Mrs. Grant and Madame Jule

by Jennifer Chiaverini

  She never again entered the private family apartments except by special invitation. The ladies of the household did not neglect her entirely, however; from time to time they visited her in her drawing room, and on one occasion, when they learned that Julia had never heard of any of their favorite songs, they gathered a few friends together and invited her into the family drawing room for a concert. Julia had never heard ladies’ voices ring out so grandly except in church, nor with such feeling, power, pathos, and enthusiasm. But oh, the lyrics! They sang “Dixie,” of course, which was harmless enough, but also “God Save the South,” with its appeal to heaven to “Lay Thou their legions low, roll back the ruthless foe, Let the proud spoiler know God’s on our side.” One lady was so moved that she began to weep during the chorus of “The Battle Cry of Freedom”—“Our Dixie forever! She’s never at a loss! Down with the eagle and up with the cross!”—and she practically shouted the last verse:

  While our boys have responded

  And to the fields have gone,

  Shout, shout the battle cry of Freedom!

  Our noble women also

  Have aided them at home,

  Shout, shout the battle cry of Freedom!

  “My,” Julia said, breathless, when the ladies had finished and stood watching her expectantly, awaiting her verdict. “You certainly do shout out your own battle cry quite . . . melodiously.”

  “You must come again and listen to us,” said a friend of Mrs. Govan’s.

  “No, never again,” Julia exclaimed, rising. “It was bad enough that I listened to your rebel songs once. I would be a traitor indeed if I listened a second time.”

  She fled the room, the sound of amused laughter following her down the hall.

  Mrs. Govan was too gracious to bear a grudge, and that same afternoon, she invited Jesse to play with her own young son, and the boys became good friends. Encouraged by her reluctant landlady’s kindness, when she needed alterations made to a favorite gown, Julia asked her to recommend a dressmaker.

  “I know just the one,” Mrs. Govan replied. “Would you like me to take you to her tomorrow?”

  “Oh, yes, please,” said Julia. “I would very much enjoy the company.”

  The following morning shortly after breakfast, Mrs. Govan escorted Julia to the dressmaker’s shop. As soon as she crossed the threshold, Julia discovered that word of her visit must have preceded her, for she found nearly a dozen ladies already present, a few who apparently had business of their own with the seamstress, but others who apparently had come only to satisfy their curiosity regarding the Yankee general’s wife.

  Julia soon had them engaged in friendly conversation, scrupulously avoiding the subject of their favorite music. The dressmaker was deftly attending to Julia’s alterations when one of the ladies asked, “You are Southern, are you not?”

  “No,” Julia replied. “I am from the West. Missouri is my native state.”

  “Yes, we know,” said a gray-haired woman in small round spectacles, smiling with disdain, “but Missouri is a Southern state. Surely you are Southern in feeling and principle.”

  “No, indeed,” Julia said, lifting her chin. “I’m the most loyal of the loyal.”

  “But you own a slave,” exclaimed a younger, dark-haired woman in a yellow dress. “You can’t be for the Union and for slavery both.”

  “The Yankee aggression against the South is unconstitutional,” the bespectacled woman declared, and a chorus of approving murmurs went up from the Southern ladies.

  “I cannot speak to that,” said Julia testily. “I don’t know a thing about this dreadful Constitution.”

  The other ladies stared, astonished. “Why, surely you’ve studied it,” said Mrs. Govan.

  “No, I have not,” said Julia. “I wouldn’t know where to look for it even if I wished to read it, but I do know that the people of the North believe it’s unconstitutional for any of the states to secede. How useful a document can it be, if it’s subject to such vastly different interpretations?”

  As the ladies exchanged glances, Julia, much embarrassed, resolved to become as knowledgeable about her government as were the ladies who had rebelled against it.

  Northern ideals descended anew in the person of Jesse Grant, who unexpectedly arrived in Holly Springs to escort Julia and his grandson to Ulys in Oxford.

