Never Call Retreat - Civil War 03

by Newt Gingrich; William R Forstchen

  Lincoln turned his gaze against the setting sun and shaded his eyes and sure enough, he could see a flag standing out in the evening breeze, moving along the side of the road.

  The lieutenant drew out his field glasses and focused them. "That's him all right, sir. It's General Grant."

  Someone was riding ahead—the inexhaustible Ely Parker, his mount lathered.

  Lincoln nodded his thanks and then had a moment's quandary. I can sit here, as informal as can be, or I can fall back into the role once more. Given the gravity of the moment, he decided on the latter and stepped down from the fence, folding up his pocket knife.

  Parker saluted. 'The general is right behind me, sir."

  "I can see that, Ely. Now why don't you just relax? You've done an admirable job getting me here and finding General Grant."

  Ely sighed and leaned forward in the saddle, uncorking a canteen and took a long drink.

  Grant leapt a low fence, rather than go around to an open gate, in a beautiful display of horsemanship. He came on at a near gallop, headquarters flag flying behind him. He reined in, snapping off a salute, Lincoln looked up, unable to hide a smile at what could only be taken as surprise on Grant's face.

  "Mr. President, I hope this does not sound impertinent, but may I ask just what it is you are doing here?"

  "Just thought I'd come up this way and see how you and the boys were doing."

  Grant was silent for a moment, obviously caught completely off guard, and then dismounted. Lincoln extended his hand, and Grant, a bit shyly, took it.

  "How are you, General?"

  "Well, sir, to be honest, rather startled. Rumor came to me a couple of hours ago that you were in Harrisburg. Then that you were across the river riding aboard a supply train on the Cumberland line."

  "Remarkable work those engineers are doing," Lincoln exclaimed. "I understand they've replaced bridging for fifteen miles just since yesterday."

  'They're Herman Haupt's boys. They know their business."

  "Yes, unfortunate loss. I heard of his passing," Lincoln said.

  "Sir, if I had known you were coming, I could have arranged better accommodations for us to meet."

  "General Grant, right here is just fine," Lincoln replied, and nodded toward the road.

  The men of his escort, staff from Grant's headquarters, and provost guards were now having one devil of a time keeping the men moving, forming a cordon on the other side of the fence. The cheering was near to deafening.

  'To be truthful, General, I think if we wish to sit and talk a spell, we better go someplace else. I don't want to inconvenience your march or you."

  "No, sir, no inconvenience at all, though I do agree we should move. Perhaps up to a creek I just crossed."

  "Lead the way then."

  Lincoln climbed back into the saddle, Grant easily mounting and coming to his side. They rode south for a few hundred yards, between the fence bordering the pike and a farmer's orchard, gradually angling away from the road. The trees closest to the road had nearly been stripped bare of fruit but once back a dozen rows the trees hung heavy, and on impulse Lincoln plucked one. Grant saw him do it and smiled.

  "That's foraging in friendly territory, sir." Lincoln laughed softly.

  "I'll tell the farmer he can call it a war tax if he should inquire about my indiscretion."

  They reached the edge of the orchard, staff having opened a gate that led to a narrow path sloping down between elms to spreading willow trees.

  Someone on Grant's staff had obviously been thinking, in spite of the surprise. A blanket was already spread under a willow, a small fire burning under a pot, two camp chairs set up.

  The cavalcade reined in, eager hands reaching up to take the bridle of Lincoln's horse as he dismounted. Stretching, he looked around.

  It was a charming spot. A narrow creek gurgled by not a dozen feet away, the bank grown high with rushes and cattails. The path was a shallow ford, perhaps tracing the original road, long since abandoned when the pike came through. All was shaded by willows, long branches hanging down in a canopy. It was all so peaceful, the air rich with the scent of moisture, cooling and relaxing. The shadows were already deepening, providing a diffused golden light to the setting.

  Looking downstream, he could barely see the single-arch stone bridge which leapt the stream, men continuing to cross over it. But here under the shade of the trees the two of them were all but invisible.

