Grant Comes East - Civil War 02

by Newt Gingrich; William Forstchen

  He looked down again at the map. A two-day march would place them into the city, as long as there was no more rain. There were some fortifications to the southwest of Baltimore, but they were, at last report, manned only by some local militia. Yes, it was feasible, but would it also prove to be a trap? Once into the city, they were wed to it for the duration of the fight. Could he occupy it, but still maintain a presence in the rest of Maryland and facing Washington? But Davis had promised twenty thousand more infantry. If only it were forty thousand, he would not hesitate.

  We must achieve something decisive here, he thought And he knew that with Washington impossible there was now no other choice.

  He leaned over, studying the map, nodding slowly. Details would have to be worked out this evening with Hood and Longstreet Stuart's command would have to be split, half to stay here, shadowing Washington. A division of infantry would have to stay behind as well, to feign an attack. At least a division toward Annapolis, leaving five divisions in his main force, with the rest of Stuart's command racing back north to act as a screen and to scout out the enemy's dispositions. Supplies were not a concern at the moment and yes, Judah's assertion that there was a virtual cornucopia waiting in Baltimore was undoubtedly true.

  Not given to hasty decisions, he knew that he must make one now. He would have preferred a day or two to contemplate this, for it was a profound shift in all his thinking of the last three weeks. It would tie the Army of Northern Virginia to an occupation role, and the effects of that might be profound. But there was no other choice. He could not pull back to Frederick and adopt a waiting-and-watching role, not after this conversation.

  "We move on Baltimore tomorrow morning," he said, looking at Davis and Benjamin.

  The two smiled and stood up. Davis, aware of the gathering crowd that was watching them, leaned over and shook Lee's hand. A wild shout went up from the watchers. From somewhere a band had come up and immediately broke into a slightly off-key rendition of "Dixie," which was greeted by the piercing rebel yell.

  Davis came out from under the awning and walked toward the men, the crowd breaking through the cordon of escorts to surround their president. Lee, always uncomfortable with such displays, held back, Judah by his side.

  "You really believe it can still be done, don't you?" Lee asked.

  Judah smiled his inscrutable smile and nodded.

  "With luck, General Lee. Tonight I shall appeal to my Old Testament God while you pray to your New Testament Savior. I don't think though that He takes sides based upon a few feeble prayers. So I shall have to trust in luck, your skill, and the courage of these men."

  He hesitated.

  "For if we appealed to Him on moral grounds alone, well, I think I would be concerned."

  Startled, Lee looked over at Judah, who shrugged his shoulders and then walked off to follow his president Not wishing to join in the display of exuberance, Lee stepped back and walked off in the opposite direction in order to contemplate what Judah Benjamin had just said.

  July 20,1863 4:00 A.M.

  The sudden lurching of the boat as it bumped against the dock roused him from a deep, dreamless sleep.

  Ulysses Grant sat up and instantly regretted it, as he banged his head on the overhead deck. Softly muttering an obscenity, he lay back, disoriented for a moment. He was in a narrow cabin lit by a coal oil lamp turned down low. The space was little bigger than a coffin, just enough room for a bed, with the deck only inches from his face. Beside the bed was a small nightstand, with a basin of water on it Under the stand was a chamber pot In the comer sat a small chair with his coat draped on it.

  Rolling over, he slipped out of the bed and found that even at his stature he could not stand upright The boat swayed gently; topside he heard shouted commands, the scurrying of feet

  There was a knock on the door, it was Elihu. "We're here." "I'll be right out"

  He splashed some water on his face, buttoned the plain four-button coat of an infantry private, and looked down at his uniform. The only mark of command was the hastily stitched shoulder boards with three stars. The third star for each shoulder had been cut out and sewn in between the existing two stars, since no official three-star insignia could be found. The uniform was stained, rumpled, smelling of sweat both human and horse, but there was no changing to a fresh uniform now. In the hurried confusion in the dark at Port Deposit his trunk had never been transferred from the train to this courier boat. There was nothing to be done about it now, and he opened the door.

