1862

by Robert Conroy

  “Have you lately heard of one Patrick Ronayne Cleburne?” Flynn asked.

  “According to the Southern papers, he did well at Shiloh and has been promoted to brigadier general,” Nathan answered.

  “Indeed. He is a fine lad and a charming gentleman, as well as a hell of a fighter. He's from Cork, you know, or perhaps you didn't. You recall that he and I served together as privates in Her Majesty's Forty-first Foot, don't you? He was glad to see me.”

  “I can imagine,” Nathan said drily.

  “Indeed. He called me a liar, a cheat, and a thief. After that we had a drink and I asked him why he was again serving that bitch Victoria. I could tell that this upset him as it had almost every other Irishman I'd talked to in the Confederate army. He told me he had sworn allegiance to his new nation, but not its friends. I then asked him how many allegiances a man of honor was supposed to give in a lifetime. Even though he's an Anglican, I suspect Cleburne's a closet Catholic, and he's always supported the cause of Ireland. So I asked him if he had put aside the cause of Ireland when he first swore allegiance to the queen as her soldier, and he said no. Then I reminded him that he'd become a citizen of the United States before becoming a citizen of the Confederacy.”

  Nathan took a deep swallow and wiped the foam off his lips. “Your words must have charmed him.”

  “I think he wanted to kill me. Cleburne's about your age, although a lot smaller. Frankly, a sort of mean, runty little bastard, just like me. He told me he had a home in Arkansas and a woman he wanted to marry. I asked him since when did he support slavery and he said he hated it, thought it was an abomination. I then asked him just why he wore Confederate gray when he was so much against what the South stood for and what it was doing.”

  “And then what?”

  “The insensitive turd threw me out.”

  Nathan laughed. “I'm shocked.”

  “But I did deliver the message and plant the seed. Mark me, Patrick Ronayne Cleburne is just one of a number of people going through an enormous crisis of conscience, and we in the Fenian movement are going to do everything we can to guide him back to us and the True Faith, the freedom of Ireland.”

  Nathan was intrigued. “And for what purpose?”

  “To lead a legion of Southern Irishmen who have abandoned the Confederacy.”

  The audacity of such an enterprise astonished Nathan. “Do you possibly think it'll work?”

  Flynn smiled and shrugged. “Nothing lost if it doesn't. But we are taking some steps to help General Cleburne see the light.”

  When Nathan asked what those steps might be, Attila Flynn laughed and declined to answer. Yet the possibility of an Irish rebellion in the Southern ranks was delicious to share

  Chapter Ten

  General Winfield Scott sat on a small wooden stool that was perched precariously in the mud and watched as President Abraham Lincoln lifted the rifle to his shoulder and aimed downrange.

  Lincoln fired, cocked the lever, and fired again. He repeated this a number of times until he was satisfied. There were powder stains and a slight burn on the side of his face, but his grin was wide.

  “I don't think I was a threat to anything smaller than a barn:” he said genially, “but a line of riflemen would have known that I was about from the noise if nothing else.”

  With that, he handed the rifle to a young naval officer who took it away. They were at the rifle range located at the Navy Yard a short distance from the White House. Lincoln liked to go there and relax. Target shooting and fiddling with new weapons were equal sources of pleasure and this effort involved both.

  “That was a Henry repeating rifle,” Lincoln said, “and a damned fine weapon. Breech-loading and a fifteen-shot magazine in the stock. After you fire, the lever pushes a new bullet in until they are all gone. I've suggested we order several thousand for the army, perhaps more. General Meigs says the problem is not in getting the rifles, but in making the ammunition in sufficient quantity. After all, I just fired in less than one minute what a rifleman with an ordinary rifle would shoot in about fifteen.”

  Scott knew all this but remained silent. There had been a number of attempts to develop breech-loading and repeating rifles, and the Henry, developed and patented in 1860, was the one that showed the most promise to date. And the problem of ammunition was real. Northern munitions industries could not provide enough bullets if large numbers of Union soldiers were equipped with the rapid-firing weapons.

