Shattered Nation

by Jeffrey Brooks

  They were herded into three different boxcars, stuffed inside in such great numbers that it was difficult for any man to sit down. The only ventilation was provided by small cracks between some of the boards. As he clambered up the ramp used to move cattle into similar cars, Thomas reflected that it was going to be a long and uncomfortable journey.

  Four days before, he had been the commander of one of the most powerful armies on the planet. Now, he had been reduced to the level of a cow.

  *****

  July 23, Noon

  President Davis did not enjoy holding receptions at the Executive Mansion. He was a man much more comfortable working alone in his study than making small talk with people he considered idiots. Following the victory at the Battle of Peachtree Creek, however, it seemed necessary to schedule a special victory celebration. Failing to do so might have offended polite society, which Varina had assured him would have been a disaster too terrible to contemplate.

  Davis stood as ramrod-straight as possible, shaking hands with a never-ending line of guests. There were numerous Confederate officers either temporarily on leave in Richmond or recovering from war wounds. There were members of Congress who smiled and chatted pleasantly with Davis and his wife, even though he knew they were doing everything they could to undermine his leadership when they were not actually in his presence. There were also many well-to-do Richmond merchants and bankers, quite a few of whom were in the highly-lucrative blockade running business.

  The crowd congregated in the main reception room. Fine champagne was being poured in quantities that would have made many a wealthy family in Paris blush with embarrassment. The main dinner course was a baked ham drenched in a maple syrup glaze, which was among the most delicious things anyone had eaten in some time. In addition, fresh oysters and roast chicken filled the plates of guests. It was not as elegant a reception as would have been expected before the war, but it was certainly one of the finest parties the city had seen for some months.

  Davis knew he himself was unlikely to have an opportunity to sample any of the fine food, as he would almost certainly be trapped in the receiving line for the duration of the levée. He didn’t particularly mind. The soldiers fighting outside of Petersburg and Atlanta were making do with a few handfuls of cornmeal and a few bits of meat every week, so Davis felt that he could certainly forego fine food for a few hours.

  A brass band made up of musicians from the Army of Northern Virginia was playing patriotic tunes outside, loudly enough for everyone to hear them but not so loudly as to interfere with conversation. Upon hearing The Homespun Dress, Davis couldn’t help but let out a sarcastic chuckle, for as he looked at the female guests in his home, he saw little evidence of homespun clothing. Nearly all the fashionable dresses had been imported through the blockade from France.

  The guests were bubbling with laughter and animated conversation, which created a hum rivaling the sound of the brass band. After they had gone through the receiving line to shake hands with the chief executive, they roamed throughout the first floor rooms of the mansion, as a staff of liveried slaves circulated among them with trays of champagne flutes.

  The news of the tremendous victory at Peachtree Creek had fallen like a thunderbolt upon the Confederate capital, vastly improving morale among the civilian population. Combined with the relief felt at Lee’s successful halting of Grant’s offensive and the rumors of Jubal Early’s heroic exploits in Maryland, the triumph of the Army of Tennessee had seemingly washed away the disillusionment which had set in after the defeats at Gettysburg and Vicksburg the previous year. The people of the Confederate capital seemed to have regained a belief in victory.

  The sound of a hearty belly laugh shook the President from his thoughts. He instantly recognized the laugh and a rare smile came to his face as he saw the man who had just entered the house. Davis’s countenance was normally compared to granite, but if there was one man in the world who could chisel it away, it was Judah Benjamin, the Confederate Secretary of State.

  With some difficulty, Davis made an excuse and liberated himself from the receiving line, walking over toward the table nearest the front door, on which were trays of sorbet. Davis happily took a glass of champagne from a passing slave, and extended his hand to Benjamin with relief.

  “Hello, Judah! I am delighted that you have been able to join us today.”