  Elihu was hunched over in the corridor.

  "What time is it?" Grant asked.

  "Just after four Philadelphia time, not exactly sure what it is here. We really flew down the Chesapeake. That young lieutenant in command has nerves of steel; I couldn't see a damn thing and yet he was puffing along, boilers wide open."

  The journey had gone by in a blur for him. Express train to Philadelphia, where they changed trains, and from there down to Perryville on the north bank of the Susquehanna, where they had transferred to a waiting courier boat.

  "You get any sleep?" Grant asked.

  He had felt a twinge of guilt when the young naval lieutenant in command of the boat insisted that Grant take his coffinlike cabin, leaving Washburne and Haupt to fend for themselves aboard the toylike boat.

  "Haupt slept on the deck, in the pilot's cabin; I played cards with the crew."

  "Win anything?"

  "You know it's against regulations to gamble aboard a naval vessel," Elihu said with a grin. "How would it look for a congressman to be caught trying to take the earnings of our gallant sailors?"

  He shook his head.

  "They cleaned me out. I lost fifty dollars."

  Climbing a half dozen steps up a ladder, Grant and Washburne came out on the deck. The open boiler aft was ticking and hissing, steam venting out. All was wrapped in a thick, oily fog, muffling sound; the dock they were tied to illuminated by gas lamps that cast a feeble golden glow. The air was thick with a fetid, marshlike scent, mingled with the stench of sewage.

  The young lieutenant and his crew of five stood at attention by the narrow gangplank. Haupt was already on the dock, disappearing into the shadows.

  Elihu stepped down the gangplank, two of the sailors grinning and winking at him. Grant followed, stepped on to the dock, and looked around. It was as if he had walked into a ghost land. A lone sentry on the dock was the only living presence, the sailor looking at him nervously and then snapping to attention.

  "No one knows we're here," Elihu said.

  "Fine with me."

  They stood in the fog, Grant not sure at the moment what should be done next Haupt returned a moment later.

  "No one knew we were coming. It's a bit chaotic, casualties being brought in from the fight at the fortifications, but I'm having three horses brought to us. They should be here in a few minutes."

  Grant slowly walked along the dock, hands behind his back, the point of his cigar glowing. A shallow draft ironclad was tied off just ahead of where they docked, guns protruding fore and aft, a wisp of steam and smoke venting from the stack. A detail of half a dozen sailors approached out of the fog, running hard, a naval ensign leading them. They drew up short, and the ensign saluted, the men coming to attention.

  "Sorry, sir, no one told us you were coming," the ensign gasped.

  "No problem, Ensign. What has been going on here?"

  "The fight, sir?"

  "Yes."

  "We could hear it, hell of a barrage. Our artillery really put it to them. The barracks have been converted over to a hospital for rebel prisoners. A dirty lot, sir, covered in lice most of them."

  Grant said nothing. The navy was used to a far different standard of living, and the sight of a real infantryman, who had been campaigning for weeks in the field, would of course come as a shock to them.

  "Is it true, sir, you're coming from the West with fifty thousand men?" the ensign asked excitedly.

  "You know I can't discuss that with y
ou," Grant replied, a note of reproach in his voice.

  "Sorry, sir. Just that's been the word around here the last few days."

  There was a clattering of hooves, and several cavalrymen approached, leading their mounts. The sergeant in charge of the small detail did not look all that pleased.

  "Are you General Grant, sir?" he asked coolly after saluting.

  "Yes, Sergeant."

  "Some general just came up and said he was requisitioning three horses."

  "That's right, Sergeant. Don't worry, I'll make sure we get them back to you by midmorning."

  "Sir, I don't like being dismounted at a time like this."

  "I understand, Sergeant."

  The trooper reluctantly handed over the reins of his mount, a towering stallion.

  "He's a tough one, sir, sensitive mouth, so be careful."

  Grant smiled, took the reins, and quickly mounted. The horse shied a bit, tried to buck, and he settled himself down hard in the saddle, working the bit gently but making it clear he was mounted to stay. The horse settled down.

