Johnston took a document from his pocket. “These are the terms that we’ll accept.”
Sherman read over it. “I can’t possibly agree to this.”
“Then re-write it and we’ll present your version to the President,” Breckinridge suggested.
“Very well.” Sherman pulled a clean sheet of paper across the desk.
April 19, 1865
Washington, D.C.
The weather was overcast and the sky was as somber as the mood of the people who were filing through the black crepe-covered South Portico and into the White House. “Are you sure that you’re up to this?” Robert Van Buskirk whispered into Betty’s ear.
“Of course,” she said.
“They’re trying to fit over six hundred people into the East Room, so only the family and a few very special guests have chairs. The rest of us will have to stand throughout the whole funeral.”
“I’m fine. Really.”
They followed the shuffling line of people through the Green Room and into the darkened East Room where Lincoln’s casket dominated the space. It took several minutes for all the mourners to take their places, so it was several minutes after the designated hour of noon when the Reverend Charles Hall began the service. “I am the resurrection and the life, saith the Lord. He that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live: and whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die.”
Grant, who was one of the “special guests” that Robert had mentioned, was seated near the head of Lincoln’s coffin. Robert and Tad Lincoln, with a few other family members, were seated at the foot. Members of Lincoln’s cabinet, President Andrew Johnson and former Vice President Hannibal Hamlin were standing opposite Robert and Betty. Stanton’s eyes met Robert’s and he nodded. Robert nodded back.
“What was that all about?” Betty asked.
“Nothing,” Robert replied.
Bishop Matthew Simpson of the Methodist Episcopal Church gave the opening prayer.
Robert squeezed Betty’s hand. “Are you all right?” he whispered.
She nodded.
Standing stationary for so long was beginning to tell on some of the mourners when Dr. Phineas Gurley, pastor of the New York Avenue Presbyterian Church, at last delivered the eulogy: “I have said that the people confided in the late lamented President with a full and loving confidence. Probably no man since the days of Washington was ever so deeply and firmly imbedded and enshrined in the very hearts of the people as Abraham Lincoln. Nor was it a mistaken confidence and love. He deserved it - deserved it well - deserved it all. He merited it by his character, by his acts, and by the whole tenor, and tone, and spirit of his life. He was simple and sincere, plain and honest, truthful and just, benevolent and kind. His perceptions were quick and clear, his judgments were calm and accurate, and his purposes were good and pure beyond a question. Always and everywhere he aimed and endeavored to be right and to do right. His integrity was thorough, all-pervading, all-controlling, and incorruptible. It was the same in every place and relation, in the consideration and the control of matters great or small, the same firm and steady principle of power and beauty that shed a clear and crowning luster upon all his other excellences of mind and heart, and recommended him to his fellow citizens as the man, who, in a time of unexampled peril, when the very life of the nation was at stake, should be chosen to occupy, in the country and for the country, its highest post of power and responsibility.”
As Dr. E. H. Gray, the Baptist chaplain of the Senate and pastor of the E Street Baptist church offered the closing prayer, bells began to peal throughout the District, and cannon fire from all the nearby forts and batteries rattled the windows.
Robert took Betty’s elbow and guided her away from the line of mourners that was forming to exit the room. “I need to speak to Secretary Stanton for just a moment.”
“Why didn’t you say so when I asked?”
“I’m saying so now.” He released her arm and left her beside the casket, then crossed the room.
Feeling foolish standing there alone, Betty joined the throng that was filing out.
On Pennsylvania Avenue, the funeral hearse drawn by six white horses was waiting. Behind it, thousands of Union soldiers and civilians were lined up as far as Betty could see.
“Where did you go?” Robert asked, breathlessly.
“I went here,” she said.
“I told you to wait for me.”
“No you didn’t.”
“It was implied.”
She shrugged. “Do you want to join the procession to the Rotunda?”
He shook his head. “It’ll take hours. Let’s see if we can’t pick our way through the crowd and go back to the Willard.”
“What did Secretary Stanton want?”
“He wants me to write a letter to Cump.”
“A letter?”
“Yes. And he wants me to ride on the funeral train to Springfield.”
“Why?”
“He didn’t explain.”
“Liar.”
“I am not a liar.”
“No, you’re an obscurer of truth. You don’t tell lies but you don’t tell the truth either.”
“Stanton told me to tell no one and I’ve already told you.”
“You’ve told me nothing.”
“It was more than I should have.”
She looked over her shoulder. “Are you going to tell Sam Grant?”
“Not yet. And don’t you breathe a word.”
April 20, 1865
Orchard Hill Plantation, Virginia
Johnny Van Buskirk rode down the long driveway and reined in as the mansion came into view. The once carefully manicured front lawn was littered with tents and sod huts while the smoke from hundreds of campfires hung in the damp air like a pall. The front of the house was blackened by fire and the windows were boarded up. Just ahead of him, colored children were wading in a blast crater that had been flooded by the spring rains. He rode around them, then abandoned the littered driveway and turned toward the carriage house at the rear of the house.
