“Did you hear about what happened in Cincinnati?” Lincoln asked.
“No. What?”
“It seems that the local Democratic Party machine held some sort of funeral in absentia for Vallandigham, which was attended by several thousand people. After they laid down the coffin, which contained God’s knows what, Congressman George Pendleton made a speech which got the crowd so worked up that they marched to the local draft office and burned it down.”
Seward laughed again with a soft bitterness. “I’d suggest that you have Congressman Pendleton arrested, but that would only strengthen the Copperheads. Incidents like this are breaking out all over the country now. I am only thankful that the disorders in New York were put down before they spread to other cities.”
“Quite so,” Lincoln replied. “I reckon I made the right choice when I ordered General Butler to the city with two brigades. The man might be a bumbling fool when it comes to generalship, being much more a politician than a soldier, but he knows how to secure and maintain order in a city. He proved that two years ago in New Orleans, by God!”
“We may have avoided the worst, Abe. But what is happening is quite bad enough. I read in the papers this morning that workers in several iron foundries and textile mills in Chicago have refused to continue working unless the men responsible for Vallandigham’s death are brought to justice. The Democratic Party is determined to make as much hay as possible from Vallandigham’s death. I hear that they are printing tens of thousands of copies of a new pamphlet containing a cartoon that depicts you cleaving Vallandigham’s head in two with a giant axe.”
A grin crossed Lincoln’s face. “I should like a copy of that pamphlet, I would think. I might find it relaxing to look at such a picture when I find myself hassled by the pressures of my office.”
Seward went on, ignoring what he interpreted as a joke. “All over the country, excepting only New England, crowds are attacking draft offices, newspapers that are sympathetic to our party, and even the homes of prominent Republicans.”
Seward didn’t add, because he didn’t need to, the fact that supporters of the Republican Party were giving as good as they got, retaliating with their own brand of mob violence against Democratic targets. Public order throughout the Union was coming under strain.
Lincoln took a sip of wine. “I feel rather like Atlas, William. The weight on my shoulders is getting more and more unbearable. The draft is not achieving anything and is ruining us politically. Scarcely a man has volunteered this summer, even though we have increased the monetary bounty again.”
“The young men of the North do not want to die in fiascoes like Peachtree Creek or the Crater, it would seem,” Seward observed sourly.
“Yes, but compounding the problem is that so many regiments who enlisted for three-year terms back in 1861 are now going home. Since Peachtree Creek, Sherman’s army has lost ten thousand men simply because of expired enlistments, nearly half the number of men they lost in that dreadful battle itself. I am told that desertion has increased in the armies of both Sherman and Grant in the past few months. Our armies are steadily melting away.”
Seward nodded slowly, looking at Lincoln with profound compassion. “The sunlight seemed to break through the clouds with the news of Farragut’s victory at Mobile Bay and the defeat of Wheeler’s cavalry raid in north Georgia. But with the recent domestic disturbances, those successes have already been forgotten by the people. And now, my friend, I am afraid that I must add to your burdens.”
Lincoln stopped in mid-chew for a moment. He straightened in his chair, put down his knife and fork, and savored the taste of the beef for a few more precious seconds before swallowing. “Well, out with it, William.”
“I was visited by Lord Lyons today.”
“And what did the noble representative from Her Britannic Majesty have to say?” Lincoln said these words with a heavy dose of sarcasm, as he found the ideas of nobility and monarchy absurd. But however nonsensical he found Lord Lyon’s title to be, Lincoln respected Lyons as an individual and was certain that the British minister personally desired a Union victory.
“Lord Lyons wanted to inform me, unofficially, that Prime Minister Palmerston is preparing a proclamation formally recognizing the rebels as an independent government should we lose at the polls in November.”
Lincoln put his elbows on the table, leaned his face forward into his hands, and let out the deepest sigh Seward had ever heard. He was silent for nearly two minutes before replying.
“Did he say why?”
“The thinking in London is that if the Democrats triumph in November and implement a cease-fire and open negotiations with the rebels, and if the rebels continue to be militarily successful in the present campaigning season, Southern independence is all but assured. In that case, any delay in establishing formal diplomatic relations might allow the French to get the diplomatic jump on them, thereby gaining better access to valuable cotton and tobacco, plus a lucrative export market. These gentlemen want England, not France, to reap the benefits of being the first to recognize Southern independence.”
Lincoln shrugged, then picked his fork back up and went back to his roast beef. “It is a disappointment, to be sure. But we’re already doing all we can to win the war. We may as well act as though we never heard this news.”
Seward nodded. “Very well, Mr. President.”
“Please ask him not to mention this to anyone else, though. If it got into the papers, it would not encourage the rebels, but it would also hurt the value of greenbacks and contribute to further inflation. The Democrats are already doing their damndest to devalue our currency by manipulating the gold markets. I’d rather not have more coal thrown onto that fire.”
“Of course. Lord Lyons has always been a discreet man.”
“And now, my dear William, in the spirit of reciprocity, I shall answer the bad news you have delivered with some bad news of my own.”
