One of the men actually stepped forward to pick it up for him.
"Get back in line there! You're a soldier, not my goddamn servant. If I want my hat picked up, I'll order you!"
John could not help but grin slightly. The sergeant had not even realized he had just complimented them. He had called them soldiers, not servants. The finer nuance was not lost on many of the men, who, even while the sergeant was swearing, had been looking sidelong at each other, a flicker of a smile on more than one face.
If this sergeant wanted to stand them under the sun all day, swear and roar, march them back and forth, that was fine with them. Dawn to dusk in a mill in July-this was like Sunday in comparison.
John knew mat there was far more, however, than simple physical endurance that would be the final issue here. This new regiment had to learn to march, live, and fight as one. Just as in the mill, where a single misstep by one man could kill an entire crew. Something he had seen beyond counting, men turned to cinders by a blast of molten iron, caught in rollers, crushed in presses. Death and hardship were no strangers to him nor to the rest.
His only fear, the fear of all the men standing there beneath the hot August sun, was that it might be over before they were ready. The regiment had only started to form less than two weeks ago. They had come some distance in those two weeks; uniforms had been issued, shoes, which had caused agony for many of the men until the sergeant had shown them how to break in the heavy leather "brogans," as he called them, by first soaking them in hot water and then putting them on, so that the shapeless form molded somewhat to their feet.
They had yet to receive their rifles though, and rumors were sweeping the city and the newspapers that another great battle was brewing. The horror for all of them was that Lee might be defeated and they would not be there to do their part.
The men from Baltimore were imbued with a dream, that they would march in triumph back into their city. And yet he knew as well how much of a dream that might be. In his walk from Baltimore to Port Deposit he had seen the panicked Union troops falling back, running blindly whenever there was a report that rebel cavalry was closing in. He had seen it after finally crossing the river, where to his amazement a church group was helping to provide transport for colored refugees to Wilmington or Philadelphia. What had been the Army of the Potomac was gathering there, and though they were impressive at first sight, it was evident that they were but the survivors of a beaten army.
And then there was the other talk, that Lee just might win yet again, and if so, the war would definitely be over. If that was the case, he wondered if this could even be his country, North or South.
"All right, you bastards. One more time. Company forward march!"
The ragged line stepped off yet again, the hot sun blazing down, passing dozens of similar companies parading back and forth. The steady "left-right" cadences shouted by white sergeants with Irish brogues, thick German accents, Midwestern twangs, and deep New England drawls, echoing across the held.
Near Gunpowder Falls, Maryland,
Fifteen Miles North of Baltimore
August 11,1863 6:00 P.M.
General Lee rode with Longstreet by his side, staff, including Jed Hotchkiss, and a heavy security patrol of an entire regiment of cavalry spread out before them.
The evening was turning cool, after a warm day of riding. They had set out shortly after- dawn, riding with President Davis for several miles until he had continued on to the west, this time escorted by a full regiment of Stuart's best and a section of light guns. Once the president was out of sight, he had told Pete that they would spend today riding north, to explore the land a bit. They had advanced up the road toward Bel Air, nearly halfway to the Susquehanna, then swung about, heading down toward the Chesapeake, following an open river valley with the ironic name of Gunpowder.
Reining in to rest Traveler, Lee dismounted, loosely holding his old friend's reins, Traveler cropping noisily at the tall, rich grass. Pete dismounted, stretched, and lit a cigar.
"Beautiful evening," Lee said softly.
"That it is, sir."
"We do love these moments. If other parts of our task could forever be put aside, if we could have but this, riding reconnaissance, watching our army on the march, now there would be something to enjoy."
Pete nodded.
"But there is something about the sting of battle," Pete replied, "just before you go in, that is stirring as well, when we are driving them, and the men are shouting to go forward."
"Yes," and though he felt uncomfortable admitting it, that was true for him as well, the vast battle lines deploying out, the thunder of artillery, flags held aloft, the long, long battle lines charging forward, that piercing yell reaching to the heavens. Those were good as well, except for the price that came afterward.
"I'm not given to religious philosophy as you are, sir," Pete said. "But I remember the Norse mythology. Perhaps our Heaven, our Valhalla, will be just that, a warrior's heaven, where we will march and fight forever, and at dusk the dead will rise to feast together, friend and foe, throughout the night until the coming of the next day's battle."
It was a thought Lee did not wish to pursue; he had dwelled too much on philosophy, on moral questions, these last few weeks; to debate now the nature of Heaven would reawaken those other thoughts as well, and he needed to again focus on the now.
"You realize the president expects us to end this within another month," Lee replied, changing the subject.