  “General McClellan has resigned, you know,” Lincoln continued. “The Young Napoleon has taken his hurt pride and his political ambitions elsewhere, and I wish him well. He will be preaching for a negotiated end to the war and for him to be the president that does the negotiating. His departure leaves me with a large void in the position of commanding general. Whom do you recommend I appoint to fill it, General Scott?”

  “In the absence of anyone more qualified, I recommend that you continue in the position yourself,” said Scott.

  This had been a sore point with General McClellan, who had held both titles: commanding general of the Army of the Potomac, and commanding general of all the Union armies. During the descent into Virginia, Lincoln had thought it too much for one man, in particular since McClellan had to concentrate on what was happening in the field before him. Lincoln, therefore, had assumed overall control of the Union armies, which had mightily annoyed McClellan.

  “You do not wish your command back, General?”

  Scott shook his head vehemently, causing the flesh of his jowls to shake and the little stool to wiggle dangerously. “No, sir, I do not. As I have said repeatedly, I am indeed too old for the daily rigors of the position. I simply despised Secretary Cameron and his duplicitous way of replacing me. I am not a stupid man, sir. I had already begun to realize that the task was beyond me.'^:

  “Cameron's departure is not lamented,” Lincoln said.

  “Therefore, sir, if you are indeed offering the command to me and not merely being polite, I shall be like Caesar and decline.”

  “And forever watch your back for McClellan appearing as Brutus,” Lincoln said with a smile. It was evident that he was relieved that Scott did not want his old command back.

  Lincoln wiped some of the powder from his face with a handkerchief. “General Scott, there are those who feel I made a botch of it by not releasing McDowell's corps to reinforce McClellan in Virginia as he had requested.”

  Scott shrugged. “But what could you have done? Sumner was retreating towards Washington with what he thought was a giant army on his tail; thus, you had to retain McDowell to defend the capital. Besides, aren't you convinced that McClellan would still have lost even with McDowell's men? After all, he never did send in Burnside's corps. I believe you could have sent Mac every soldier on earth and he still would have asked for more, and then still fallen back in fear that he was outnumbered.”

  Lincoln nodded. “I do not have the skills for the detail work, General Scott, or the time. How can I be both president and commanding general?”

  “Then bring in someone like Halleck from the west. He is a persnickety old man, petty, vain, and jealous, but he does understand the army. His men call him Old Brains, and, while it is not always a compliment, it is an accurate reflection of both his monumental intellect and ego. Just don't give in to his ideas unless you are totally convinced he is right.”

  “Then why not make him commanding general in his own right?” Lincoln asked.

  “Because although he is magnificent as a military theoretician and as an administrator, he fails as a field commander. He lacks courage and is timid and plodding. I'm afraid he would make McClellan look good. No, sir, it must be you controlling him, and most certainly not the other way around.”

  Again Lincoln nodded. “And what will you do while I am commanding? I presume you would still like a part to play in these proceedings.”

  “Sir, I would like to presume to advise you from time to time.”

  Lincoln smiled. “And what would y
our advice be today?”

  “Is it still your purpose to preserve the Union at all costs?”

  Lincoln's expression hardened. “At all costs and if it takes an eternity.”

  “Very well sir. then think on this. Could we have defeated the Confederacy if Britain had not intervened?”

  “Indeed. It would have taken time, but it could have been done. Would have been done,” he corrected himself. “Your Anaconda Plan was coming to fruition. The South would have been strangled.”

  “Now, sir, can we defeat the Confederacy with Britain in the war?” Lincoln paused and shook his head sadly. “I wonder.”

  “In my opinion, sir, we cannot. Great Britain can and will sustain the South until we tire of the war. Britain's goal is a divided United States that will never be an economic or military threat to her. Therefore, the way to defeat the South and preserve the Union is to first defeat Great Britain.”