  Benjamin’s smile rarely left his face, but it was today more animated than was normally the case. “I would not have missed this event for anything, Mr. President. For one thing, we have a great victory to celebrate. For another, it seems that your residence is the only place remaining in Richmond were one can obtain a decent meal, aside from Mr. Trenholm’s house.” As if to illustrate the point, Benjamin took a sip of his champagne. “What is the main course today?”

  “Ham,” Davis said apologetically. He declined to describe the delicious glaze everyone was talking about. “There is, however, some wonderful roast chicken.”

  “Well, I shall certainly partake of that in a few moments.” He glanced around at the guests. “Many lovely ladies seem to be present. A delight for the eye.”

  His own eyes were sparkling as he said these words. Benjamin’s wife had lived in France for many years and the Secretary of State was rumored to be quite the ladies man. Whether this had anything to do with his exotic background as a Jew from the Caribbean was open to speculation. Davis also considered the possibility that his apparent wandering eye was a calculated deception, as more than one confidential source had told him that his Secretary of State in fact preferred the intimate company of men.

  “What news of the war?” Benjamin asked.

  Davis paused a moment before answering. “There is some, my friend, which I was planning to discuss with you after the reception. However, as my hand is positively aching from shaking the hands of so many guests, I feel a strong desire for a reprieve. Shall we retire to the library for a few minutes?”

  Benjamin nodded. He was careful to obtain a new glass of champagne before following Davis into the library. The guests in the room had quietly cleared out when it became obvious that the President and the Secretary of State had business to discuss. The door was closed and a slave was posted outside it to ensure that the two men would not be disturbed.

  “General Hood telegraphed me this morning. He has requested a transfer to the Trans-Mississippi Department.”

  “Has he?” Benjamin said. “Why would he do that?”

  “I do not know, but I would assume that he does not wish to remain under the command of General Johnston. He had to have known that we were planning on appointing him to Johnston’s place. Now that’s clearly impossible. I can understand a man in his position feeling awkward.”

  “That’s certainly true. Johnston is the man of the hour. If the public discovers how close we came to removing him from command, the political consequences would be unfortunate.”

  Davis nodded, agreeing but not wanting to say so in words.

  Benjamin went on. “I would advise you to grant Hood’s request. He is a Texan, after all. His presence in the Trans-Mississippi might do some good.”

  “Yes, that would be very fitting. I have also sent Bragg to inspect our coastal defenses at Mobile,” Davis added.

  Benjamin said nothing, careful to avoiding commenting directly. Bragg, as the man who had been at the forefront of the effort to remove Johnston, would not be as much of a political hot potato as Hood, but still might prove compromising.

  Davis removed a piece of paper from his breast pocket, unfolded it and handed it to Benjamin. “The latest telegram from Johnston. He again requests that I send Forrest into Tennessee to attack Sherman’s supply lines.”

  Benjamin let out an exasperated sigh as his eyes scanned the paper. “Overly flowery language, as I have learned to expect from Johnston. I had hoped that his victory at Peachtree Creek would have given Johnston more confidence in his ability to defeat Sherman without anyone else’s help. Yet here he is, continuin
g to call for Forrest.”

  “True enough,” Davis said. “Nevertheless, I have decided to acquiesce to his request.”

  Benjamin looked at him in surprise, his perpetual smile vanishing for just a moment. This caused Davis to laugh. It was not often that the Secretary of State was caught off guard.

  “Why give Johnston what he wants now when you didn’t do so before?” Benjamin asked. “Having defeated Sherman, it seems to me that any assistance to the Army of Tennessee would be less necessary, not more so.”

  “Again, true enough. But Forrest now has greater freedom of action.”

  “How so?” Benjamin asked.

  “Before Peachtree Creek, there were sound military reasons against ordering Forrest to attack Sherman’s supply lines. Now that the enemy forces in the West have received such a mauling, the situation has changed. The bulk of Union forces around Memphis will likely be ordered to Georgia to reinforce Sherman. The threat to Mississippi is therefore lessened, and Forrest can operate against Sherman’s supply lines without fear of placing our own territory in jeopardy.”

