Shattered Nation

by Jeffrey Brooks

Thomas shook his head. “No,” he said firmly. “In here, I am a prisoner like anybody else. I will draw sticks the same as every other captive. What would people say if I pulled rank in order to escape while thousands of other officers remained in captivity?”

  “But George, consider this. Your capture has been a tremendous propaganda victory for the rebels. Your escape would be the exact opposite. If you were to successfully get away and return to the head of your troops, it would have an electrifying effect on the morale of our soldiers and of the people at home.”

  Thomas considered this. He conceded that Seymour had a point, especially with the election scarcely two months away. However, he refused to allow himself to rationalize his decision. He was only human and wanted to escape the prison camp as much as anyone did. But he would not do so in any manner he did not believe consistent with his personal honor.

  “We’ll talk about it later.”

  *****

  August 22, Morning

  “You’re certain?” Davis asked.

  “The spy is a person who has always been accurate in the past,” Secretary of War Seddon replied. “He is the same man who alerted General Lee to the correct position of the Army of the Potomac just before the Battle of Gettysburg. Obviously, such momentous news will soon appear in the papers. If the papers make no mention of it over the next few days, we will know that the information is incorrect.”

  Davis rubbed his chin. “Old Abe has finally decided to remove Sherman from command, eh? And replace him with none other than Grant to boot.”

  “A month too late, from his point of view,” Secretary of State Benjamin said. “It will not help him politically. The accusations of Sherman’s insanity have been filling many a Northern newspaper for weeks. By replacing him at this juncture, Lincoln will appear to the public as acknowledging the truth of these accounts and therefore proving himself an incompetent commander-in-chief.”

  Davis glanced up at the military map on the wall of his office. “Perhaps it was not Lincoln’s choice. If I am not mistaken, Grant would have the authority as general-in-chief to make this decision on his own.”

  “Correct, Mr. President,” Seddon answered.

  Davis grinned and shook his head. As a fellow chief executive, he could not imagine giving any general, even Robert E. Lee himself, such unchecked power over military policy as Lincoln had apparently given Grant. It was his responsibility as President to direct the war effort of the nation. He didn’t deny that Lincoln was an intelligent man, but Davis also thought that his counterpart in Washington often made incredibly foolish decisions.

  “I don’t believe that Grant’s departure from the Army of the Potomac will greatly impact operations,” Davis said. “With so many enemy divisions having been pulled out of Virginia and sent west, the pressure on Richmond and Petersburg has greatly lessened.”

  “True,” Seddon said. “It seems that the Yankees have accepted the stalemate on the Petersburg front. We have little to fear in this quarter.”

  “Nor in the Shenandoah Valley,” Davis said. Jubal Early’s valiant army, recently reinforced by Lee, securely held the northern mountain passes of that region, with Union forces unable or unwilling to test their mettle against him. Federal forces which might have otherwise been sent against Early had already been dispatched to reinforce the Union forces near Atlanta.

  “I may be ignorant of military matters,” Benjamin said. “But it seems to me that if Grant has made the decision to take personal command of the Yankee army north of the Chattahoochee, it can only mean that a renewed Union offensive will soon take place there.”

  “Probably,” Davis said, nodding sharply. “We know Lincoln needs a major victory if he is to remain in office. The dispatch of such heavy reinforcements and the assumption of personal command by Grant himself clearly indicates that the Yankees will attempt again to capture Atlanta.” Davis scowled. “If Johnston had done what we asked him to do and launched an offensive when he had the chance, he might have dealt Sherman another stunning blow and driven him back toward Chattanooga.”

  “Indeed, Mr. President,” Benjamin said, a familiar twinkle in his eye. “Johnston’s list of reasons why he considered an offensive impossible sounded very much like a catalogue of complaints from a spoiled child.”

  Davis shook his head. “And with Grant now taking command in the West, and so many reinforcements arriving, it is as though we never won the victory at Peachtree Creek. Johnston’s cowardice may cost us a great deal.”