  Elihu and Haupt mounted as well. Grant looked around, totally disoriented.

  "I know the way," Elihu announced.

  The sergeant looked up at him, and Grant sensed the man was a bit disappointed, half hoping that the mighty general would wind up on his backside for having taken his horse.

  Elihu led the way, moving at a walk down the length of the dock, passing another ironclad, this one rigged with lanterns hanging over the railings and boarding nets strung around its circumference.

  They eased past a line of wagons, several carriages, and a couple of ambulances. The main barracks were aglow with a light that cast dim shafts of gold out the windows to dissipate in the cloaking fog. From within he could hear low groans, a sudden cry of pain. Naval sentries, half-asleep, stood outside the building, leaning on their muskets. Four bodies were lying on the lawn, bare feet sticking out from under the blankets, the corpses, like all corpses, looking tiny and forlorn.

  Elihu broke into a slow trot as they went through the gates of the naval yard, the sentries looking at them wide-eyed as they passed.

  "Hey, was that Grant?" one of them asked as they passed, their conversations muffled and then lost in the fog. They trotted up a broad avenue, passing a convoy of wagons parked by the side of the road. No one was about The streets were empty, the soft glow of streetlights marking their way. Two- and three-story houses lining the road were dark. Several street corners had small patrols stationed, three or four men. Some were up, standing, more than one man curled up, sleeping in a doorway while a lone comrade fought to stay awake, keeping watch.

  A black cat darted across the street in front of Grant, causing his horse to shy, arid he fought it back down, urging it forward.

  Elihu chuckled.

  "Not superstitious, are you?" he asked.

  Grant said nothing, letting go of the rein with one hand to reach into his pocket pull out a match, and strike his cigar back to life.

  A wagon rumbled past them, going in the opposite direction. Inside, piles of newspapers were stacked high. The road slowly climbed up a slope, the narrow confines of houses giving way to a broad, open expanse of lawn. He didn't need to be told; it was the Capitol.

  Dim lights glowed from within, the fog breaking up slightly to reveal, in the first early light of dawn, the great iron dome that was still under construction.

  Elihu slowed a bit, reined his horse in, and stopped for a moment

  "No matter how many times I see it, it still gives me a lump in the throat," he whispered.

  Grant said nothing, looking up at the towering heights. Even now, at four-thirty in the morning, the building was open. A row of ambulances was parked in front of the east portico, stretcher-bearers carrying their burdens up the steps. Civilians were coming in and out, some moving slowly, wearily, after what must have been a long night of labor, others hurrying in.

  He was tempted to stop, if only for a few minutes. It had been years since he had trod these halls, and within were men who had suffered, some enduring the final agony of having paid the ultimate price for the preservation of what this building represented. But other matters pressed, and he slowly rode on.

  They skirted around the south end of the Capitol, dropping down to the broad, open, almost marshy ground below the building. Directly in the middle he stopped again and looked up.

  The structure towering above him was imposing, solid, conveying a sense of the eternal... the temple of the republic for which he fought

  Whether it would one day stand as a hollow testament to the failure of the dream, or remain the central hall of freedom, now rested squarely upon his shoulders. It was a responsibility he had not sought but which fate seemed to have thrust upon him. Strangely, he found himself wondering how this place would look fifty, a hundred and fifty years from now. Would it be barren, a city abandoned like so many capitals of the ancient world, or would it be vibrant, alive, the dream continuing, a place of pride, a republic that would endure this time of crisis and emerge yet stronger?

  He pressed on, following Elihu, who had slowly ridden ahead, Haupt at his side. They reached Pennsylvania Avenue and turned left. There was a light scattering of traffic, the first streetcar of the morning slowly making its way up the hill to the Capitol. A company of troops marching in route step passed on the other side of the road, rifles slung over shoulders, the men bantering among themselves, barely noticing the two officers and a congressman trotting past A barricade blocked off most of the street farther on, with two twelve-pound Napoleons deployed behind it, sentries standing at the narrow opening. No comments were exchanged as they rode through, though one of the men looked up curiously at Grant as he saluted.