  "Some coffee, sirs?" the sergeant tending the fire asked.

  "Yes, Sergeant McKinley, that would be fine," Grant replied.

  Seconds later Lincoln had a battered tin cup in his hand, and he sat down on the camp chair, blowing on the rim before taking a sip.

  "You keep fine accommodations, General," Lincoln said, pointing to the small fire, the blanket, and the two chairs.

  He sighed and leaned back in the folding chair made of carpet and a few pieces of wood.

  "This is actually a luxury, General," and he nodded to their surroundings. "I wish I had such a place on the grounds of the White House, a brook, some willows, and a bit of solitude."

  "Well, sir, if you came to the army to seek solitude, I dare say you have come to the wrong place. We have over seventy thousand men on the march around us and a staff always in earshot."

  Lincoln saw the dozens of staff that stood around expectantly. As he gazed at them, they stiffened, some saluting, some bowing, others just looking at him wide-eyed.

  "Gentlemen, may I ask an indulgence," Lincoln said.

  No one spoke.

  "I'd like to talk with General Grant for a while. There'll be time enough later for us to chat a bit. So would you please excuse us?"

  There were hurried excuses, and within seconds all had scrambled off, drawing back, moving away.

  Lincoln leaned forward, staring down into his cup of coffee as if lost in thought.

  "Your Parker is a good man," Lincoln said, breaking the silence. "I don't think he's had a wink of sleep in three days."

  As he spoke he gestured across the stream, where Parker was sprawled out under a willow ... fast asleep.

  "One of the best. I'm glad he took it upon himself to report straight to you after being with Sickles."

  "I assume he told you about Stanton."

  "Yes, sir," Grant said noncommittally.

  Again, there was a long silence, Lincoln sipping his coffee and then stretching his legs out.

  Grant stirred, coughed a bit self-consciously, and Lincoln looked over at him.

  "Well, sir, I guess I do have to ask you then, to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?" Grant asked.

  "I could be flippant and say that it is nothing more than a courtesy stop, General Grant, but you and I know that is not the case."

  "No, sir, I assumed not."

  "I need to see certain things clearly, General Grant. It has been nearly a month since we last met, much has changed, and the portents of what is to come are profound. I thought that was worth the journey to discuss these issues with you."

  "Whatever you wish to know, sir, just ask."

  Lincoln drew his legs in and then leaned toward Grant, so close they could almost touch, the president looking straight into the eyes of the general.

  "General Grant, I will cut to the core. No foolery, no mincing of words. Win or lose, the fate of the Union now rests with you and those men marching across that bridge."

  He motioned toward the pike, where the troops continued to pass, flowing endlessly, the men oblivious of the meeting taking place less than a hundred yards away.

  Grant leaned back in his camp chair, the front legs lifting from the ground. After a long sip of the scalding coffee, he set the cup on the ground. "Sir, I understand that, and so do my men."

  Lincoln fixed his gaze upon Grant's eyes. This is what he had traveled so far to gauge. It was one thing to meet Grant a few days after his appointment. It was another thing to see him now, a month later, a month after he had had time to contemplate the responsibi
lity placed on him.

  He had decided upon this long journey for precisely this moment. The original plan that Grant had devised to destroy Lee—an overwhelming advance using the Army of the Potomac and at least ten thousand additional troops—had gone out the window. And Grant, without any prior notice, had jumped across the Susquehanna. He had come all this way to see why. To see if Grant was going off half-cocked. And to see if this was indeed a man he could trust with this winner-take-all move.

  "What do you wish of me, sir?" Grant asked.

  "First of all, I need a straight answer. No speaking in vague terms, no concern for self. I want you to consider the future of our republic, the debt in blood owed to all those who have already died.

  "I want a straightforward answer, sir, without puffery or the bombast so many others have given me.

  "General Grant, are you and your men up to this task?"

  "Yes, sir," Grant said quietly. He did not look at Lincoln. His shoulders were hunched, his gaze fixed on his cup of coffee. But his words were strong, filled with conviction.