  Nathan Hunter, who with John Hay had been standing well behind the two men, stiffened at what he was hearing. This was the first opportunity the old man had had to discuss his thoughts with anyone other than Nathan.

  “How?” Lincoln asked simply. “If a fractured United States is Britain's goal, then we shall truly be at war forever, for I shall never negotiate on that basis. We cannot attack England, and her ships have driven our commerce from the seas. We can sustain ourselves while England sustains the South, and that is the road to a long, bloody, and eternal stalemate. I fear that the Hundred Years War will seem like nothing more than a blink to future historians when they compare it to this one.”

  “Sir, we have a large army, a very large army,” said Scott. “Despite what Pinkerton and McClellan fear, I believe we greatly outnumber both the Confederacy and England when it comes to ground forces currently in and available to come to North America. Therefore, I propose the following: that we go on the defensive against Lee with Pope commanding the Army of the Potomac. I propose that William Rosecrans or George Thomas command in the west in Halleck's stead, while McDowell takes a corps to California to reassure those people who feel abandoned by us. En route, McDowell can overawe both the Mormans and the Indians.”

  Both the Mormons and the Indians had been restive as the war in the east distracted the federal government from its control over them. The Mormons had once tried to form a republic, and the Indians wanted autonomy in Minnesota and westward. Unfortunately, neither could be permitted to occur.

  “McDowell could attack northward from California and seal off Puget Sound,” Scott continued. “I understand it is a magnificent natural harbor that will be important in the future.” The land north of the current border with England had previously been a bone of contention with those who felt that America's rights extended well northward. Such a move against Britain would be popular.

  Fremont had made it to California with a few hundred recruits he'd acquired in Colorado, but had failed miserably in an attempt to force his way northwards. Worse, his Colorado militia. commanded by a man named Chivington, were little more than desperadoes. There had been anguished telegrams from the governor of California asking for help to bring order to the chaos Fremont had unleashed. California had a militia force of more than fifteen thousand, but it seemed paralyzed by events.

  Scott's eyes were gleaming as he continued. “With the unlucky McDowell out west, Meade can command the Washington garrison. As we will be on the defensive, there should be no problems that Meade can't handle.”

  Scott took a deep breath. What he was about to suggest was the focal point of his plan. “Lastly, an army should be formed and tasked with the invasion of Canada. Mr. President, Canada is Britain's Achilles' heel. It is virtually impossible for her to defend, and we have the forces at hand to attack. If we wreak havoc in Canada, England will squeal. Just as they flaunt our weaknesses to us, we will show them our strengths.”

  Lincoln eyed him thoughtfully. “In two previous wars, we have tried to take Canada and failed.”

  “And recall, sir, that I was there in 1812 for the last one. We attacked with few numbers and less skill, and we almost pulled it off. However, we did not fail totally. We chased the British well across Ontario when we finally got ourselves an army and figured out how to use it.”

  Lincoln turned and looked off into the distance. Encouraged by the silence, Scott continued. “Sir, like you and Mr. Seward, I have spoken with Ambassador Adams, and he feels that the British public's support of the war is loud but fragile. It basically comes from three sources: one, the British aristocracy who fear American democracy as a leveller and a threat to their established order; two, the merchants who have been hurt by our blockade of the South; and three, the laborers who are unemployed by the blockade. These are offset by those who, like Florence Nightingale, are appalled at the thought of another war of any kind after the debacle in the Crimea, and those who are deeply disturbed by England's association with a slave nation. Lastly, there are those who believe that the destinies of England and the United States are intertwined, and that any differences should be negotiated, not battled over. That last group strongly feels that any debt concerning the stopping of theTrent was cancelled out by the sinking of theSt. Lawrence,

  “Mr. Lincoln, as long as England appears victorious, the voices of opposition will continue to be muted. Should we begin to be victorious against English forces, then they will begin to be heard. I beg you, sir, consider an attack on Canada.”

  “And who would you have command that invasion?” Lincoln asked.

