Reaching the front of the column, Grant found General Schofield mounted on a black charger, with a small gathering of staff officers around him.
“Good morning, General Schofield.”
“Morning, sir.”
“Fine day for a march, eh?”
“Indeed, sir.”
Grant glanced over at Schofield’s staff officers, a suspicious look on his face.
“Gentlemen,” Schofield said simply, tossing his head to indicate that they were to withdraw a discreet distance. But Grant grunted a protest and waved a dismissive hand. The men remained where they were.
“You understand your orders?” Grant asked.
“I believe so, sir. I am to march the Army of the Ohio southwest along the north bank of the Chattahoochee River.”
“Correct. The Army of the Tennessee will be right behind. You and General McPherson have exchanged liaison officers?”
“Of course, sir.”
“Good.”
Schofield cleared his throat. “The orders did not specify our destination, but considering the vast amounts of ammunition and supply wagons which have been allocated to my force, I can only assume that this march will be a long one.” The words were dangled forth like bait from a fishing line.
“Yes, it will be, General Schofield.”
“May I ask where we are going, sir?”
“Your initial destination is the town of Opelika, about ninety miles down the river.”
“Opelika?”
“Just over the Alabama border. If we move swiftly, we should be able to reach it in about a week. The roads aren’t too good, but there should be no significant rebel forces in the way. I marched through rougher country during the Vicksburg Campaign. From Opelika, it’s just a fifty mile march to Montgomery, and then another thirty miles or so to Selma.”
Grant said all this with complete composure, but the look of consternation on Schofield’s face belied the momentous nature of his words. What Grant was saying meant nothing less than a complete transformation of the war in the Western Theater for the remainder of 1864.
“Montgomery? Selma?” Schofield asked, incredulous.
“That’s right, Schofield,” Grant said, unable to repress a slight grin. “Atlanta is no longer the goal of this campaign. We are shifting the focus of our efforts to Alabama and our new goal shall be the capture of the two cities of Montgomery and Selma. Both are critical logistical and transportation hubs and Montgomery in particular has immense political importance as the birthplace of the so-called Confederacy. If we can capture these two cities, we can inflict a devastating blow against the rebels.”
“You say there are no rebel forces in the way? What about Richard Taylor and his army?” Taylor was the overall Confederate commander in Alabama and Mississippi.
“I wouldn’t call it an army. Most of Taylor’s men have long since been sent to reinforce Johnston at Atlanta. Besides, the victory achieved by Admiral Farragut at Mobile Bay has forced the enemy to divert most of Taylor’s remaining troops to the city of Mobile itself, as they fear an amphibious operation down there. And before leaving Washington I dispatched orders to our commanders in Vicksburg and Memphis to launch new incursions into central and northern Mississippi, which shall hopefully divert some of Taylor’s troops in that direction before they become aware of our new movement.”
Schofield had a stunned look on his face. “I’m sorry, sir. My mind has been so unalterably fixed on the capture of Atlanta for so long that I find it difficult to contemplate such a change in strategy.”
“Contemplate it or not, it is what we are going to do.”
“What is to prevent Johnston and the Army of Tennessee from striking northwards toward Chattanooga?”
“Only the Army of the Ohio and the Army of the Tennessee are making this march. The Army of the Cumberland shall remain in its present position as both a blocking force and to pin down Johnston’s men in and around Atlanta, preventing them from intervening in Alabama. In other words, sixty thousand men will march to Alabama, while about thirty-five or forty thousand remain at Vining’s Station.”
Grant grinned again as he saw Schofield’s mind whirl. He could easily imagine what Schofield was thinking. The fall of Montgomery and Selma would represent an overwhelming victory for the Union cause and a dreadful defeat for the Confederacy, equivalent to the capture of New Orleans in 1862 or Vicksburg in 1863. Such an achievement would demonstrate to the Northern public that the victory was not only possible, but within their grasp. It would likely be enough to swing public opinion to such an extent that the Lincoln administration would be reelected. If that happened, the triumph for the Union cause was only a matter of time.
Schofield smiled and shook his head. “I am overwhelmed, sir.”
“How’s that?”
“I was preparing myself and my men for a knock-down, drag-out fight for Atlanta. I never imagined that I would be participating in such a dramatic military maneuver as the one we are now embarking upon. I must say that I am honored to be a part of it. If we succeed, it shall go down in the annals of military history as one of the most daring operations ever conceived.”
Grant shrugged. “And if it fails, I shall go down in history as a blundering and perhaps drunken fool. But no sense worrying about that now. I am confident that we shall succeed.”
“I pray so, sir.”
Grant turned in the saddle and looked back down the row of infantry in marching columns. He again saw the expectation in their eyes and could sense the anticipation they felt. “Do you think your men are ready?”
“I believe so, sir. I know I am, at any rate.”
“Let’s march, then.”
Schofield turned and nodded to a staff officer, who saluted and trotted over to the commander of the nearest brigade. A series of shouted orders followed. Within a few minutes, the cry began to go up, starting with the lead regiment.
“45th Ohio! Forward! March!”