  "I cannot afford another mistake, another defeat, or even half a victory. Lee must be crushed," Lincoln said urgently. "Congress is on the point of rebellion. I've held them off as long as possible but they will soon reconvene, and when they do, there will be a call to end the fighting and negotiate a settlement. There's renewed rioting in half a dozen cities. Secretary of State Seward is constantly at my doorstep with warnings that Europe might soon intervene. This war cannot drag out any longer.

  "General Grant, I need to know that you fully realize that and can rise to the occasion."

  The years in courtrooms, the years of watching others, of leaning against fences and talking, had taught him much, taught him about when men lied and when they spoke the truth, when men had strength or did not, when men thought far too much of themselves and not of others. The last two years of war had sharpened those insights with bitter lessons of military failure and bombastic generals unable to match their deeds to their self-esteem when it came to fighting Robert E. Lee.

  Grant stirred then. He looked into Lincoln's eyes. "I can bring it to an end, sir. I can win this war."

  At that the tension Lincoln had suppressed uncoiled. He had come to this encounter with a terrible intent he had voiced to no one. If in this meeting he had doubts, he would not have hesitated. Lord knows, he would have had difficulty in that decision, but if need be, he'd have removed Grant and found someone else. Was this the voice of the naysayers, those who had planted the thought? Of Halleck, of Stanton, even Seward, saying, "Replace this man." If forced to, he would have.

  Could I? He realized he would have. This decision, at this moment, he realized, was as momentous as the decision to relieve Stanton. One had been fired; the other was to be kept.

  It wasn't just the statement, "I can win this war," that had laid to rest any lingering doubts; it was the look in the man's eyes, something he had never seen in any general before. There was a determination, a confidence that settled the issue once and for all. He trusted now that the plan Grant had would be one he would endorse.

  Grant was, indeed, his man.

  Both seemed to sense that a moment had passed that neither need worry about again.

  There was a dropping off of tension. Grant stood up, going over to refill his tin cup and then to light up a cigar, which he had refrained from doing since they first met.

  Lincoln was silent as he waited for Grant to settle into his chair.

  "A few more questions, General." "Anything, sir."

  "Sickles, for starters. I know that derailed your plan. Why did you move so quickly after his defeat and why did you not inform me?"

  "Sir, after such a blow I knew Lee would expect me to wait, to replenish our numbers. That would mean waiting well beyond September, more likely October. That would have risked winter weather stopping the campaign and forcing us into winter quarters with Lee still owning Maryland."

  "We can't wait that long," Lincoln said forcefully.

  "Sir, I know you cannot wait. The country cannot wait. We have to resolve this now and that is why I decided to make this move and do it with or without Sickles in support."

  "Fair enough," Lincoln said.

  "And besides, sir, though Sickles lost that battle, he bloodied Lee. I understand that Pickett's Division is a hollow wreck. To achieve his victory, Lee force-marched his army a hundred miles in killing heat and in the end was forty miles north of a line that he would choose to be on, right along the banks of the Susquehanna. With Washington as a barrier Lee is actually farther away from Virginia than we are, and we have better roads and railroads to support us. I knew that this first move had to be taken, and I took it, regardless of Sickles."

  Lincoln nodded thoughtfully.

  "Go on, sir," Lincoln said.

  "By moving first I knew it would push Lee off balance. My reports are that he has force-marched once again, falling back into Baltimore. To march troops such distances, day after day, takes its toll. My men are moving fast, but doing so through friendly territory, and they are filled with confidence."

  "Confidence in you?"

  "Yes, sir. To be frank, yes," and he said so without any display of undue pride.

  "Half this army marched with me across the Mississippi, abandoned our line of supplies, went to Jackson to block Joe

  Johnston and then doubled back on Vicksburg, bottling up Pemberton. They were there when Pemberton surrendered his garrison and reopened the Mississippi. They're good men. McPherson is superb, and Ord, though new to corps command, is a hard driver I trust My boys are confident; they feel they have something to prove here, to go up against Bobbie Lee and thrash him the way they thrashed Johnston, Pemberton, Beauregard, and Buckner. Upon that confidence and desire to prove something much can be built."