Urilla had somehow seen him and she came running from the back door to nearly drag him off his horse. “Oh, my love. I thought you must be dead.” She took his face in her hands and kissed him until he laughed. “Are you wounded?” She stepped back to examine his bloody tunic.
“No. I took this uniform off a corpse. It was the only way I could get into the fight.”
A colored child came from inside the carriage house and reached for Johnny’s reins. Johnny looked questioningly at Urilla. “It’s fine,” she said. “Give Matthew your horse and come in the house so we can get you fed and cleaned up.” She took his hand and pulled him toward the back door.
“No, wait.” He gave the reins to the boy but resisted her pull. “What’s all this?” He pointed toward the camp on the front lawn.
“There was a battle near here and I opened the house up to care for the wounded. After the fighting was over, wives started coming to look for their husbands. Then it was soldiers looking for comrades and finally it was people who had nowhere to go.”
“How do you feed them?”
“I don’t. They manage on their own, somehow.”
“And you? How do you manage?”
“I barter away useless luxuries for necessities. Please come in. You look so very tired.”
Johnny nodded and let her lead him up the steps and into the main kitchen. “Who are all these people?”
Urilla shrugged. “I don’t know most of them. The stove’s become common property where people contribute table scraps to make soup. Sometimes it’s horrible and other times it’s surprisingly good. Today’s a good day.” She pulled out a chair. “Sit down and I’ll get you some.”
“What does your father think of all this?”
“Oh. He was killed trying to defend the plantation against some looters.”
“I’m sorry.”
She walked to the stove and filled a cup with soup, then came back
and sat across from Johnny. “You were thin the last time I saw you. Now you’re practically skeletal.”
He tasted the soup. “Don’t you worry about thieves? I mean, with all these strangers coming in and out…”
“No. The people here have established their own rules and they enforce the rules if anyone breaks them. For instance, this is my table. Nobody sits here without my permission. If someone came over and sat down with us, uninvited, half the people in the room would quickly escort them out.”
“Huh.” He drank a little more of the soup. “I guess you know that it can’t last.”
She nodded. “The Yankees will come and only God knows what they’ll do.”
“We need to get out of here before that happens. The plantation won’t ever be what it was.”
“I know. But we don’t have any horses. They’ve all been stolen or killed and eaten.”
“We’ll pack what we can on my horse and walk.”
“How far can you walk on that leg?”
“As far as we need to.”
“Where will we go?”
“Home.”
“To New Jersey?”
“No. New Jersey’s the old family home. Our home’s in Texas.”
April 21, 1865
Washington. D.C.
The funeral train of Abraham Lincoln left the station promptly at 8:00 AM. It was made up of nine cars including the President’s Car which contained a parlor, a sitting room and the sleeping quarters where the draped coffins of Abraham and Willie Lincoln were traveling.
The train would pass through 180 cities in seven states before making its final stop in Springfield, Illinois on May 4th. Scheduled stops were published in local newspapers. At each stop, the President’s coffin would be taken by a hearse to a public building for viewing.
Robert Todd Lincoln, who boarded in Washington, slipped off at Baltimore to return to his mother, who had been in a state of constant hysterics since the murder. As Robert Lincoln was being whisked away, Robert Van Buskirk boarded the train from the side opposite the platform, and was ushered to the baggage car by an administrative assistant of Secretary Stanton.
April 24, 1865
Durham, North Carolina
General William T. Sherman was sitting at his desk writing. When the door to his office opened, he stood up so quickly that he tipped over his chair. “Sam? What in blazes are you doing here?”
“I was sent here by President Johnson,” General Ulysses S. Grant said with no greeting or preamble. He sat down across from Sherman. “The agreement you made with Johnston’s unacceptable by the government of the United States.”
Sherman picked up the chair he’d knocked over and sat down again behind his desk. “So you’re here to take over the renegotiations.”
“I was sent here to take over, but because we’re friends I’m just going to ask you to renegotiate based on the terms that I gave Lee at Appomattox.”
“Because we’re friends.” Sherman said sarcastically. “A friend would have stood up for me in Washington.”
Grant sighed. “You sound like Robert Van Buskirk.”
“I can’t think of anyone I’d rather sound like. I wish you’d brought him.”
“The President pulled me off Lincoln’s funeral train. Robert’s now the army’s representative until Meade catches up. I don’t know how Robert even got there. He just appeared. Oh.” Grant took an envelope from his pocket and tossed it across the desk. “He wanted me to deliver this to you.”
“Who did? Meade?” Sherman picked up the envelope and tore it open.
“No, Robert,” Grant grumbled.
Sherman read the letter, then put his head back and laughed.
“What’s so funny?”
“The Professor says that I can get any terms that I want from Johnston because, by now, Johnston’s got no army.”
Grant wrinkled his brow. “What?”
Sherman pushed the letter toward Grant. “He says that Johnston’s troops knew when Lee surrendered and they all just started for home when Johnston called for the ceasefire and met with me.”
Grant skimmed the letter. “He doesn’t know any of that for a fact. He’s just guessing.”