Seward leaned forward and rang a bell that sat on the table. In less than five seconds, the door to the dining room opened and a black servant appeared.
“Yes, Mr. Seward?”
“More wine, if you please, James. And there’s no need to be frugal.”
“Right away, sir.” With a short, sharp bow, James vanished.
Seward turned back to Lincoln. “Allow me to improve my defensive fortifications before you give me your bad news, Mr. President.”
Lincoln rolled back his head and laughed in that enormous and all-consuming manner which so delighted all who saw it. James appeared a moment later with another ornate decanter filled with red wine.
“The Haut-Brion, Mr. Seward?”
“Excellent choice, James. I’ll pour, thank you.” James bowed again and vanished. “Mr. President, now that we shall be well-fortified, what is this bad news of which you speak?”
“I received a letter from Raymond yesterday.”
“Oh? I had heard that he made good his escape from the mob in New York City.”
“He did, though his printing presses were all destroyed.”
“What did he say in this letter, which has disturbed you so? He sends you letters regularly, after all.”
“He made the suggestion, shocking to me, that we quietly approach the leaders of the so-called Confederacy and make an effort to reach a compromise peace. He said we should ask them to accept the authority of the federal government in exchange for a guarantee that the Emancipation Proclamation will be revoked. He also suggests that we stop our efforts to get the amendment abolishing slavery through Congress.”
A scowl appeared on Seward’s face. “I thought Raymond was one of us,” he said bitterly.
“He is,” Lincoln replied. “He is as staunch a Union and anti-slavery man as any of us, which is why his letter pained me so much. If he has lost faith, if he suggests that we should negotiate with the rebels and drop emancipation as a condition of peace, then how many others must feel the same way?”
“Quite a few, no doubt. How
can we expect to win the election in such circumstances? The tide is setting strongly against us.”
For one long and sober moment, neither man spoke. Then, as if in answer to a silent prayer for something to lighten the mood, James again appeared at the door bearing a covered silver platter. He set it before Lincoln and Seward and, in a single deft move, withdrew the cover to reveal beautifully crafted iced fruits and ice cream.
“I hope you enjoy this, Mr. President,” James said. “The chef wanted to provide something extra special for you tonight.”
“If tasting it provides even a fraction of the pleasure I gain from looking at it, I shall enjoy it heartily,” Lincoln said.
As James spooned generous portions of the dessert onto the two plates, there was a soft clearing of a throat at the doorway. Seward pushed his chair back, walked over and was handed a message. He excused the messenger with a wave and, while walking back to the table, darted his eyes through the paper. Seating himself again, he passed it over to Lincoln.
“From the War Department.”
President Lincoln,
Be advised that I have just this hour received a telegram from General Grant. He has decided to go to Georgia and personally take command of our armies positioned near Atlanta north of the Chattahoochee, leaving the Army of the Potomac in the hands of General Meade. He says that he shall be leaving City Point immediately and, if you so wish, he can stop in Washington for consultations before commencing his journey west.
Secretary of War Stanton
Lincoln’s eyebrows popped up. “Well, this is certainly interesting.”
“I should say so,” Seward said. “I assume that in resuming personal command of our Western armies, Grant is effectively removing Sherman from command?”
“I suppose he might keep Sherman on hand as chief-of-staff or some such thing. If not, we can find him some position in the Trans-Mississippi, or simply ask him to return to his home until we have need of him. Better this way, I think. It will soften the political fallout. As it has been Grant’s decision rather than mine, the Democratic press cannot honestly say that I cracked under pressure to replace Sherman.”
“They shall say so in any event,” Seward noted.
“Yes, but the people will not be so easily persuaded.”
“I hope so, Mr. President.”
“Alas, let us enjoy this enchanting dessert and finish this bottle of wine. After that, I shall leave you to own devices and hurry over to the War Department to try to get more details about what General Grant is up to.”
*****
Sherman was not surprised at the two telegrams he had received within a quarter of an hour of one another. The fact that their arrival had not been unexpected did nothing to diminish the pain.
He read through the first telegram again.
General Sherman,
Be advised that General Grant has decided to take direct command of the Military District of the Mississippi and is en route to your headquarters at Vining’s Station at this time. Please turn over your command to General McPherson until such time as General Grant arrives. Report to Louisville and await further orders.
Secretary of War Stanton
Telegrams such as this had been sent to many Union generals since the beginning of the war. McClellan had received one after his pathetic failure to pursue Lee following the Battle of Antietam. Rosecrans had received one after his disastrous defeat at the Battle of Chickamauga. Burnside had gotten one after the one-sided fiasco at Fredericksburg, just as Hooker had after the humiliating defeat at Chancellorsville.
Sherman tried to take some comfort from the fact that none of those other generals had received what amounted to a message of apology from the general-in-chief.
General Sherman,
I hope you realize and understand that I am taking this step with the greatest reluctance and only after determining that I have no other choice. I sincerely hope that you do not conclude that this decision represents any lack of confidence in you on my part. Your friendship and personal esteem mean as much to me today as they did on the day we accepted the surrender of Vicksburg. Rest assured that you may continue to call on me for anything at any time and that I earnestly hope to be in your friendly company at the earliest possible moment.
