The White House
August 30, 1863 1:00 A.M.
How are you, Mr. President," Elihu asked as he came into the office. Lincoln, sitting behind his desk, looked up, offered a weak smile, and set down his pen.
"Just a minute more, Elihu. Why don't you sit down and relax."
Elihu went over to the sofa and collapsed. He had not slept in a day and a half. He felt as if he had been trapped in a small boat, tossed back and forth by waves coming from opposite directions. There would be moments of exultation, followed minutes later by contrary news that plunged all into gloom.
Renewed rioting had broken out in New York when it was reported in the Times that Grant had sustained over thirty thousand casualties and was retreating.
The Tribune, in contrast, was reporting victory, but its headlines were ignored and the rioting had swept into city hall, the building torched by the mob.
Sickles was up to his usual destructive behavior, denouncing the removal of Stanton, calling for Lincoln's impeachment, and demanding that both he and Stanton be returned to positions of authority, in order to "save our Republic from a dictator who has led us to the brink of disaster."
The news had fueled protests in Philadelphia and Cleveland and many other cities of the Midwest, particularly those that had provided so many regiments to Grant's army.
Yet the waves would then rush in from the other direction. Sherman had just reported a sharp victory against Bragg about thirty miles north of Atlanta; if he could now beat Bragg in a race to secure Kennesaw Mountain, he'd be in a position to take Atlanta under siege within a matter of days.
Elihu closed his eyes, glad for the momentary respite. He heard Lincoln scratching away with his pen, a sigh, the sound of paper being folded.
"Elihu?"
"Yes, sir?"
"Asleep?"
"Wish I could, sir."
Lincoln was looking over at him. He seemed to have aged another decade within the last few weeks. He had lost weight, his eyes were deep-set, dark circles beneath them, hair unkempt, bony features standing out starkly in the flickering light of the lamp on his desk.
Lincoln stood up, walked over, and sat down in a chair next to Elihu, handing him a sealed envelope.
"I need you to do this for me now."
"What is it, sir?"
"I want you to personally deliver this memo to General Grant."
Elihu took the envelope. "Now, sir?"
"Yes. The railroad line has been restored to Baltimore. I've already sent a message down to the rail yard, and a car is waiting for you. You should be able to get a little sleep on the way up. From there proceed as far as possible west on the B and O, then find Grant and deliver this message. It is absolutely crucial that you do so."
"Yes, sir," Elihu replied wearily.
"Elihu, this is important. Once aboard the train, feel free to open the envelope and read it. You will then see why. Once you have linked up with General Grant, you are to stay with him." Lincoln spoke with a deep sense of urgency and almost foreboding. "Sir?"
"Stay with him until it is decided one way or the other." Elihu nodded.
"It's still not certain, sir," Elihu said. "Hancock repulsed Lee, but he has escaped us before. He still might slip back across the Potomac, and if so, the war will drag on for another year or more."
Lincoln nodded.
"I know that. The country knows that. And I am not sure the country can take another year of this kind of bloodletting without achievement."
He sighed, stood up, and walked over to the window, as Elihu noticed was his habit when thinking. He gazed out over Lafayette Park, the crowd gathered there, the ring of sentries.
"Another year. I don't think I can bear it. Nearly four hundred thousand Americans have died on both sides already. Another year, my God, six hundred thousand, seven hundred thousand?"
He turned away from the window.
"Are our sins so great that we must be punished so? I first asked myself that question after we failed so miserably at Second Bull Run a year ago. Now I feel a redoubled sense of trying to understand what God intends by this terrible agony for our nation."
Elihu could not reply.
"Just do as I've requested," Lincoln finally said. "And let us pray that when we meet again, all shall be well."