"I think we can do it," Pete replied forcefully. Pete had stood to one side while Davis had given his final admonition, that with the reinforcements that had just arrived, he expected Washington to be taken.
"We can win," Lee said quietly, shading his eyes to look off to the west. He said, letting go of Traveler's reins, "But not with another attempt on Washington, as the president expects."
Longstreet grinned.
"Glad to hear you say that, sir. Dare I assume that is the purpose of our ride today?" Lee smiled and nodded.
Davis, unknowingly, had at least given him some wiggle room with his closing statement that he expected the Army of Northern Virginia to force Lincoln into capitulation. He cited a pledge, printed in all the Northern newspapers, where Lincoln declared that the city was invulnerable and that he would stay there no matter what happened.
"He cannot run now," Davis said. "Storm the city, capture the scoundrel, and I will be back to deal with him."
He did not exactly say that the city was to be stormed within the next two or three days, though one would have to admit that the president fully expected that outcome.
"I can see the way you've been looking at ground today," Longstreet pressed. "It's like the old days, when we had a chance to look things over before picking our spot"
Lee smiled, his attention diverted by the approach of Taylor and the army cartographer, Jed Hotchkiss.
"Beautiful ground, sir," Jed Hotchkiss announced, a flat board balanced on the pommel of his saddle with a sketchbook pegged to the board. Throughout the day he had been feverishly sketching away, turning out one map after another.
"May I see your work, sir?" Lee asked.
Grinning, Hotchkiss handed the sketch board down.
"Just rough drafts, sir," he said, offering the classic excuse of all artists and writers. "Once back to headquarters I can run off better copies."
Lee took the board, turning slightly to orient himself toward north, Pete coming up by his side.
"We have two good roads coming north out of Baltimore," Lee said, thumbing back to one of the earlier sketches, putting on his reading glasses so he could figure out the finely written details of distances, prominent buildings, and types of terrain.
"The first road toward Bel Air," Lee said, pointing to the map, "the second, the one we are on now, down closer to the bay and parallel to the railroad, which could be used as well for infantry if the weather turns bad."
"North rather than Washington, sir?" Walter asked tentatively. It was unusual for him to venture a question, but Lee did not reproach him. The excuse of their just "going for a ride after seeing the president off" was just that, an obvious excuse after nearly ten hard hours in the saddle, crisscrossing the landscape.
Lee did not reply to Walter's query, instead concentrating on the sketches, turning the pages, pausing occasionally to ask Jed to explain some detail, comparing relative heights between the low-lying ridges.
He could sense the mounting excitement of the other three. The weeks of idleness at Baltimore, though a wonderful chance to relax, reorganize, and refit, seemed out of place for a field army during the height of the campaign season. Battle, of their own choosing, was again in the air.
He reached the last map, the one that sketched this line along the Gunpowder River for nearly ten miles of length. Hotchkiss was obviously tired; he had gone through three horses during the day, covering two miles or more at a gallop for each one Lee had ridden at leisure. He alone knew the full details of why they were riding thus.
Their cavalry escort ringed in a bit closer as the four stood examining the maps, forward pickets a good three or four miles ahead of the main body… and not a single Yankee, not even a few scouts, had been seen all day, a clear sign that Sickles was keeping to the north side of the river.
Lee studied the last map intently, the shadows around them lengthening and then disappearing as the sun set, summer twilight settling over them.
"I think it will be here," he finally said.
"Good ground," Pete replied. "We can ring our guns along this side of the stream, force them to cross; this is very good ground."
Lee shook his head.
"No, I think we'll give it to them."
"Sir?"
"A friend of mine, a man Judah took me to share dinner with, made a good analogy of our army's situation. He said we're like Napoleon before Quatre Bras, several days before Waterloo. Napoleon was trying to force a break between the allied army and the Prussian army. As you know, he failed to do so, and the defeat at Waterloo was the result. We're like Napoleon at this moment, but it's not two armies we must force apart, it is three."
The Plan to bring out Sickles
"We do have the advantage of being in the middle. Pete offered, "Washington garrison to the south, Sickles to the – northeast, Grant to the north."
"And if they should all squeeze at once, we have a problem. No, we must lure one of the three out, defeat it without question, then turn on the second force and defeat that in turn. Once two of the three are destroyed, the third will be broken morally and then we finish it up. I think we can do that, but it will require audacity."
"We never lacked that," Pete said with a grin.
"If we offer battle to Sickles but then dig in here, on the south side of this stream, I think even he will hold. He talks big, but he also has the memory of Union Mills fresh on his mind. He will stop, probe, try to flank us, and in the interim I would suspect Grant will either order him to retire or come down upon our flank and rear and we will be forced to withdraw."