General Grant
The gracious telegram from his friend and superior alleviated the pain he was feeling, but only slightly. The first telegram decisively confirmed, as only an official communication could, that he had abjectly and completely failed. Rather than be renowned as the conqueror of Atlanta and the destroyer of the slave-holding traitors of the Confederacy, he would only be remembered as the incompetent general who lost the Battle of Peachtree Creek, cost tens of thousands of brave Northern soldiers their lives, and allowed America to be torn asunder.
Sherman wrote out a response to the War Department acknowledging his receipt of the earlier message. He momentarily considered sending a message protesting the decision, arguing that he had done as well as could have been expected of any man. He just as quickly decided against it. To do so would be humiliating and would leave a permanent written record of his petulant response. Disgraced enough as he was, Sherman had no desire to magnify his shame any more than was necessary.
He sent a courier to the headquarters of the Army of the Tennessee, requesting that General McPherson come and meet with him at once. Though he hated himself for it, Sherman could already feel a wave of relief sweeping through him. The pressures of command were rapidly fading and he could sense the mental threads securing his sanity being strengthened. If losing his command was the price he had to pay to avoid falling into the abyss, he was willing to pay it.
It was slightly before midnight when McPherson finally appeared before him.
“I assume you’ve been notified?” Sherman asked, holding up the telegram.
“Yes, sir,” McPherson answered simply.
Sherman saw that he was attempting to placate him, to make him feel better, to help him avoid the humiliation.
“You’ll be in command until Grant arrives, which might take as long as a week.”
“Yes, sir.”
“It is a grave responsibility, having all the burdens on your shoulders.”
“Of that I have no doubt.”
“One can only know it fully when one has actually experienced it. Might I offer some advice?”
“Of course, sir.”
“I would advise you to do nothing until Grant arrives to assume command. Hold our positions if the rebels seek to advance north, but otherwise wait for his instructions.”
“That was what I had determined to do, sir.”
“If Johnston does seek to attack north of the river, remember that he is a crafty and dangerous opponent. He will always be rational, yet will never do what is expected. You must be prepared to deal with him, for it shall be your duty to hold him in check until Grant arrives.”
“What do you think Johnston shall do, sir?”
Sherman had not the foggiest notion of how to answer McPherson’s question. Exactly a month before, Sherman thought he had had a measure of the old fox commanding the Army of Tennessee. Peachtree Creek had destroyed that illusion. Would Johnston remain idle on the south bank of the river? Would he cross to the north side and attempt to attack? Might he even attempt to do that which Wheeler had failed to achieve, and swing a portion of his army against the Union railroad and cut the Northern armies off from their supplies?
“I do not know,” Sherman finally answered. “He is unpredictable. I thought I knew the man, but events have proven that I do not. You shall have to use your own judgment.”
“And, if I may ask, what do you think Grant will do when he arrives?”
Sherman smiled and chuckled ever so softly. “I think Grant will achieve what I could not. At the very least, he will do his damnedest to try.”
*****
August 20, Evening
Johnston could not remember the last time he had enjoyed such a meal.
Mayor Calhoun had certainly spared no expense or effort in putting on as lavish a display as he possibly could. Johnston estimated that at least a dozen chickens had been given up to the roasting oven and that the local farms must have been scoured mercilessly to provide the abundant vegetables covering the table. The excellent wine was no less impressive and Johnston made a note to inquire of Calhoun where he had gotten it. It might, after all, prove possible to acquire some for the headquarters mess of the Army of Tennessee.
As he sampled the delectable food, he looked around at the collection of distinguished men who had assembled in the large and elegant dining room at the Trout House, the city’s finest hotel. All were there ostensibly to honor him and his army for their recent victory. Despite the fact that he was a high-ranking general and commander of the one of the two most important armies in the Confederacy, he admitted to himself that he felt intimidated in such company.
Directly across the table from Johnston sat Alexander Stephens, Vice President of the Confederate States of America. Though Stephens was in his early fifties, his skeletal body looked as though it had stopped growing when he had been a teenager, though the withered skin of his face certainly had continued aging. Despite his strange physical appearance, it was said that Stephens’ intellectual powers rivaled those of any other man in the Confederacy. Having been denied a meaningful role in the Confederate government, Stephens had spent most of the war at his estate in Georgia. If the rumors were even half true, Stephens detested President Davis almost as much as Johnston did.
Next to Vice President Stephens sat Joseph Brown, Governor of Georgia. Johnston had worked closely with Brown on such matters as the operation of state railroads and the recruitment of the Georgia Militia. The governor’s long white beard belied the fact that he was only in his mid-forties, though his eyes sparkled with a strange intelligence that one hesitated to trust too much. Johnston considered Brown a mediocre politician at best, though his loathing for President Davis was, as with Vice President Stephens, something Johnston could appreciate.
Shattered Nation Page 55