  Full of misgivings, Julia instructed Jule to pack sufficiently for a few days away. She considered leaving Jule behind, but she was afraid that some unscrupulous person might decide that she had been abandoned and put her to work, or worse yet, assume that she was a runaway and sell her off deep into rebel territory. So Julia steeled herself for Jesse’s sanction and summoned the carriage to take them to the depot, informing Mrs. Govan that they would soon return.

  At the depot, the elder Jesse greeted his namesake with great delight and Julia with a perfunctory kiss on the cheek, sparing a grimly sympathetic nod for Jule as she left them to sit in the rear with a few other colored travelers.

  Julia soon discovered that Jesse had not traveled alone, but in the company of three gentlemen, whom he introduced as the brothers Harman, Henry, and Simon Mack, prominent clothing manufacturers from Cincinnati. Julia’s polite, circumspect questions availed her little, except the knowledge that they were of the Hebrew faith, and that they were intelligent, courteous, and generously tolerant of little Jesse’s exuberant antics. She also discerned that Ulys was unaware of his father’s traveling companions.

  Ulys had sent an ambulance to meet them at the depot, and he was waiting outside headquarters when they arrived. “Jess, you little rascal, are you glad to see me?” he asked, snatching up his son and tossing him into the air. He kissed Julia and shook his father’s hand, and although he seemed surprised to discover his father’s entourage, he welcomed the men cordially as each was introduced. “As my father’s friends,” he added, “you’re welcome to join us for dinner.”

  “We’d be delighted,” said Simon Mack, and his brothers readily agreed.

  Later, over beef, canned vegetables, rice, bread, coffee, and condensed milk at a private table in the officers’ mess, the Mack brothers praised Ulys for his handling of the war, but since Ulys was ever reluctant to speak of himself or to discuss military strategy, Jesse soon turned the conversation to the news from Cincinnati, which prompted the subject of the brothers’ clothing business.

  “Our company has suffered since the rebellion began,” Henry Mack admitted. “Our mills need cotton to weave the cloth from which we make our clothing, but embargoes and blockades have made cotton a rare commodity in the North.”

  “So I’ve heard,” said Ulys, but Julia suspected no one but she recognized the irony. The authority to grant cotton-trading permits so that Northern manufacturers could purchase cotton from loyal Unionists in the South resided with Secretary of the Treasury Salmon P. Chase, but the enforcement of it fell to military officers in the field.

  “We have associates in the South, loyal Union men we’ve known since before the war, with cotton to sell and nowhere to sell it,” said Simon Mack.

  “If you would provide my friends here with a cotton-trading permit,” Jesse said, shifting eagerly in his chair, “I could help them arrange to transport it to New York, and from there to the mills.”

  Julia stole a glance at her husband, whose features had not changed expression, though his cheeks had become florid. “At a tidy profit, I don’t doubt,” Ulys replied in a level voice.

  As Jesse shrugged, embarrassed to be caught out, Harman Mack quickly said, “Mr. Grant has agreed to become our partner in this venture, so it is only right for him to earn a commission.”

  “How much?” Ulys asked.

  “Twenty-five percent of the profits.”

  Abruptly Ulys stood, his back stiff, his eyes bright with anger. “It is unfortunate that you will all be disappointed.” In two strides he was
at Julia’s side, and she quickly rose and took the arm he offered her. “If you’ll excuse us, gentlemen.”

  Ulys waited until they were safely alone in their quarters before unleashing his anger. “My father is determined to make his fortune from my position,” he stormed. “I can’t allow that. I can’t bring the taint of scandal upon my command.”

  “Of course not.”

  “Julia—” Suddenly he strode to the door. “Julia, I’m sorry, but I must resolve this immediately. I might not be back until late.”

  Julia promised to wait up, but he did not return until long after she had put young Jesse to bed and had dismissed Jule for the night. “I’ve arranged for my father and his friends to depart on the first train North, and I’ve written an order that will solve this problem once and for all,” he informed her as he undressed and settled into bed.

  In the morning, Julia devised for her son a tour of the encampment so that Ulys would not be disturbed. Bundling Jesse in his warmest clothes, Julia took him by one hand, Jule by the other, and together they went exploring. Each camp was new and enthralling to Jesse, though they all looked much the same to Julia, but she and Jule both enjoyed his delight, and hours later, when they headed back to meet Ulys for lunch, they were all red cheeked, breathless, and happy from exertion.