Drums rolled. A fife band began playing as the men stepped off. Grant walked his horse over to the men and proceeded to move at a steady pace beside them. One after the other, the regiments of Schofield’s army received the order to march and the long column of men began their trek. Within an hour, the Army of the Tennessee would begin following behind. The red clay soil of Georgia was gradually chewed into a thick paste by the passing feet of sixty thousand Union soldiers marching to the southwest, away from Atlanta.
*****
September 11, Noon
“Well, gentlemen,” Lincoln began. “I have here a telegram I think you would both be interested in seeing.” He pushed it over the table to Seward and Stanton.
Mr. President,
I wish to inform you that the Army of the Ohio and the Army of the Tennessee have commenced an offensive operation against the rebel forces in the Western Theater. There is no particular reason for you to know the specific details of this operation, but rest assured I shall keep you updated as necessary regarding our progress.
General Grant
Stanton grunted as he finished reading. “Are you not bothered by his refusal to disclose more information about this offensive?”
Lincoln shook his head. “What good would it do me to know the details of his plan? I make no pretensions to understanding the minutiae of military operations. Three month’s service as a captain in the Illinois militia during the Black Hawk War, during which I never heard a bullet fired in anger, hardly qualifies me to comment intelligently on military affairs.”
“McClellan spoke to you many times in a similar manner during his tenure in command of the Army of the Potomac,” Stanton reminded Lincoln. “It always was a prelude to an infuriating lack of activity.”
“Yes,” Lincoln replied. “But there is a big difference between Grant and McClellan. Grant fights. McClellan doesn’t.”
“That’s true, by God,” Seward interjected.
“No one is happier to hear criticisms of George McClellan than myself,” Stanton said,
a hint of ruthlessness seeping into his voice. “I will never forget how that arrogant blow-hard would keep me waiting in his headquarters, as though I worked for him rather than the other way around. But that’s beside the point. I would be more comfortable about whatever operation Grant has launched if we had specific details concerning it.”
“I trust Grant,” Lincoln said. “When I appointed him general-in-chief of the Union armies, I told him that I neither knew nor sought to know the specific details of his operations. His record of victories spoke for itself. I do not see how our exact knowledge of his plans would benefit the Union cause in any way. It should suffice that we know he has begun a forward movement and that he hopes to achieve a significant victory over the rebels.”
“I agree,” Seward said. “By removing from ourselves the responsibility of managing tactical military movements, we can focus on matters of more importance. In particular, how Grant’s offensive relates to political matters.”
“Ah, yes,” Lincoln said. “It is politics which I wish to discuss with you two gentlemen today.”
“Indeed,” Seward said, preempting Stanton by a moment. “I wish I could bring you better news from my state, Mr. President, but every letter I receive from home tells me that New York remains all but certain to fall into the Democratic column this year.”
“I won’t write off New York until Election Day itself,” Lincoln said. “But our hopes of victory seem to lie with the states of Ohio, Indiana, and Pennsylvania. I can only trust that my own state of Illinois will remain true to the cause.”
“What I hear from those three states gives me cause for some hope,” Seward said. “Our people continue to trumpet the victory achieved by Farragut at Mobile Bay and the destruction of rebel cavalry in Georgia and Tennessee. They also stoke the hopes for a more decisive victory now that General Grant has returned to the Western Theater of operations.”
Lincoln nodded sharply. “I am increasingly persuaded that the fate of many states has already been set. New England will favor us on November 8, save perhaps for Connecticut, while New York and some other states will fall into McClellan’s camp. What the voters of Ohio, Indiana, and Pennsylvania shall decide on Election Day shall be determined by the operations of General Grant over the next few weeks. If he succeeds in inflicting a major defeat on the rebels, we shall win. If he fails, we shall lose. It’s as simple as that.”
Stanton shook his head. “I would not count even on New England. Too many of the abolitionists seem willing to cast their votes for that fool Fremont and his so-called Radicals. They’d succeed in demonstrating their commitment to abolitionism at the price of helping elect a ticket which is determined to leave the slaves in chains. The idiocy of the whole thing astounds me. If Fremont gains even five to ten percent of the vote in states like Rhode Island or Connecticut, it might be sufficient to push those states into the Democratic column.”
There was a momentary silence, broken when Lincoln chuckled slightly.
“Mr. President?” Seward asked.
“Gentlemen, the situation in which we find ourselves reminds me of a friend I had once in Springfield. He was a local horse breeder and he often entered some of his better horses in the local races, where they usually did quite well. One day, he came into my office in a state of demoralization. I asked him what was the matter, and he told me that in the midst of a race one of his horses had collapsed, throwing the jockey to the ground in a nasty tumble. The locals all blamed my friend, calling him an incompetent buffoon, a disgrace, and every other insult their minds could devise. The next month, however, one of my friend’s horses won by a margin never before seen in Sangamon County. The same folks who had derided my friend the previous month now called him a genius, the greatest horse breeder of all time, and every other compliment their minds could devise. So you see, gentlemen, the feelings of the people are often quite fickle.”