He smiled, pointing at the ground around them.
"No, I want Sickles alone, I want him overly confident, I want him advancing rapidly. If I give him this ground-after a fight, mind you, but not a real fight, just a demonstration- 1 think he will come on with a vengeance, thinking we are on the run, and then we jump him. Conceding this ground at the start will embolden him to push on toward Baltimore and then we spring our trap several miles to the rear."
Pete grinned.
"Fine, sir, now how do we get him here?"
"We set him off half-cocked. Tomorrow afternoon the army will leave Baltimore and advance on Washington with all proper fanfare. I want it done publicly. Let the rumors fly. We don't press the men, however; we save their strength. How we arrange the marching order will be crucial. I want Hood on the left, Beauregard on the right, and you acting as a reserve in the rear, but instantly ready to turn around.
"Leave your strongest division here in Baltimore as a garrison."
"That would be Pickett and, as usual, he'll chafe."
"Let him. No one is to know of this plan other than the four of us here. I want no lost orders like we had at Sharpsburg. We can tell the others when the time comes."
"Thank you for the confidence, sir," Longstreet replied.
"Pete, I have to tell someone, in case anything happens to me."
"Just mind the heat, sir," Walter interjected protectively.
"Thank you, Walter, and remember, no written orders regarding this place here. I want all to appear as though we are marching on Washington with the full intent of storming it within three days."
"Yes, sir."
"We engage in front of Washington, make all appearances of preparing to attack. Now, if by some rare chance the opportunity does arise to take the city, we will venture it, but I don't see that happening, at least not without a bloody cost. Our threat, however, will trigger yet another panic in that city and in the North."
"But Grant did not even budge last time," Longstreet said, "and we've seen the reports about his statements, along with our observations near Harrisburg of his army building there rather than shipping it all to Washington."
"Sickles is the one," Lee said emphatically, "he is the one I'm playing this game to. We know the divisions between Grant and Sickles. It's the same as it was with Pope and McClellan at Second Manassas. We threaten Washington and I am all but certain that Sickles will find an excuse to bring his army, ill prepared, across the Susquehanna. At the very least he'll see the chance to grab back Baltimore, but I suspect that ultimately he will seek to strike us in the rear, at least he will think he is striking us in the rear."
Lee smiled, turning to walk back over to Traveler's side, gently rubbing his old friend's forehead.
"Once we know he is across the river, we move, countermarching back, and when I say move, we will do it with utmost speed, the same way you marched to Westminster, General Longstreet Here is the place we drive for, especially after Sickles has gained it
"We'll work out the details tonight. I think we'll camp near here, gentlemen, I'd enjoy a night away from the city."
Walter nodded and rode off, calling for the cavalry to circle in and to find a tent.
"We play this for Dan Sickles," Lee said, still smiling. "Bring him down here and let him think he is winning, then close in like a vice, taking him on the flank when the time comes. It will call for careful coordination, Pete. Stuart will observe, skirmish, and offer some delay, acting as if he is trying to buy time, thus causing Sickles to press harder. We then send Pickett up to delay, but not too much, a different kind of fight for him, but it's time he proved himself at it. Then, when the moment is right and all our forces have marched back up from Washington, we hit Sickles with a concentrated attack and finish him."
"Grant and the Washington garrison?"
"That's one of the reasons I'm sending Wade Hampton across the river between the two armies. Yes, I want to know exactly where the Nineteenth Corps is before we start this fight If they do move with Sickles, we might have a bigger fight than anticipated. But the broader plan is for Wade to disrupt communications between those two armies and sow panic, perhaps even to lead Grant to think I'm preparing to cross the river farther up. I want Sickles cut off as much as possible from Grant to give him the latitude to move without being restrained. As for the Washington garrison, they will stay stuck behind their fortifications, as always. They are not a factor in this. Ultimately it will first be Sickles, and then Grant, but a Grant weakened when a third or more of those people north of the river cross over and then just disappear."
"Sir, a concern," Hotchkiss interjected.
"Go on."
"The main body of our army countermarching back up from Washington will have to march nearly three miles for every mile that Sickles makes."
"It will have to be done. We cannot allow Sickles to actually get into Baltimore. Once there, he'd be behind the fortifications and our chance to catch him in the open will be lost If we beat him south of Baltimore, yet again he could fall back to Baltimore and dig in. No, we must fight him here, on this ground."
'That will be one tall order, sir, when it comes to the distance our men must cover before going into a fight," Hotchkiss pressed.
"Then we march through the night and into the next day," Lee said quietly, looking over at Pete.
"General Longstreet, do you think you have another Union Mills in you?"
Longstreet grinned.