  Again Lincoln liked what he heard. It was not confidence in him personally, it was confidence in his men, which Lincoln sensed was mutual from what he had observed while riding down here.

  "Coordination, General. I've always felt we never truly coordinated all of our strength. Before coming here Elihu showed me a roster of total strength. Good heavens, General, we have nearly three quarters of a million men under arms. Can you bring additional strength to bear?"

  "I agree, sir. But realize this. Half of those numbers are nonexistent. Take off ten percent or more just as deserters. Then add in governors holding back pet units filled with their political appointees. Many of those hundreds of thousands are ninety-day militia, of no value in a stand-up fight against Lee's veterans. There is an old saying I learned at West Point—it dates back to the Romans—'To send untrained men into battle is to send them to their deaths.'"

  Lincoln nodded in agreement, remembering the tragedy of First Bull Run.

  "I have nearly twenty thousand militia under Couch. To send them straight into a fight would be cruel and wasteful. If I had six months with those men, they'd prove to be as good as any, but we don't have that time, sir. But they are serving a valuable purpose right now, which I'll explain when we go over my plans in detail, but don't expect them to stand on the volley line at seventy-five yards and trade it out with an elite, well-trained unit like the Stonewall Brigade.

  "Others are sitting out garrison duty as far north as Portland, Maine, and as far west as Council Bluffs, Iowa. Sir, what I am marching with is all that I will have for this campaign. But I should add, sir, that General Lee faces the same crisis. Governor Vance in North Carolina is notorious for keeping men back as home-guard units in the western mountains. Every other governor does the same down there. That is the paradox and the curse of their system even more than ours, states' rights. Each Southern state is doing right for its own purposes, but making it impossible for Davis and Lee to organize Southern resources for the common purpose. With your leadership and the strength of our Constitution we can do a far better job of mobilizing all our assets over time than they can."

  He was warming to his subject, and Lincoln no
dded for him to continue.

  "For every man on the front line we need at least one more to guard our lines of supply, to shepherd along ammunition, food, fodder for horses, medical supplies. That eats up our numbers rather quickly. That's a second service Couch's men will give us once their first mission is completed. They'll provide security to our rear and the relaying of supplies. That means that every man that marches with me now will be in the fight."

  "And your other fronts?"

  "On other fronts I can tell you this, sir. Sherman has driven Bragg out of Chattanooga. That is a major victory for us. I have ordered him to not stop, to relentlessly press southward now and invest Atlanta before the end of autumn. I have confidence in Sherman. He's grown and is ready for independent command, and I think he'll make the most of it. He has seventy thousand men with him, I wish it was a hundred thousand. He'll need fifty thousand more just to secure his supply lines back to Memphis and Louisville.

  "We've abandoned our operations before Charleston, as you know. The navy can handle that. Bottling it up is all we needed, nothing more, along with Wilmington. Additional troops still need to hold Vicksburg, Port Hudson, and New Orleans. When you get right down to it, sir, that comes to less than two hundred thousand on the front lines, though heaven knows I'd give my right arm for fifty thousand more right now."

  "The colored troops?" Lincoln asked.

  "Yet to be proven in battle, sir, but I think they'll fight. I understand their training has been intensive, unlike most white regiments, and all their officers are handpicked volunteers with extensive experience in the field prior to promotion to command those regiments.

  "I just worry that their spirit will continue when they get hit by their first volley."

  "They'll hold," Lincoln said forcefully. "I saw that when our line was broken at Fort Stevens and the colored men from Massachusetts charged forward. They'll do their duty when the time comes."

  "And that regiment is still in Washington?"

  "Yes, along with over forty thousand other men," Lincoln said. "Why do you ask?"

  "Sir, I'd like to replace General Heintzelman as commander of the Washington garrison."