  As they dropped down off Capitol Hill, the fog thickened again. Riding in the middle of the street, they could barely see the buildings flanking either side. A drunk sitting on the curb was being soundly dressed down by a policeman who was hoisting him to his feet. A few ladies of the evening, or in this case the early morning, loitered under a streetlamp, looking over hopefully as they passed, but offering no comments.

  They passed by the bright lights of the Willard, a small crowd gathered outside, mostly officers, but none looked over at his passage. He was glad of that, otherwise the rumor would explode like wildfire. With his private's sack coat, collar pulled up against the morning damp, he was barely distinguishable, except for the three stars on each shoulder.

  Directly ahead was the War Department, Elihu leading the way. In the fog he caught a glimpse of the White House, troops deployed on the front lawn. The sky was brightening, shifting from indigo to a sullen gray.

  They reined in before the dark somber mass of the War Department building. The sentries out front, in spite of the hour, were well turned out, uniforms smart, brass polished and reflecting the glow of the streetlights.

  As he swung down off his mount, several orderlies came out of the doorway and at the sight of him slowed, stiffening to attention.

  "General Grant?" one of them asked.

  He returned the salute and nodded.

  "Sir, the secretary of war is in his office; he told me to escort you in the moment you arrived."

  Haupt dismounted with him, but Elihu stayed on his horse.

  "Think I'll wander over to the White House," Elihu announced.

  In spite of the hour, Grant knew that Elihu would rouse the president, and he was grateful. Stanton had no real love for him, and at this crucial first meeting it would be good to have Lincoln present.

  Grant followed the orderly into the building after telling one of the sentries to find a way to return the horses back to the cavalrymen at the naval yard.

  The corridors were brightly lit with gaslight, the floor beneath his feet sticky with tobacco juice, cluttered with scraps of paper, and even what appeared to be splotches of blood. Even at five in the morning it was bustling with activity, staff officers running back and forth; a lieutenant with his arm in a s
ling—the blood on the floor obviously from the leaking wound in his elbow—leaned against a wall, pale-faced, not even noticing as Grant walked past him. In his good hand he was clutching a roll of papers.

  They went up the stairs, turned down another corridor, the air a bit stuffy and damp, and without fanfare were ushered into the outer office of the secretary of war.

  A well-dressed colonel, sitting behind a desk, stood up as Grant and Haupt came in.

  "Good morning, General, we were expecting you," the colonel announced in a soft, silky voice. "The secretary is asleep but I have orders to wake him the moment you arrive. Please make yourself comfortable."

  The colonel slipped through a doorway, barely opening it, and the etched glass panes of the inner office, which had been dark, now glowed from a light within.

  There was muffled conversation. Grant settled back in the leather-bound seat and looked over at Haupt, who was obviously exhausted.

  They didn't wait long. The doorway opened, the colonel beckoning for them to enter.

  Stanton was up, hair rumpled, feet in carpet slippers, an unmade daybed in the corner, with blankets kicked back. He wheezed slightly as he came up and shook Grant's hand.

  "You made good time, sir." .

  "General Haupt is to be thanked for that. We had an express with track cleared all the way from Harrisburg to Perryville."

  Stanton beckoned to a couple of seats across from his desk as he settled down. The colonel reappeared bearing a silver tray with a pot of coffee and one of tea. He poured the tea for Stanton and coffee for Grant and Haupt, then withdrew.

  Stanton opened a desk drawer and pulled out a pocket flask.

  "Would you care for a bracer in that, General?" he asked.

  Grant, features expressionless, shook his head. Stanton put the flask back in the desk.

  "Give me a minute to wake up, General," he said, and leaning back in his chair, Stanton noisily sipped on his cup of tea, draining it, then refilling it.

  Grant waited patiently.

  "Did you hear what happened here the last two days?" Stanton asked.

  "Just the telegrams you sent up to me and the usual newspaper reports."