  Just as they reached headquarters, a man called out, “Mrs. Grant, may I have a word?”

  She turned to discover a man in a long black coat, black hat, and white minister’s collar hurrying toward her. “Reverend Briggs,” she greeted him. “How delightful to see you again. How are the sheep in your vast flock?”

  Reverend Briggs was one of the tallest men in camp, in his early sixties, with a slight stoop to his shoulders that suggested many a long night bent over his Bible with a pen in hand, composing a sermon. “Some of them are quite distressed today, Mrs. Grant, and not for the usual reasons.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. Is there anything I can do?”

  The minister rubbed his hands together; she saw that they were red and chapped and made a mental note to procure him some warm gloves and one of Jule’s miraculous salves. “I certainly hope so. The men know of your kindness, and of your religious devotion, and they trust that you empathize with people of many different faiths.”

  “We are all God’s children,” Julia said, regarding Reverend Briggs curiously while keeping an eye on Jesse, who was not one to remain sedately at his mother’s side while she conversed with another adult. Fortunately, Jule, ever watchful, followed after as he began to wander. “Whether we are Methodist or Lutheran or even Papists.”

  “Or Hebrew?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  Reverend Briggs looked relieved. “Then, in the spirit of religious tolerance, I hope that you might speak to General Grant on behalf of our hundreds of soldiers of the Jewish faith. They are to a man loyal, dutiful soldiers.”

  The minister’s vehemence caught Julia by surprise. “I’m sure they are. What can I do to help them?”

  “As you may well imagine, the general’s order has upset them greatly.” His voice was clipped and hurried with unmistakable anger. “Nevertheless, they’re determined to do their duty, once they understand it. Are General Grant’s Jewish officers and men to hold to their original commitment to the United States Army, or should they obey the general’s new order? They cannot, as the general must surely realize, do both.”

  “Reverend,” said Julia, startled, “I’m sorry, but I don’t understand. I’ve been out since breakfast and I know nothing of any new order.”

  “My apologies. I assumed you knew. It’s the talk of the camp.” The minister gestured toward the far end of the headquarters piazza, where notices were posted. A crisp new page had been tacked up to a column, the lower corners rustling in the wind.

  “Jule, will you take Jesse inside?” asked Julia, gathering her skirts and climbing the stairs. “Please change him out of his muddy clothes and give him his lunch in the kitchen.”

  “But I want to eat with Papa,” Jesse protested.

  “You’ll see him at suppertime.” Jule gave him a winning smile and extended a hand. “Have lunch with me, and I’ll finish that story I started last night.”

  Jesse beamed and took her hand, and as she led him inside, she and Julia exchanged a worried, wary glance before Julia strode down the piazza to read Ulys’s order.

  Headquarters 13th Army Corps,

  Department of the Tennessee,

  Oxford, Miss. Dec. 17 1862.

  GENERAL ORDERS, NO. 11

  The Jews, as a class violating every regulation of trade established by the Treasury Department, and also Department orders, are hereby expelled from the Department within twenty-four hours of the receipt of this order.

  Post Commanders will see that all of this class of people be furnished passes and required to leave, and any one returning after such notification will be arrested and held in confinement until an opportunity occurs of sending them out as prisoners, unless furnished with permit from headquarters.

  No passes will be given these people to visit headquarters for the purpose of making personal application for trade permits.

  By Order of Maj. Gen. U. S. Grant:

  Jno. A. Rawlins

  Ass’t Adj’t Genl.

  “Oh, no, Ulys, what were you thinking?” Julia murmured. Quickly she turned back to the minister. “I assure you, I’ll speak to the general, and I’ll advocate for the Hebrews among your flock. I’ll try to convince him to rescind the order altogether.”

  “Thank you very much, Mrs. Grant,” the minister said. “The men have the utmost faith in you, and I know now that it was well placed.”

  “That remains to be seen.” She bade him good afternoon and hurried inside.

