"I was with General Sickles when he lost his leg. With that, sir, command broke down completely."
"There's a report that Sickles had his men carry him along the volley line, shouting for them to hold on," Lincoln said.
"Yes, sir. I'll give the man that. He had guts."
"Too much, I dare say," Elihu said coldly. "The ball should have taken his head off. He's already giving interviews in Philadelphia proclaiming the battle could have been a complete victory had not Grant failed to back him up as planned."
"That's a contemptible lie, sir," Ely snapped angrily. "General Grant up in Harrisburg had no idea that Sickles, a hundred miles away, was moving. It would have taken four days, at least, for Grant to come down and offer support. There was no plan. To say otherwise is a lie, a damned lie."
"I know that," Washburne said soothingly. "But there are a lot of people out there who won't."
"Sir, he directly disobeyed orders."
'Technically, no," Lincoln said quietly. Again he looked over at Elihu and then put his finger on the telegram resting on the table.
"He did have authorization from our secretary of war." There was a long moment of silence.
Lincoln lowered his head, nibbing his brow with both hands.
4That does it," he finally whispered and stood up, going to the door. He stepped out of the office for a moment, Elihu watching him intently as he left
"Your trip down here?" Elihu asked, finally looking back at Ely.
"I fell back to Havre de Grace sir. Once things broke down I thought it was my duty to report back to General Grant. Back across the river, sir, well, it was a madhouse there—wounded, broken troops, reporters shouting questions. By luck I saw one of General Grant's staff carrying the dispatches I have just given to the president. I took over that mission, sir. I thought it best to report directly on what I had seen as well, and I had the courier carry my report back to the general."
"Right decision, Major."
Ely leaned over and picked the coffee cup back up, draining the now tepid drink. Lincoln came back into the room and looked over at Ely, who stood up, sensing that his mission was complete and it was time to retire.
Lincoln extended his hands, gesturing for Ely to sit back down.
"I think you should stay a little longer, Major." Elihu shifted, stood up, and started to button his shirt. "Sir? Perhaps we should deal with this on our own," Elihu asked.
"I believe our major should see this," Lincoln replied, even as he sat down and struggled to put his boots on. "I want him to report it to General Grant exactly as he sees it"
Ely, a bit confused, looked at the two. Obviously, given the way Elihu was putting on his tie and then his jacket, something momentous was about to happen.
Lincoln said nothing, finishing with his boots and then running his fingers through his coarse hair. He walked to the window and looked out. Elihu settled silently back on the sofa and closed his eyes.
Ely felt uncomfortable, not sure why he was still there or what was about to happen. He filled another cup with coffee and drained it. He wished he could smoke, longing for the cigar in his pocket, but unsure of the proper protocol, he refrained.
The minutes dragged by, Lincoln silent by the window, Elihu drifting into sleep, the clock striking seven. Finally, Lincoln stirred.
"He's here."
The president turned away from the window, picked up the memo from the table, while nudging Washburne awake, and then stood in the center of the room.
Washburne stood up, and Ely did as well. Not sure of his place, he stepped back a few feet while Elihu walked over to stand behind Lincoln.
There was a knock on the door. When it opened, Ely immediately recognized Edwin Stanton, the secretary of war. The man came into the room, a bit of a smile on his face, which froze when his gaze rested on Lincoln, Elihu behind him. He shot a quick glance at Ely, who again felt self-conscious. He suddenly realized what a sight he must be, not having changed uniforms in over a week, mud splattered, face streaked with sweat, mud, smoke.
Stanton regained his composure and actually bowed slightly to Lincoln.
"Mr. President, you sent for me?"
"Yes, Edwin, may I introduce you to Maj. Ely Parker of General Grant's staff?"
Edwin spared another quick glance at Ely, who came to attention and saluted. Edwin did not reply and then turned back to Lincoln as if Ely was not even there.