  “I agree, and not simply in military or political matters, Mr. President,” Benjamin said. “It may damage us diplomatically as well.”

  “Oh?”

  Benjamin nodded. “Mr. Mason’s latest dispatch from London carried interesting news. Parliament was prorogued on August 1, just a day after news of our victory at Peachtree Creek reached London. The Conservative opposition made a bid to topple the Liberal government of Prime Minister Palmerston by forcing a vote of no confidence.”

  “What does this have to do with us?” Davis asked tiredly. He had little time for foreign affairs and little love for anything having to do with the British.

  “The Conservatives have been criticizing the Liberals for not being assertive enough on the international stage. Prussia has attacked Denmark over some minor border issue and the British government is sitting on its hands despite the fact that Prussia’s aggression violates an earlier treaty the British pledged to uphold. Meanwhile, Russia is suppressing the latest uprising in Poland with great brutality, with Prime Minister Palmerston saying nothing about it.”

  “As I said, what does any of this have to do with us?”

  “Bear with me, Mr. President. The Liberals won the vote of no confidence, but by a much closer vote than anticipated. Mr. Mason reports that the word in London now is that Palmerston is taking to heart the criticism about his perceived weakness on foreign matters and that he will be more inclined to flex Britain’s muscles, as it were, in the coming months.”

  Davis leaned forward. Benjamin’s conversation was finally becoming more interesting. “Flex its muscles in what way?”

  “Our recent victories at Peachtree Creek and outside Petersburg, along with Jubal Early’s raid on Washington City, certainly present firm evidence of our ability to resist the North’s attempts to overwhelm us before the election. If Britain wants to demonstrate its ability to intervene around the world, an effective way to do this would be to finally put forth an offer to mediate the dispute between the Confederacy and the Union.”

  “Ah,” Seddon said. “That would be most welcome.”

  “I’ll believe it when I see it,” Davis said. He had little faith in the British. Still, were the British to make an offer of mediation, it might well present the Confederacy with its independence on a silver platter. For Lincoln would obviously refuse the offer, which would in turn lead to unilateral British diplomatic recognition of the Confederacy. Like a row of dominoes falling down, this action would spark a declaration of war by the United States, bringing the world’s superpower into the conflict as an ally of the Confederacy.

  These musings were interrupted by a knock at the door. A moment later, Braxton Bragg entered.

  “Have you gentlemen seen this morning’s edition of the Richmond Examiner?” Bragg asked, his voice heavy with concern.

  “No,” Davis spat sharply. “What is that worthless rag printing this time?”

  “See for yourself,” Bragg said, passing a copy across the desk as he took a seat.

  Davis took the paper, unfolded it with irritation, and scanned the front page headline. As he did so, his eyes widened and his face went ashen. “Oh God,” he said simply. He dropped the paper on the desk and held his hands up to his face.

  “What is it?” Seddon asked with alarm, looking back and forth between Bragg and Benjamin.

  “Do you recall the misguided proposal by General Patrick Cleburne last winter that our government should free large numbers of slaves and enlist them as soldiers i
n the army?” Bragg asked.

  “Of course,” Seddon said. “I ordered all discussion about that matter terminated.”

  “Well, apparently someone saw fit to disobey those orders, for the Richmond Examiner has a front page story about it this morning.”

  Benjamin let out a deep, exasperated breath. “Anything but that,” he said. “And anytime but now.”

  Davis lowered his hands. “It can undo us,” he said. “This could not have happened at a worse possible time. If it had come out after the war, I would not care. But to come out now, when we must be as united as possible?”

  “This will promote rancor and division within the Army of Tennessee,” Seddon said. “I cannot see how it can be otherwise. Everyone will be asked where they stand on the question. Everyone will be forced to take a position for or against. Dammit, why were my orders not obeyed?”

  “It won’t just be the Army of Tennessee,” Benjamin said, shaking his head. “Every officer over the rank of major across the whole Confederacy will be forced to take a stand. Every member of Congress, every governor, every member of every state legislature, will be at daggers drawn.”

