One slave helped him on with his coat, another opened the door and handed him up into the carriage. Slaves, he thought as the driver cracked his whip and they started off at a merry clip.
Solve the slavery question and the Union was saved.
But that was not going to be a very easy thing to do.
Most of the Cabinet were already there when he arrived. Rotund and stubby Judah P. Benjamin, the Secretary of State, was talking to James A. Seddon, the Secretary of War. Seddon, tall, lean, dressed in black and wearing a black skullcap, looked more Jewish than Benjamin did, although he was a Virginia aristocrat. Davis looked to them for support: Seddon had once even advocated arming the Negroes; thinking the unthinkable. He was an intelligent enough man to think positively and possibly override inborn prejudices.
Seddon should aid him, but Davis was not so sure of Christopher G. Memminger from South Carolina. He was Secretary of the Treasury and had a wicked temper. As had Stephen Mallory, the Secretary of the Navy. He was the son of a Connecticut Yankee and had helped his mother run a boarding house for sailors in Key West. This surely had not been easy; but he was a quick man with his fists.
The door opened and John H. Reagan, Postmaster General, came in with Thomas Bragg, the Attorney General.
“I see that all members of the Cabinet are present,” Jefferson Davis said, seating himself at the end of the long table. He took the folded sheets of his speech from his jacket pocket, started to put them on the table, then changed his mind. He knew it by heart and he wanted to watch their reactions to his proposals. He opened the table drawer and put it inside, next to the revolver pistol that he kept there.
“Gentlemen — do any of you have any urgent business that we need to hear before we get to the substance of the meeting?”
“Need more money in the Treasury,” Memminger said, and there was a murmur of laughter. The Treasury was always short of funds.
“Any other?” Davis asked, and the rest of the Cabinet members shook their heads. “Good. Then to the matter of the proposed bill. The North has given us certain assurances that we must consider deeply before we think of the assurances that we must give in return. There must be the end of all abolitionist attacks and propaganda. That is essential.”
“Not only essential, but vital,” Bragg said. “Particularly when we try to persuade the planters to sell their slaves.”
“I agree…”
Davis broke off as the door to the hallway was swung open so hard that it crashed against the wall. Leroy P. Walker, the former Secretary of War stormed in. Davis had dismissed the tall Alabaman from his Cabinet and in doing so had made an enemy for life.
“This is a private meeting and you are not welcome here,” Davis said.
“Of course it’s private ’cause you and the other traitors are trying to sell the South down the river like some ol’ nigger woman.”
“How do you know what we are doing here?” Davis said, mouth tight with cold anger.
“I know because at least one of you ain’t a traitor and told me what you were planning.”
“Walker — you are no longer a member of this chamber and you are not wanted here,” Mallory shouted, jumping to his feet and striding forward.
“Maybe I ain’t — but you going to hear what I say first. Now — stand clear!” Walker shouted as he stepped aside quickly so his back was to the wall. “Now you listen while I speak — and listen good.”
He took a long cavalry pistol from inside his jacket and pointed it at them.
Seddon spoke slowly and calmly in his deep Virginia accent. “Put that away, Leroy. This is the Conference Chamber of the Confederacy and not some white trash saloon.”
“You hush and listen to me — ”
“No!” Mallory shouted, lunging forward and grabbing him by the arms.
They struggled, cursing, and the gun fired with a muffled crack.
“Shot me…” Mallory said weakly and he fell to the floor.
Jefferson Davis had the table drawer open and was taking out his pistol.
Walker saw the movement, turned and fired. Just as Davis pulled the trigger of his own gun.
There was stunned silence after the two shots; gunsmoke drifted across the chamber. Walker lay dead on the floor with a bullet hole in the center of his forehead.
They rushed to Davis, stretched him on the floor. His eyes were closed and his jacket was soaked with blood. Reagan opened an immense clasp knife and cut his shirt and jacket away. The bullet had entered his chest just below his shoulder blade and was oozing blood.
“Use this,” Seddon said, taking a large white kerchief from his tailcoat pocket; Reagan pushed it against the wound.
“Will someone go for the surgeon!”
Davis sighed and opened his eyes, looked up at the men grouped around him. “Walker…?” he asked weakly.
“Dead,” Judah Benjamin said, kneeling at his side. “Memminger has gone for the doctor.”
Jefferson Davis looked up at the circle of worried men. They had to carry on, finish the work that he had begun. Good men all of them, supporters and friends. Some not too bright, some very bigoted. Who could he rely on? His eyes stopped moving and rested on the rotund figure and concerned face of Judah P. Benjamin. The brightest of the lot. The peacemaker. Would he be able to work for the greater peace of the country?
“Take care of things, Judah,” Davis said, trying to sit up. “You are the one who can sow accord — and you are the brainiest one here. See that this war is ended and peace is made.” He raised his voice a bit. “Have you all heard me? Do you agree with me?” One by one they nodded in silence as he looked around the circle. “Then the matter is settled. I have faith in Judah Benjamin and you must have too…” His eyes closed and he dropped back to the floor.
“Is he… dead?” someone asked in a hushed voice. Benjamin leaned his head close to Davis’s mouth.