"Sir, may I inquire as to the nature of this early morning call? I was over at the War Office reviewing dispatches when your summons came."
Lincoln extended his hand, offering the memo that Ely had delivered.
"Sir, let us not beat about the bush," Lincoln said coldly. "I just wish for you to explain this dispatch. Major Parker delivered it to me less than an hour ago. I should add that Major Parker was with Sickles at Gunpowder River, bearing a message from General Grant to General Sickles ordering him to withdraw. An order which General Sickles refused to comply with. Now, sir, please read what I've just handed you."
Edwin visibly paled, coughing, then held the memo up, adjusting his spectacles. He scanned the message.
"Sir, I am not sure of the meaning of this inquiry," Stanton said even as he read.
"When finished, please turn it over," Lincoln said.
Stanton did as requested, reading Grant's addendum, "Mr. President, did you authorize this?" and handed the message back to Lincoln.
"Sir, I think, yet again, there has been some miscommunication."
"Miscommunication?" Lincoln said softly, and shook his head. "Miscommunication? The Army of the Potomac all but annihilated and you call it a miscommunication?"
"Sir. I suspect here that General Grant failed to properly coordinate with General Sickles regarding the intent of the plans for the campaign. I warned you of that last month when Grant first came to Washington. If he had stayed here as I requested, this never would have happened."
Lincoln actually sighed and then chuckled softly.
Ely, outraged, struggled to contain a retort. Elihu looked over at him, and with a shake of his head communicated for him to stay out of it.
Stanton saw the gesture and cast a withering glance at Ely.
"Mr. President, I think we should discuss this in private." Now his gaze swept over to Elihu as well.
"No, sir, we will discuss this now. If you wish, you can sit down and listen to all that Major Parker has told me about what happened."
"I think, sir, there are better uses of our time than the report of a major obviously biased in favor of a general who has placed our cause in jeopardy."
Lincoln sighed again and raised his head.
There was a cold light in his eyes. All that Ely had heard of Lincoln never mentioned this. It was always "Old Abe," or just "Abe," but there was something different at this moment, a terrible anger that seemed ready to explode.
"Mr. Stanton, I expect your resignation before you leave this building," Lincoln said softly.
"What?" Stanton reddened.
"Just that, sir. Sickles moved on your authorization. I made it distinctly clear to all that when Grant took command in the field, all orders of troop movements were to be routed through him for his approval as well. You did not do so. Nor, for that matter, did you inform me of these orders you sent to Sickles."
He held the memo up, clenching it in a balled fist, shaking it at Stanton.
Stanton started to speak but Lincoln cut him off.
"We lost maybe thirty thousand or more at Gunpowder River. A fine army destroyed. What in Heaven's name am I to say to the nation about that, sir? You, sir, have placed the plans of the last month in grave jeopardy; in fact, we might very well lose this war thanks to what you did."
"What I did?" Stanton fired back. "What I did? Mr. President, if you had but listened to me all along, we would not be in this fix. You have placed a drunkard in command of our armies."
"That is a lie, sir," Ely snapped, no longer able to contain himself and instantly regre
tting his words as all three turned to gaze at him.
"Damn you!" Stanton shouted. "You are relieved of your rank, Major. How dare you call me a liar."
Ely did not know what to say. Stanton turned to advance on him, but Lincoln stepped between the two.
"Mr. Stanton, you no longer have the authority to relieve anyone as of this moment. Now, sir, do I have your resignation, or do I fire you and release that information to the press waiting outside?"
Stanton looked back at Lincoln, breathing hard.
"I will not resign, sir."
"Then I shall relieve you of your posting, effective as of this moment."
Stanton now paled. For a second Ely thought he would collapse, as the man began, to wheeze, doubling over to cough.
"Which shall it be?" Lincoln pressed, even as Stanton continued to cough.
Stanton looked up at him.
"Which shall it be?" Lincoln pressed.