  “The newspapers will speak of nothing else for the next week,” Davis said.

  “Cleburne’s proposal threatens to undercut the very purpose of the Confederacy itself,” Bragg said sternly. “As Vice President Stephens said at the outset of our revolution, our nation is founded upon the great truth than the negro is not equal to the white man. If Cleburne’s proposal were to be adopted, and negroes were to be placed on an equal footing with white Southerners as soldiers of the Confederacy, does that not refute the very purpose of our nation?”

  “Cleburne is not a native Southerner,” Davis said defensively. “He is an Irishman. Understand me, I do not mean to question his patriotism, for he is a true hero to the South. But he did not grow to manhood among us. He perhaps does not fully understand the deep-rooted traditions of our people, especially those governing the relationship between the white and black races.”

  “Patrick Cleburne is many things,” Seddon said. “But he is not a fool.”

  “I do not call him a fool. I only say that he is naïve.”

  “And what will become of Cleburne, now that his foolish proposal has become publicly known?” Seddon asked. “He is one of the finest division commanders we have. How many of his troops will now refuse to fight under his command? How many of his comrades in the Army of Tennessee will refuse to fight alongside him? How much pressure will now be brought to bear on us to remove him from command?”

  “Cleburne is no ordinary soldier,” Davis said. “He has fought gallantly in every major battle the Army of Tennessee has ever been involved in. Congress officially commended him for his action at Ringgold Gap, which probably saved the Army of Tennessee after the disaster of Missionary Ridge. It was his division which broke the enemy line at Peachtree Creek.”

  Seddon shook his head. “Cleburne would undoubtedly be a corps commander today if he hadn’t written that damnable memorandum.”

  Benjamin leaned forward, his customary smile having long since vanished. “Mr. President, we must move to contain the damage from this. It is in the newspapers now. There is no keeping it under wraps. The story will spread across the Confederacy over the next few days. Congress will be asking questions. The state legislatures will be asking questions. We must devise a course of action.”

  “Yes, yes, of course,” Davis sputtered. He thought for a long moment, then turned to Seddon. “Cable General Johnston. Inquire as to whether General Cleburne would be willing to retract his earlier proposal. It won’t undo the damage, but at least it might limit it.”

  Bragg cleared his throat. “There’s more to it than that, Mr. President. You have not had time to properly peruse the story. What is printed in the Richmond Examiner discusses the position of General Johnston on Cleburne’s proposal at great length. General Hardee, too.”

  “Oh?” Benjamin said. “What does the story say about them?”

  “The story quotes three general officers from the Army of Tennessee who maintain that both Johnston and Hardee are strong supporters of Cleburne’s scheme. Joseph Wheeler, William Walker, and Patton Anderson, to be precise. I assume that Wheeler, God rest his soul, signed his statement before setting out on his unfortunate expedition.”

  “Johnston supports Cleburne’s proposal?” Davis asked incredulously. “And Hardee? How can that be?”

  “Dear God,” Seddon said. “Half of Congress is probably flying into a rage at this very moment.”

  “No doubt,” Benjamin added. “And the other half will be enraged that the first half is enraged. When we should be uniting together to fight against the Yankees, we shall instead be tearing away at one another’s throats.”

  “You gentlemen are speaking as though the matter were hypothetical,” Bragg said sourly. “It is in the papers. It will indeed come to pass. I will hazard a guess that despite the recent military success obtained by Johnston and Hardee, there will be a loud clamor for them to be removed from command.”

  “Removed from command?” Seddon said. “I would not be surprised if certain members of Congress will want Cleburne, Johnston and Hardee hanged from a sour apple tree.”

  Davis pursed his lips and shook his head, greatly wishing that the Yankee bullet which had wounded Joseph Johnston at the Battle of Seven Pines had instead taken his head off. It seemed to the President that everything Johnston did was poisonous. He thought of how his timidity had nearly led to the fall of Richmond in 1862, how his indecisiveness had caused the fall of Vicksburg in 1863, how he had failed to follow up on his victory at Peachtree Creek. Now there was this business of supporting Cleburne’s proposal to free the slaves. It was all too much.