“Breathing still. Where is that doctor?”
Two days later Judah P. Benjamin rose to speak before the assembled Congress of the Confederacy. He had studied Jefferson Davis’s speech, improved it where he could, made sure that all of the proposals were outlined in the greatest detail. Now he must read it with the greatest sincerity. The Congressmen must be convinced.
“You all know what occurred at the fated meeting of the Cabinet. Two men dead, Jefferson Davis wounded, possibly mortally. His last conscious words were for me to speak for him, and I do that now. He asked me to read this proposed speech and do my utmost to convince you all that this is the wisest and sanest course to follow.
“As all gathered here know, the Congress of the United States has agreed to reunite this country in a manner that will be satisfactory to all and repellent to none. You all will have read the bill and pondered on its significance. If we here, in Congress assembled, agree upon its merits we will declare, in essence, that the War between the States is over. Brother will no longer kill brother.
“In all this wretched struggle it is mournful to reflect that the real difficulties spring more from the selfish passions of men rather than from the necessities of the case. In border states slavery is already declining from natural causes. If only intemperate and too often unprincipled abolitionist agitation of the subject for electioneering purposes in the North would stop, slavery in the border states would disappear in five years. The President of the United States has assured me that it will.
“War causation tends to be explained in terms of great forces. Something elemental is supposed to be at work. It is not. People stumble into war for many reasons — some of which they are not even aware of. Now a war that has occupied us has ended by the invasion by a more threatening enemy.
“This war that is now suspended by a cease-fire was not started by slavery or anti-slavery, states rights or Lincoln’s election or slavery in Kansas. If you wish to take one word to explain it it would be none of these. It would be fanaticism — on both sides — misunderstanding, misrepresentation, or even politics.
“I therefore ask you to take action on the proposal of the United States Congress. I ask you to look into your hearts and seek agreement. How you decide here will affect thousands alive, millions still unborn. Your decision will essentially end this Confederate Congress, but it will also see the rebirth of a wounded country. We will sit side by side with our brothers from the North to save these United States from a greater threat. Do not forget that in our hour of peril they came to our aid. They were not asked, they volunteered. With their aid — and the deaths of their soldiers — a blood pact was signed that Biloxi would be avenged. And so it has been. Let us seize on this fact and remember it — and try not to dwell upon the war that has now been put aside by armistice. Let us search our hearts and find an honorable way to extend that armistice and put the war behind us. I formally request you all to vote to accept the proposals put forward by the Congress of the United States.”
There was no overt reaction when Judah Benjamin stopped speaking. There was a mutter of comment, then one voice louder than the others broke through.
“Judah Benjamin you are a damned Judas — like the other Jew who betrayed our savior — selling out your birthright, your friends and family, your country — for damn Yankee promises.” It was Lawrence M. Keitt, the fire-eating Congressman from South Carolina, a slaveholder, very rich and very sure of the right of his cause.
“I sell out nothing, Congressman Keitt. But I do resent your tone, and reject your racial insults. If we were not fighting the British invaders I would call you out to defend my honor. But we have all seen how disastrous it is to mix guns with politics. That I do not challenge your insulting slurs means that I must be strong and not be provoked — as all of you must be as well. We must put personal feelings and honor aside in order to reunite this country.”
Keitt grew even more angry at this. “And I resent your tone and your arguments. My slaves are my property and no man will take them from me. And as for my honor, sir, I value it just as you do yours. I will be happy to face your gun, now or at any other time.”
“Do you threaten me, Mr. Keitt?”
“More of a promise than a threat.” But the arrogance in his voice belied the words. He loosened his pistol in his tailcoat pocket. Benjamin pointed at it.
“You have brought a gun into this Congress to enforce your threat? You do this after what has happened to Jefferson Davis?”
“A gentleman does not go about unarmed — ”
“Sergeant at arms,” Benjamin called out. “Arrest this man for his threatening behavior.”
He had planned for this and the squad of soldiers was ready. All of them veterans of battle, all returned home to recuperate from wounds. All grimly eager to see the end of this war. Keitt shouted angrily and pulled out the pistol — but was quickly disarmed and half-carried, half-dragged from the hall.
There was much argument and raised voices at this, but Benjamin would not permit dissension to rule.
“The dead, think of the dead. Do we really want to begin over again a war that has been brought honorably to an end? Must we once again pick up the guns that have been peacefully laid down, and once again begin killing each other? Have we learned nothing from the deaths of our loved ones? You are the ones who must decide — and posterity will never forget what was decided here this day.”
One by one they were won over until, at close to midnight, the final vote was made to accept the conditions of the Congress.
It was carried by the smallest of majorities.
A single vote. But it was enough.
The War of Secession was over at last.