  Ulys was late coming to the table. Julia had no appetite, so after they said grace, she kept her hands folded in her lap while Ulys tucked in. “I read your new order expelling the Jews,” she said.

  He eyed her warily while he chewed and swallowed. “From your tone I gather you wish to register an opinion.”

  “I do. I must.” She took a deep breath. “Ulys, I would never second-guess your decisions on the battlefield, but this order—it is scarcely to be believed. It’s wrong. It’s obnoxious.”

  His eyebrows rose. “Obnoxious?”

  “Yes, Ulys. Obnoxious and offensive and unjust. Reverend Briggs called to express his grave concerns. Did you forget that hundreds of Jews are serving in your own army? Did you consider how your order would affect their morale?”

  Thunderstruck, Ulys set down his fork and sat back in his chair, and she had her answer. “I didn’t mean all Jews,” he said. “Only those involved in the cotton trade.”

  “Your order clearly stated, ‘The Jews, as a class.’ Oh, Ulys. These men have served honorably, risking their own lives for the Union, and you’ve shamed them. If there are certain Jews who have committed offenses, then by all means punish those individuals, but you cannot condemn an entire race, the good with the bad.”

  “You’re a fine one to speak of condemning an entire race.”

  Julia felt heat rise in her face, for she knew he spoke of slavery. “That’s not at all the same. You know this order is really about your father and the Mack brothers.”

  Ulys pushed back his chair and rose from the table. “I believe you’re a woman of limited understanding.”

  “And I believe,” Julia replied shakily, “that we have both today discovered that the one we love is far less perfect than we imagined them to be.”

  In the days that followed, Julia took little comfort in learning through Reverend Briggs and other sympathetic officers that Ulys’s generals were almost insubordinately slow to carry out his order and expel the Jewish men serving in their ranks. Even Ulys soon seemed to regret his decision. “I’ve heard talk that some generals aren’t carrying out the orde
r because they believe it’s illegal,” he told her as they lingered over breakfast. “I’m not certain that it’s illegal, but I am beginning to think that it was wrong.”

  “Then rescind it,” she urged, reaching for his hand.

  He managed a wry smile. “Make a strategic withdrawal?”

  “Call it whatever you like, as long as you call it back.”

  Suddenly Rawlins burst into the room. “General, sir, you’re needed at once,” he said, telegram slips clutched in his hand. “The rebels have captured Holly Springs.”

  Chapter Eleven

  DECEMBER 1862–APRIL 1863

  Throughout the morning, grim reports of Confederate general Earl Van Dorn’s whirlwind attack on Holly Springs continued to filter in, shocking Julia with news of the capture of the entire garrison of twelve hundred Union soldiers. Munitions, food, and forage had been confiscated, warehouses destroyed. After capturing the depot, General Van Dorn’s soldiers had burned and plundered the town for hours, turning it into a veritable inferno, cheered on by delighted Southern ladies who had emerged from their homes into the frosty dawn still clad in their dressing gowns, clapping their hands and shouting encouragement to the raiders. Confederate officers learned that Julia was boarding at the Walter residence and raced there on horseback to apprehend her, but upon discovering that she was no longer there, they settled for capturing her horses and burning her carriage.

  “If General Grant had not summoned you to Oxford,” said Jule, visibly shaken. “If we had still been in Holly Springs when the raiders came—”

  “Let’s not speak of it,” Julia interrupted, feeling faint. She could imagine it all too well—herself sitting on the floor of a dark prison cell, comforting a terrified Jesse; Jule snatched away and sold off into the Deep South, never to be seen again.

  Ulys quickly organized a response, sending his calvary to drive Van Dorn away, dispatching teams into the countryside to gather food and forage. But Julia knew that replenishing their supplies would only partially restore all that had been lost in the raid. Communications had been badly disrupted, and Ulys had been forced to abandon his main line of attack into Vicksburg, a city essential to the rebel defenses because it connected regions of the Confederacy separated by the Mississippi. The city occupied the first high ground near the river below Memphis as well, and it was the origin of important railway lines leading into all points of the South. If Vicksburg fell, the Confederacy would eventually follow.