  Davis looked at Seddon. “Mr. Secretary, there must be some sort of public inquiry about this. It will give us some cover with the papers. My earnest desire is that we can then leave it at that and hope the attention of the people goes somewhere else very quickly. If we’re lucky, the newspapers will soon start focusing again on the election in the United States and will drop this story like a hot potato.”

  “I’ll talk to the editors who are friendly to us,” Benjamin said. “I’ll let them know that we would prefer for this story to be brushed under the carpet as soon as possible.”

  Davis nodded sharply, though he doubted this would happen. He noted Bragg intently looking at everyone in the room, as though gauging their reactions to the news, but thought nothing of it.

  *****

  August 24, Evening

  The platform for the New York Central Railroad was packed with people. Clutching his carpetbag tightly for fear of being unable to retrieve it if he accidently dropped it, Marble struggled to make his way through the mass of humanity and board his train before it pulled away. All around him, the cacophony of talking and shouting people, along with an abnormally large number of crying children, was deafening.

  After much effort, Marble managed to force his way to his train. Thankful that he had decided to pack lightly and didn’t need to deal with the porter, he handed his ticket to the collector and quickly found his seat. Settling in, he exhaled in relief.

  To get to Chicago, Marble had elected to take the train to Buffalo, go by steamer to Detroit, and then again by train to his final destination. Ordinarily, he might have ventured down to Washington City for consultations with congressional Democrats, then headed west on the Baltimore & Ohio Railroad. Unfortunately that line was now the frequent target of raids by rebel troops under Jubal Early and could not be relied upon. In any event, taking this particular route afforded him plenty of opportunities to meet with many prominent Democrats along the way. Indeed, as he looked at his schedule, Marble wondered if he would even have time to sleep, as every stop along the way would involve a meeting of some kind and every hour in transit would be crammed with necessary reading and preparation.

  After an annoyingly long wait, the engine of the train finally began to
hiss and sputter and the iron wheels began to roll. Beginning with a soft jolt, Marble’s train slowly pulled away from the platform and started its long journey northward, eventually to turn to the west when they reached Albany. Now that his trip had finally begun, Marble began to relax. He removed a bottle of scotch and a glass from his carpetbag and took the first of what would be many drinks consumed during the trip.

  All over the country, Marble knew, literally thousands of Democrats had either already started similar journeys or were soon to do so. In five days, the Democratic National Convention would begin in the city of Chicago and everyone knew that it would almost certainly be the largest political gathering of its kind ever to have been held in North America.

  Like all other prominent Democrats, Marble knew that his party had taken a great risk in holding its national convention so late in the year. The presidential election itself was a mere seventy-six days away. The Republicans, for their part, had held their national convention in Baltimore back in June. Holding their convention so late would allow the Democrats precious little time to properly campaign after having settled on a candidate.

  Still, Marble was satisfied that the potential advantages had been well worth the risks. By having such a late convention, the Democrats had hoped to be able to lay before the people yet further evidence of incompetence and stupidity on the part of the Lincoln administration in the form of more inflation and, more importantly, additional military fiascoes. The whole point of the election, after all, was to offer the Northern public a viable alternative to the Lincoln administration. As far as Marble could see, the gamble was paying off handsomely.

  Since the opening of the spring campaign, virtually all the news from the war front had been bad. Grant’s campaign against Lee in Virginia had resulted in horrific casualties, in excess of sixty thousand men, and had failed to take Richmond. Sherman’s campaign against Atlanta had been similarly unsuccessful and had been topped off by the disaster at Peachtree Creek. Meanwhile, Jubal Early’s raiders had nearly captured Washington City itself, had left several Pennsylvania towns in flames, and had beaten back every Union effort to push into the Shenandoah Valley.