  “That makes sense. You are aware, however, that Johnston will see this as you finally caving in to his demands. He may therefore demand more of you in the future. And Senator Wigfall and his cronies in Congress will also use this decision as a means to undermine your administration.”

  A scowl crossed Davis’s face. “I confess I had not considered that.”

  “If I may make a suggestion, Mr. President?”

  “Of course.”

  “I recall from discussions at our cabinet meetings that you have often pressed Johnston to launch a raid on the enemy supply lines using his own cavalry, yes?”

  “Correct. General Wheeler, the army cavalry commander, wrote to General Bragg and claimed that he had asked Johnston for permission to do so, only to be turned down.”

  “That being the case, why not inform Johnston that you will agree to dispatch Forrest into Tennessee if, and only if, he agrees to send a significant portion of his own cavalry to attack the Yankee railroads as well? Surely the changed military situation should give Johnston the same sort of increased freedom of action as it gives Forrest, yes?”

  Davis mulled the idea in his mind for several seconds, slowly nodding. “You’re suggesting a sort of unspoken gentlemen’s agreement between me and Johnston? I agree to his request that I send Forrest, if he agrees to my request that he launch a raid of his own? What good would that do?”

  “It would pull the fangs from Wigfall and his political allies. Don’t you see? They cannot accuse you of being negligent in waiting this long to order Forrest into Tennessee if it has taken Johnston, their hero, the same amount of time to do exactly the same thing.”

  “They have always been hypocrites,” Davis spat.

  “Of course. But this would give you the ammunition you need to make a full reply in the newspapers, if it comes to that.” Benjamin had long experience in the art of obtaining political cover. The Secretary of State was himself a frequent target of the editorial pages of the Confederacy, largely because of the South’s pervasive anti-Semitism.

  “It would provide shield us from political sniping, while achieving the military results we require. A fine idea, Judah.”

  “Wigfall will soon find another club with which to beat you over the head, Mr. President,” Benjamin said.

  “Certainly, but not immediately. By dispatching Forrest now, we can hope to silence our critics within the Wigfall faction, at least temporarily. And we only need them to stay quiet for a few more months.”

  Benjamin nodded in understanding. “The Northern election. The defeat of Sherman will greatly aid the cause of the Peace Democrats.”

  “Indeed, it shall. Now, what impact do you think Peachtree Creek will have on our diplomatic relations with Europe, such as they are?”

  “It will have little overt impact, I must admit,” Benjamin said with a sigh. “They shall not formally recognize us as an independent nation unless and until the United States does so. Lincoln’s Emancipation Proclamation saw to that, for no European state will oppose the North if the people believe it is fighting to abolish slavery. But our victory shall certainly increase our credit among the British, French, and Dutch bankers, increasing the value of our bonds and helping our financial situation. It may also make the British a little more willing to look the other way as we outfit commerce raiders in British ports. With our ability to attack Northern merchant shipping reduced by the recent loss of the Alabama, being able to outfit some new commerce raiders has become more necessary.”

  Davis nodded, not commenting on the admiration Benjamin’s voice betrayed when he mentioned the Emancipation Proclamation. Like himself, Benjamin was no abolitionist, but he knew a political masterstroke when he saw one. Besides, neither Davis nor Benjamin were fanatics on the issue of slavery. Both had privately acknowledged to one another that the South’s peculiar institution was eventually doomed, no matter how the war turned out.

  “Is there anything that can be done to improve our standing with the British, in light of our recent success?”

  Benjamin tugged on his beard, thinking for a moment. “We should certainly not tarry in taking advantage of this victory. The British people are fickle. They love an underdog who seems to be doing well, slavery or no slavery. Peachtree Creek will provide us with at least a temporary shift in British public opinion back in our favor.”