"Go ahead and fire me," Stanton replied coldly. "I'll take this before Congress and the Committee on the Conduct of the War. Then we shall see."
"See what? Are you threatening me?" Lincoln snapped angrily. "Congress is not in session, nor shall I call it back into session until this crisis is finished. You can go to the newspapers and I shall counter with a copy of this memo, a direct violation of my own orders."
"It will ruin you, sir," Washburne interjected. "If you resign, you can claim reasons of health, your asthma. It's that or a fight you don't want and cannot win."
Lincoln sighed again.
"Or one the nation needs at this moment."
His tone softened and Lincoln drew closer.
"Edwin, you did fine to a point, but you overstepped yourself. Not just here but in the orders you sent to Meade during Union Mills. I am asking, as someone who once worked alongside you, please resign."
Edwin continued to cough, wheezing hard, then finally straightened back up.
"I'll resign," he whispered. - "Fine, then." Lincoln led him over to his desk, took out a sheet of White House stationery, and offered him a pen.
The stationery already was filled out with a statement of resignation. Stanton read it over once, then quickly signed it, straightening back up.
"And I assume my replacement is your friend there," Stanton asked, nodding toward Elihu.
"Yes."
"I figured as much."
Stanton looked over at Ely.
"Major Parker you said your name is?"
Ely felt a cold chill with the way Stanton looked at him.
"Yes, sir."
Stanton said nothing. "Good day, Mr. President." He turned and walked out.
Lincoln's shoulders hunched over, and wearily he walked over to his desk and sat down on the edge of it.
Again there was a long silence. Lincoln finally reached into a pigeonhole of his desk and drew out a sealed envelope.
"Elihu, this is your authorization to assume control as acting secretary of war until such time as the Senate reconvenes to confirm your appointment. I expect you to go over to the War Office right now. Take an escort with you. Edwin's office is to be sealed. He is not allowed back in till such time as you review all records contained in there. Personal items will be returned to him once your review is complete."
"Yes, Mr. President."
Lincoln looked back over at Ely, who stood rooted in place.
"Don't let that little threat bother you," Lincoln said. "Threat, sir?"
"His asking your name like that. Rather ungentlemanly of him."
Ely did not reply. After all he had seen the last few days, the threat of a former secretary of war seemed almost inconsequential.
Lincoln fell silent again for a few minutes, Elihu standing by the desk as if waiting.
"You know what to do," Lincoln said.
"What we talked about, sir," Elihu replied.
For the first time Ely realized the drama he had just witnessed had been planned out long before his arrival. His messages were simply the confirmation the president had been waiting for.
"Elihu, I'll drop by your new office a bit later this morning. I want all the arrangements made for my little adventure."
"Sir, I still caution against it. Stanton is on his way to the newspapers even now. It will cause an explosion in this town once the word hits. Plus the risk involved."
"Don't worry, Elihu, I'll have a good escort with me. I think Major Parker will serve as an excellent guide and traveling companion."
"Sir?" Parker asked, now thoroughly confused.
"I think it's time I paid a little visit to your general," Lincoln said.
Lincoln looked at the two, his features serious.
"Gentlemen, I think that the crisis is truly upon us now. Lee has outmaneuvered us again. Major, it is obvious that the word you bring to me is that General Grant has launched his attack prematurely, forced to do so because of Sickles's disastrous actions."
"Yes, sir, that is obviously the case."
"So the risks are far higher now. I must confer with Grant upon them before giving my own approval. The choice is ultimately mine."
He lowered his head as if speaking to himself.
"I am now convinced we shall either win or lose this war in the next two weeks."
CHAPTER TWO
Headquarters, Army of Northern Virginia Seven Miles South of Havre de Grace, Maryland
August 22, 1863
I
t was the noonday lull, the cool breezes of morning giving way to a still midday heat. Gen. Robert E. Lee, commander, Army of Northern Virginia, rode in silence. The road before him was packed with troops, men marching at a vigorous pace. He trotted past the troops, edging along fencerows, cutting out into pastures and orchards to make speed.