A DIRTY WAR
The frigate Speedfast had not been the first British warship to be engaged by the Avenger during the brief and deadly Battle of the Potomac. Two others had taken the full impact of her broadsides. The fact that only one of the American warship’s guns had been reloaded and run out when the two vessels exchanged fire was all that spared her. A single 400-pound shell had torn though her. The Avenger had steamed on to attack the rest of the flotilla — leaving Speedfast with dead crewmen, dismounted guns, her wheel and helmsman blown away. Captain Gaffney was an experienced and proficient officer. While his ship drifted helplessly down the river he had the wrecked masts cut away and relieving tackle rigged to the rudder. It was a clumsy arrangement but it worked. Shouted orders were relayed from the bridge; sailors belowdecks pulled on the ropes to move the rudder. Maneuvering was slow and arduous, but it could be done. The battle was far upstream behind them by the time Speedfast got up steam again and was brought back under control. Much as he wanted to, the captain knew that it would have been suicide to rejoin the one-sided battle. Speedfast had no choice other than to turn her bow downstream in the wake of the escaping transports, to limp sluggishly back to sea and to her home port in Kingston, Jamaica.
An investigating board had cleared Captain Gaffney of any misconduct in leaving the scene of battle. Despite this he felt humiliated by the engagement. Now, refitted and repaired the Speedfast was back at sea again. Her mission, as Gaffney saw it, was a simple one.
Vengeance.
Lieutenant Wedge, the commander of her marine detachment knocked and entered the captain’s cabin.
“We are hitting back,” Captain Gaffney said. He was an angry man. Angry at the enemy who had wrecked his ship and killed his men. He was well aware of the greater military disaster that was befalling Britain, but his feelings about that were distant and controlled. He would willingly join in that battle and do the best that he, his men, and his ship could possibly do. That went without saying. But now, on this mission, he would take great pleasure in wreaking personal revenge upon the country that had so personally tried to destroy him.
“These are our orders,” Gaffney said, holding up a single sheet of paper. “They are from the Secretary to the Lords’ Commissioners of the Admiralty. Succinct and to the point and I am sure that they will be followed with a great deal of pleasure. You may read them.”
“Understood, sir. And to be obeyed with the greatest of pleasure, sir!”
Wedge’s hair was grizzled, his face red from drink or rage — or both. He had been passed over for command too often and would never rise to a higher rank. His men hated him, but they fought well for him, since he hated the enemy even more. He was a formidable fighter and this was his kind of battle.
“Do you have a site in mind, Captain?”
“I do. Here.” They bent their heads over the map. “On the coast of South Carolina, a small town called Myrtle Beach. I called in there once for water. There are some fishing vessels, and a railroad station at the end of this line that goes inland. The buildings, as I recall, were mostly wooden.”
“They’ll burn well. When do we attack?”
“We are making six knots now which should bring us within sight of land at dawn. We will go in as soon as the target is identified.”
The postmaster of Myrtle Beach was just raising the flag when the unmistakable sound of cannon fire boomed from the direction of the harbor. By the time he had hurried to the corner, to look down the road to the shore, dark clouds of smoke were roiling up above the roofs. There were screams now and people running. The fishing boats tied up in the little harbor were all burning. Boatloads of soldiers in red uniforms were coming ashore. Beyond them the dark hull of a warship brightened suddenly with the flames from its guns and an instant later the front of the First Bank of South Carolina exploded outward.
The postmaster ran. Through the crunch of broken glass to the train terminal, throwing open the door to the telegraph office.
“Get this out on the wire! The British are here, burning and blowing up everything. Firing cannon, landing soldiers. The war has come here…”
The burst of musket fire hurled the postmaster back onto the telegraph operator, threw them both dead to the floor.
Lieutenant Wedge and his marines stamped across the floor in their heavy boots and on into the empty station beyond. A black, diamond-stack locomotive w
aited on the tracks there: the crew had fled. A trickle of smoke rose from the stack; steam hissed lightly from a valve. “Just what I had hoped to find. Bring up Mr. McCloud.” The captain had agreed at once when the marine lieutenant had suggested that the ship’s engineering officer accompany them ashore. Wedge pointed at the locomotive when the engineer appeared.
“Can you take care of that thing? Blow it up. Will you need black powder?”
“Not at all, sir. A steam engine is a steam engine, none much different from the other, at sea or on land. I’ll just stoke her red hot, close all the outlet valves — and tie down the safety valve. After that the boiler will take care of itself.”
The town was in flames, the fishing boats burnt down to their waterlines, the townsfolk who had not escaped were dead in the streets. A satisfactory morning’s work, Lieutenant Wedge thought as he climbed back to the deck of the Speedfast. He turned to look at the burning buildings when there was a great explosion and a white cloud of steam shot up out of the black clouds of smoke.
“What was that?” Captain Gaffney asked. “A powder store?”
“No, sir. A steam engine blowing itself to kingdom come.”
“Well done. Be sure to mention that in your report.”
“Another town burnt, Mr. President,” Nicolay said. “Myrtle Beach, little place on the South Carolina coast. And at least seven American merchant ships have been attacked and seized at sea. Even worse, there have been two more armed incursions across the Canadian border. A most serious one in Vermont. People are in panic up there, leaving their homes and fleeing south.”
“These are terrible things to hear, John. Terrible. Soldiers fighting soldiers is one thing, but the British have declared war against our entire population. Go to the Congress at once, report what is happening to the clerk there. They should be voting on the proposals today and perhaps these cruel events can add a little fire to their resolution.”
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