  “I agree,” Davis said. “But what shall we do to take advantage of it?”

  “Let me send Mr. Mason back to London,” Benjamin said. “While I do not believe he will perform any better than he has previously, the news of his return will send a message to the British that we are anxious to be on better terms with them. In light of Peachtree Creek, the members of Her Majesty’s Government may be willing to listen to him more than they have in the past.”

  Davis nodded. James Mason had been appointed as the Confederacy’s representative to Great Britain not long after the war had begun, but he had never been able to obtain significant concessions from the British. The year before, in exasperation at Britain’s unwillingness to recognize the Confederacy, he had left London for the more congenial environment of Paris.

  There was a soft knock on the door, and a moment later Varina Davis, the beautiful and willful First Lady of the Confederacy, entered. “My dear, you’re neglecting your guests. Surely the pressing issues the two of you are discussing can wait until the next Cabinet meeting?”

  “Indeed, they can,” Benjamin said with delight, his general animation increased as if by electricity at the presence of a female. “I find to my dismay that my champagne glass is empty and I also would like to sample some of this roast chicken I have been hearing about.”

  As the band outside struck up The Bonnie Blue Flag for the third or fourth time, Davis and Benjamin rejoined the party.

  Chapter Eight

  July 24, Morning

  “Make way!” the captain of the detail shouted to the work crew on the dock. “Make way for the President!”

  Lincoln tried to conceal his embarrassment as he walked down the gangplank onto the dock. They were at City Point, Virginia, where the James River met the Appomattox. Although it had been but a tiny hamlet before the war, Grant had designated it his headquarters for the ongoing Siege of Petersburg. As the logistical nerve center of the enormous Army of the Potomac, it had been rapidly transformed into the busiest seaport on the planet.

  Hundreds of dock workers, all of them black, were straining their eyes and jostling for the best positions to get a look at Lincoln. This was probably the only time that any of these men were ever going to see a genuine President of the United States, so he didn’t begrudge them.

  “God bless you, Father Abraham!” one of the black laborers shouted out as Lincoln’s feet left the gangway and he stepped onto the dock. His words were immediately followed by a chorus of exclamations and cheers from the rest of the dock workers.

  Stanton lumbered
along behind Lincoln, afraid he would lose his footing and fall unceremoniously into the James River. When his feet were firmly planted on the dock, the look of relief on his face was obvious.

  Lincoln gazed uncomfortably into the crowd of blacks, who continued cheering. He doffed his hat to them, causing the cheering to rise to a fever pitch. One man very close to him got down on his knees.

  “No,” Lincoln said loudly. “Stand up, young man. You must kneel only to God.”

  “Thank God for you, Father Abraham!” the man said as he rose to his feet.

  With relief, Lincoln and Stanton were escorted to a waiting carriage. As the driver snapped his whip and they moved off, Lincoln cast a glance backward, where the crowd was still staring at him as he faded from their sight.

  “I always feel rather awkward in such situations,” Lincoln said. “It’s as though I am an exhibit from one of P. T. Barnum’s freak shows.”

  “All the dock hands are former slaves from nearby plantations,” Stanton replied. “Before we rescued them, they were treated like beasts of burden, driven by the whip and lash. But now they are free men earning a fair wage for the work they do. They give you credit for it. And rightfully so, if you ask me.”

  “When this war began, I said in all honesty that my sole objective was to preserve the Union,” Lincoln said. “I had no intention to interfere with slavery, repugnant though I have always thought it to be. The Emancipation Proclamation was a mere political maneuver. But seeing the looks in the eyes of those men, as I have seen in the eyes of so many over the last year-and-a-half, I begin to realize the critical moral imperative of what we are doing. And, for that matter, what remains to be done.”

  “Yes,” Stanton said. “We have reached the point of no return. The Union cannot be preserved if the institution of slavery remains. It must be destroyed root and branch, as thoroughly as Carthage was destroyed by Rome.”