  Scott smiled. “Grant.”

  Abraham Lincoln gestured for Nathan to come closer. “It is my understanding that you served with General Grant. Is it true?”

  “Yes, sir, briefly. He and I were both stationed at Fort Humboldt, which is north of San Francisco.”

  The professional officer corps of the American army prior to the war had been exceptionally small. Many had attended the academy together, while most of the rest had met while serving in the various, but small, army garrisons. As a result, almost every officer who'd served prior to the war either knew or knew of almost every other officer of sufficient rank.

  Nor was the world of coincidence limited to the officers of the North and South. Lincoln had served with Jefferson Davis in the Black Hawk War, although neither recalled meeting the other, and Lincoln had served as an attorney representing a railroad in which McClellan had been a vice president.

  “And Grant is a drunkard, is he not?” Lincoln asked harshly.

  Nathan was a little taken aback by the accusation. “No, sir, I do not believe he is.”

  “Then what is he?”

  “Sir, I don't know what he is now, but back then he was a lonely and confused man. He was deeply devoted to his wife and child and was terribly lost without them. Humboldt was a miserable place where boredom was constant and desertion rife. Grant drank because he was lonely. I understand that when he's with his family or busy, he doesn't drink, at least not to excess.”

  “How did you come to know this?” Lincoln asked.

  Nathan managed a small smile. “He told me. I was bored, too. I drank with him on occasion.”

  “Yet he was threatened with court-martial and resigned. Are you implying that the charge was not justified?”

  “Of course it was justified, sir,” Nathan responded. “He was drunk on duty. Only thing was, so was I. The commandant decided to make an example of Grant, whom he didn't like. I offered to testify on Grant's behalf, but Grant told me not to bother. He was going to resign and go back to Ohio with his family.”

  “Which he did and made a total mess of everything he touched as a civilian,” injected Scott. “He was appointed a colonel of volunteers by the governor of Ohio for the simple reason that the governor didn't have anyone else to appoint. From then on, we've seen a rejuvenation of the man.”

  Lincoln nodded thoughtfully. “And he does fight. Halleck doesn't like him,” he said to Scott. “He's said so in his reports.” Scott chuckled. “Grant has proven himsel
f better in the field than Halleck. Old Brains is jealous of other people's success.”

  Lincoln paused, deep in thought. Finally he made his decision. “General, there is much merit in what you have said regarding England's role and her vulnerability. However, I must deal with a nation and a Congress that sees the real enemy as the Confederacy, and the heart of that enemy is its capital of Richmond. Sadly, we live in a political world and I must confront political realities. I've had to make many compromises and I will make more. For instance, I have appointed political mediocrities to military command in order to keep the remaining states satisfied and in line with my program of conquest of the South. To make what appears to be a digression in the war effort would be met with resounding and unmovable resistance. No, until and if the British give us a reason to change our focus and shift our priorities, we will not do anything significant regarding Canada.

  “As regards the rest of it, General, I shall do what you suggest. Halleck will be transferred here to function as my administrator, and you shall be my adviser as regards the war. We shall send a column westward under McDowell, and I agree that Meade shall command here in Washington. But Canada? Not yet.”

  “And what about General Grant?” Nathan asked with a boldness that surprised him.

  Lincoln smiled and it appeared to Nathan that it was the same smile that a cat would give a cornered canary. “General Scott trusts you, and it is likely that General Grant will as well. Therefore, I would like you to go to Grant with a private message. Simply put, he is to hold himself ready to invade Canada and to prepare for it. However, he is not to move until I give him the specific go-ahead. Any thoughts of Canada must be secret. He should tell his staff that he is planning a thrust down the Mississippi, which he doubtless is anyway. Will you do that for me?”

  Nathan felt his heart racing. “I am honored, sir.”

  Hannibal Watson and his band had garnered a number of weapons. Along with knives, axes, and something called a machete, they had a couple of muskets and ammunition, which they'd taken from the Farnums'.