The men were moving, maintaining a grueling pace of three miles an hour, hunched over, rifles balanced on shoulders or slung inverted, hats pulled down over brows to shield eyes from the noonday glare, faces sweat-streaked, dust kicking up in swirling, choking clouds. Some saw him and gave a salute or shout as he cantered along; others, sunk into the hypnotic rhythm of the march, were unaware of his presence.
These men had marched over a hundred miles in the past week and fought a brutal three-day running battle in killing heat, and it showed. The usual banter of a victorious army on the march was gone; the high spirits that should have echoed after their overwhelming victories over the Army of the Potomac were not showing this day. Exhaustion had overwhelmed exhilaration.
He rode in silence, lost in thought. Walter Taylor, his aide-de-camp, the staff, even the secretary of state, Judah Benjamin, sensing he wished to ride alone to think, trailed a respectful distance behind him.
After the smashing defeat of Sickles he expected Grant to wait, or perhaps even to start transferring his army by train and boat down to Washington, there to assume a defensive posture through the fall and winter.
But to take an aggressive path? To cross the river and move south, perhaps straight at him. No, he had not expected that. After every defeat dealt the Union Army over the last year, his opponents had always retreated, regrouped, and waited several months before venturing another blow.
It was like facing an opponent in chess. The traditional opening of a king or queen's pawn is expected, but then, instead, the man across the table puts his knight out first. That was usually the move of a fool... or could it be that of a master or someone who sensed or planned something Lee could not yet ascertain.
Who was Grant? In that tight-knit cadre of old comrades from West Point, the old professional army of the frontier, of Mexico, or garrison duty in East Coast fortifications, Grant was one man he could not remember. He knew the man had served in Mexico and gained distinction there for personal bravery and leadership, but as an army commander? He had beaten Beauregard at Shiloh, captured an entire army at Fort Donelson and Vicksburg. He was used to victory ... perhaps that could be turned against him.
There were the rumors as well about the man's drinking, but then again, th
e army had always been a hard-drinking lot. In the case of Grant, the few who knew him said it had been brought on by a fit of melancholia when stationed out on the West Coast, separated from his wife and children.
Longstreet, who did know him, dismissed the drinking, saying that it was a demon his old friend would have overcome, especially when he had returned to the army and given the responsibility of command.
All the others he had faced so far, McClellan, the fool
Pope, the slow-moving Burnside, the hard-driving but morally weak Hooker, even Meade and Sickles, he could read them, and he could read as well the thinking, the rhythm, the mentality of the Army of the Potomac ... reft by internal dissent and political maneuverings, hampered by even more political maneuverings in Washington.
But he was no longer facing the Army of the Potomac, and even in Washington he sensed a change. Halleck was out, and just this morning Judah Benjamin had suggested that perhaps Stanton's days were numbered as well. A staff officer of Sickles's, a prisoner, had bitterly complained that his general had moved without coordination with Grant, and everyone at Sickles's headquarters knew that Stanton had sent out contradictory orders for which "someone would pay."
And Grant's corps commanders—Ord, McPherson, Banks, Burnside. He knew the mettle of Burnside, knew the fumbling reputation of Banks, who survived due to political influence. Word on McPherson was his men worshipped him and declared him to be the best corps commander in any army.
And he knew him as well, as superintendent at West Point. The memory of McPherson caused him to smile. McPherson had risen to become the top-ranking officer of cadets. He was a moral man, honest, open-handed, respected by all. John Bell Hood had been his roommate and he loved him like a brother.
Of all the potential opponents this war had forced him to confront, James Birdseye McPherson was the one opponent he wished he did not have to face. There was a deep bond of affection, that of a mentor for a beloved student.
Now I will have to face him, and turn all that was good between us into a tool, a weapon to defeat him in battle.
Never Call Retreat - Civil War 03 Page 3