Sherman grinned. “Good guess, don’t you think?”
Grant nodded. “Maybe. How soon can you set up a meeting with Johnston?”
“An hour or two.”
“Do it. Please. And see if you can find out how accurate Robert’s guess is.”
“You can catch the next train out. I’ll take care of this.”
“I think I’ll stay until you do.”
“They’ve got the long knives out for me, Sam.”
“I know. You’ve made a lot of enemies in Washington, Cump. There’s only so much I can do.”
~
“These are the same terms that you originally offered,” Johnston said, after reading the document that Sherman had just given him.
“Pretty much,” Sherman agreed. “All acts of war will cease immediately. Arms and public property will be turned over to the United States. Side arms, private horses, and baggage will be retained by officers. All officers and men are required to promise individually, in writing, not to take up arms again.”
“President Davis won’t agree to this, Sherman.”
“Then you’d better tell him that he’s got no choice, Johnston,” Sherman replied. “Ever since the cease-fire, you’ve had mass desertions from your ranks. We’ve had reports of your artillerymen taking mules and horses from the limbers and caissons and riding them home. My army’s complete, well-rested, well-fed, well-armed and hungry for Confederate blood.”
Johnston rubbed his eyes wearily. “Very well. I’ll see to it that President Davis signs this. But it may take me a day or two to convince him.”
“These terms are good for today only,” Sherman said. “If we don’t have an armistice by tomorrow at dawn, I’m marching against you and I guarantee that I’ll have you, Davis and his entire cabinet in chains by this time tomorrow.”
May 22, 1865
Washington, D.C.
On the 10th of May, President Andrew Johnson declared the rebellion at an end and announced that a formal review of the troops would be held in Washington on the 23rd and 24th of May. As the big event drew near, Washington began to fill with more troops than had occupied the district at any time during the war. The Army of the Potomac, commanded by General George G. Meade, had arrived in Washington on May 12th. The Army of Georgia, under the command of William T. Sherman, had arrived a few days later and was camped on the other side of the Potomac River. The Army of the Tennessee, now commanded by General John A. Logan, had arrived via train only a few days ago.
Robert and Quincy Van Buskirk were seated at a large round table in the back of the Willard Hotel’s dining room.
“What are you going to do now?” Robert asked.
“I’m sick of the army,” Quincy said. “I’m going to resign my commission and go home.”
“Home to Texas?” Robert asked.
Quincy nodded. “Why don’t you and Betty come too?”
“I can’t right now. Maybe next year, but the baby’s due soon and that’s a rough trip.”
“Nowhere near as rough as it used to be. They’ve got trains and steam ships now.”
“When I go, I want to take all the important heirlooms from Anna’s place and Van Buskirk Point. I’ll need to move them by wagon train.”
Robert’s reply was interrupted by the appearance of William T. Sherman who was hurrying toward them.
“Here’s Cump,” Robert said. “Don’t tell him you’re resigning unless he asks you a direct question.” He got up and held out his hand to Sherman.
“Hello, Professor. Quincy.” Sherman shook both their hands, then sat down. “Where’s Sam?”
“With the President, he’ll probably be along soon,” Robert said.
“Are you and Sam still crossways?” Sherman asked.
Robert shrugged. “We’re not as
cordial to each other as we once were.”
“What caused it?”
“Old and cranky, I guess.”
“In other words, you won’t tell me,” Sherman said.
Robert smiled.
“Just tell me one thing. Is it over me? Because if it is, I can take care of myself. I don’t need Sam protecting me from politicians or you protecting me from Sam. You’re not obligated to fight for me.”
“It’s not about obligation, it’s about loyalty,” Robert said. “All this attention’s gone to Sam’s head. They’ve got him convinced that he’ll be the next president. Now that he thinks he’s on top, he’s afraid to offend anyone.”
“Oh no,” Sherman said. “Sam doesn’t want to be president.”
“He says no, but he behaves yes,” Robert replied.
“Here he comes,” Quincy announced.
Grant shook hands all around, then sat down. “Your troops are wearing out the grass over there with all that marching, Cump.”
Sherman shrugged. “I want my Westerners to shine as bright as these Eastern troops.”
“You won’t be parading at the same time,” Grant replied. “Tomorrow’s Meade’s day. You’ll parade on the 23rd.”
“Hell,” Sherman grumbled. “The people are gonna have their fill of parades after watching Meade, and nobody will come out to watch us.”
Quincy chuckled. “You’ve got nothing to worry about, General. We brought enough camp followers with us to pack the streets ten deep.”
“You’ll also be leading the Army of the Tennessee,” Grant said. “If we had you following Meade, it’d be dark before you got to the reviewing stand.”
Somewhat mollified, Sherman nodded.
May 23, 1865
Washington, D.C.
It was a glorious morning in the Nation’s Capital as General George G. Meade led the Army of the Potomac from Capitol Hill down Pennsylvania Avenue between rows of cheering crowds. Ranks of infantry, artillery and cavalry stretched behind Meade for seven miles.
Freedom (Gone For Soldiers) Page 38