Seward smiled broadly, but Stanton simply looked annoyed. “Mr. President, as much as I enjoy your little stories, there is a matter of some importance which I wish to bring to the attention of yourself and Mr. Seward.”
“By all means, Mr. Stanton.”
“About four days ago, some of our troops near Gordonsville, Virginia, took into custody a man trying to cross into rebel-held territory. His behavior immediately raised suspicions that he was a spy of some kind, so I ordered an investigation conducted. It was quickly established that the man was Alexander Humphries and that he has been working for some time as an agent of the rebel government.”
“I see,” Lincoln said, trying to keep the impatience out of his voice. The capture of Southern agents engaged in espionage was not uncommon.
“I ordered Humphries to be hanged as a spy. Unsurprisingly, upon being told of his sentence, he protested his fate. According to the report of the district commander, he claimed that he had important information which would be of interest to the government and offered to provide it if his life were spared. I thought this was intriguing enough to warrant a closer look, so I took the train down to Fredericksburg two days ago.”
“And?” Seward asked.
“This Humphries fellow had an interesting tale to tell, to say the least. He claims to have received a substantial sum of money from Judah Benjamin, the Jew who serves as chief advisor to Davis. Humphries was told to journey to the North and use the money in such a way as to contribute to the victory of the Democrats in the fall election. He shipped out of Wilmington on a blockade runner a few months ago, went first to Bermuda and then sailed to New York City. Since then, he has been travelling across the country, seeking ways to use the funds provided to him to impact the election.”
“So, you’re saying that the Democratic election campaign is receiving direct financial assistance from the rebel government?” Seward asked.
“Apparently so.”
Lincoln rubbed his chin. “How much money are we talking about here?”
“A hundred thousand dollars, at least.”
“And to whom was this money distributed?”
“To a dozen or so Democratic operatives and editors. But chief among them was Manton Marble, the editor of the New York World. Humphries said that he gave him no less than twenty-five thousand dollars.”
“Dear God,” Seward said. “We should have that bastard arrested at once!”
Lincoln grinned, his mind turning over the possibilities. “Is there any way that Mr. Marble would know that this Humphries fellow has been arrested?”
“I doubt it, Mr. President,” Stanton answered. “I am not sure if Marble is even aware that the money came directly from the rebels.”
“We should still arrest him,” Seward said. “We have cause, and arresting him would certainly remove what has been a large thorn in our side. Marble’s editorials are quite damaging to us.”
“We should not be rash,” Lincoln said, rubbing his chin. “If we are clever, we can make more hay out of this than simply having Marble thrown in jail. This is valuable information, gentlemen. We can surely find a way to use it to our advantage.”
“How to do it?” Seward asked.
“Mr. Stanton, please forward a copy of the report your people have no doubt prepared on this incident to Mr. Raymond in New York City. I am sure that the New York Times and other newspapers friendly to the Republican cause will very much like to know about Mr. Humphries and his activities, specifically as they relate to Mr. Marble.”
“With pleasure, Mr. President.”
“Once we find out how the people feel about this, we can decide how to deal with Mr. Marble.”
Seward shook his head. “Marble had to know, or at least suspect, where that money came from. He may be a bastard, but he’s not stupid. I imagine the same is true for every other Democrat who took money from Humphries’ hand.”
Lincoln looked back at Stanton. “Bring this Humphries fellow to Washington. See how willing he is to give full details of how much money he distributed and, most importantly, to whom. If you think it worthwhile
, you may drop the hint that a full presidential pardon might be in order if he cooperates with us. And remind him that the alternative is the noose.”
Stanton nodded sharply, as if impatient to run off and issue the orders.
Lincoln smiled broadly. “Let’s put this pot on the fire, gentlemen, and see what kind of stew emerges. With Grant on the move, and this new scandal about to blow up in the faces of our opponents, we may yet emerge triumphant.”
*****
September 12, Morning
Davis stared hard as the officer sent over from the War Department updated the colored pins on the map. His lips pursed tightly and he could feel his heartbeat increasing.
“Tallapoosa?” he said, turning to Seddon. “Union cavalry are reported to be in Tallapoosa?”
“It’s unconfirmed, Mr. President,” Seddon said unhelpfully. “General Taylor was told of it and he thought it sufficiently important for it to be brought to your attention.”
“That town is over a hundred miles from where Grant is reported to be.”
“If the report is accurate, it could signify a large-scale cavalry raid, designed to clear the region southwest of their railroad supply lines of our forces.”
“Or a major offensive in that direction.”
“It’s impossible to know for sure, sir.”
Davis grunted, looking intently at the map. From the moment that Johnston withdrew across the Chattahoochee River two months before, Davis had feared receiving a report like this. While the river provided a geographical shield that protected Atlanta from the Yankees, it also prevented Johnston’s army from interfering with the Northern forces should they attempt to head west and southwest into Alabama.
“Has General Johnston said anything to you about this?” Davis demanded.
“Nothing at all, sir.”
Davis nodded, sitting down in his chair even as he continued to stare at the map. Johnston had always been uncommunicative.
“Please send a telegram to Johnston immediately, asking him if he knows anything about an enemy cavalry movement to the west.”
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