Stanton departed, leaving Lincoln alone with his thoughts. Once again he was launching the Union Army into a series of bloody battles. Visions of the thousands of dead and wounded that would result nearly overwhelmed him. He felt he could picture every last one of them—and they all had poor Willie’s face. That was what made it so hard to bear; the fact that he knew exactly what they felt, those bereft parents in those homesteads all across the northern United States. And yes, the South, too.
He sat down on a couch, stretched out his long legs, and rubbed his forehead, trying to alleviate the anguish. Knowing as he did, feeling what he felt, made things very hard. But really, he wouldn’t have it any other way.
“The war is our Sword of Damocles,” Josiah Baird announced a trifle pompously. He’d had a couple of brandies and was on the edge of being tipsy. Steven thought it interesting that a man who was politically active could not do a better job of holding his liquor.
“It hangs over our head and threatens to destroy us and soon it will not matter whether the north or south wins. The damage to the United States will have been too severe to be repaired in our lifetime or a hundred lifetimes. We may come back to having one government, but there will be two nations enduring under it.”
“And what’s the solution?” asked his wife.
“Rachel, my dearest, there is but one answer. The war must end. Sadly, there seems to be no real interest in bringing it to a conclusion, even if that means additional fighting. The real curse is that good men must die in order for there to be a real peace.”
Cassandra was shocked. “Father, are you saying that not enough blood has been shed already?”
Her father bowed mockingly and poured himself a little more brandy. “More than enough blood has been spent. The problem is getting people to realize it, and maintaining the status quo regarding General Lee and his omnipresent army in Pennsylvania is a case in point. Lee has to be expelled and, unless he decides to visit his family in Richmond, the only way to get rid of him will be through battle. Even if we should send him back to Virginia, we will only have reestablished the battle lines as they were before the Gettysburg campaign.”
Thorne yawned. It had been a long day and he was feeling warm standing by the fireplace. He glanced across the parlor to where Cassandra sat, surprise still evident on her face.
“War is a terrible thing,” Josiah said, “and a civil war is the most terrible of all. It would be one thing if we were fighting off an invasion of the Huns or some other barbaric entity, but no, we’re killing off our cousins and brothers. Just about everyone I know has friends or relatives in the Confederacy and that includes us. I hope that doesn’t upset you, Major Thorne.”
Thorne laughed. “I have cousins in Charleston and New Orleans. Of course, I haven’t seen or heard from them in years. I hope they’re safe and well and out of the war.”
“And I also don’t think we’re living in a state of siege,” added Josiah.
“I wouldn’t be too certain about that,” Steven said. “Our movements are severely constrained by the presence of Lee to the west and north. Granted, Washington is not surrounded, but there are many who feel the city is in such danger that it should be evacuated. I believe, however, that these are the same people who ran like rabbits after the first battle of Bull Run. Lincoln was made of sterner stuff then and I don’t see him changing now.”
Cassandra was intrigued. “And what do the rumors say this time, Steven?”
“They say that President Lincoln has decided that the Army of the Potomac is as strong as it’s ever going to be and that it should go on the attack. There are no secrets in this town and, even though it is only a rumor, it has the ring of truth. There’s only one way General Lee can be driven back south and that’s through battle.”
A few moments later, Cassandra and Steven went out onto the porch. She had wrapped a shawl around her shoulders as protection from the cool evening air and let him put his arm around her. It was just about time for him to return to his regiment.
“The idea of another bloodbath battle is horrifying,” she said. “Unfortunately, I cannot think of another way of ending this either. But it does have to end. This cannot be the opening days of another Hundred Years War. This has to end and if that means another battle, so be it. I just want you to try and stay out of it. You’ve seen enough action and you’ve been wounded.” She turned and hugged him. “And I don’t want to lose you.”
Steven just held her. There was nothing he could add. Her fears were his as well. Would this war ever end? God only knew.
Richard Dean was tempted to get a placard of his own and march around the White House proclaiming his dislike of the war along with his contempt for Abraham Lincoln. But he decided against it when he saw how many police and provost marshal’s men were watching the marchers. It seemed that the lawmen almost outnumbered them. So instead, he stepped back and let the fools parade by. Many of them were old men and women and he laughed silently at their sincerity. Did they really think anyone in the federal government would listen to them or give a damn what they thought? They were living a dream.
At least he, Booth, and the others had a plan. They were leaning toward assassination. Kidnapping Lincoln was just too complex and dangerous. Following an assassination, on the other hand, the killers could simply split up and flee or hide, while kidnappers had the task of controlling and hiding their victim. And then, of course, they would have to negotiate with the federals for the man’s release, all of which could be quite perilous.
But what did the conspirators have to offer? When negotiations were over and a captive Lincoln was released, he would simply go back to his old tricks and doubtless renege on any agreement that had been made. He would claim that it had been made under duress which, of course, would be absolutely correct. He would have had a pistol at his head all the time.
The deciding factor against kidnapping was that they would have to be in contact with the government, which put them all at risk of getting caught and then hanged. No, it would be far better to kill the man, cause chaos in the government, and then flee to safety. The Confederacy was only a day’s ride away.
The only unresolved question was just who would fire the gun. Booth was adamant that he be the one, but Richard thought it would boil down to which one of them had the opportunity.
He was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he almost bumped into a city policeman. “Excuse me,” he muttered and the officer glared at him.
“Be more careful, young man.” Dean solemnly assured him that he would. He turned and hurried away from the White House grounds, toward the rooming house where he shared a room with two other men, both government clerks. To them he was a nobody, a faceless clerk like themselves. Other than a handful of people, nobody had ever heard of Richard Dean. That was going to change.
Major General George Gordon Meade was uncertain, a feeling he’d been having frequently of late. The close-run victory at Gettysburg and the subsequent crushing defeat at Hagerstown had sucked much of the vigor from him. He had a history of being bad tempered and irascible and this day he was in a truly foul mood.
The summons to the White House had come as a complete surprise. He’d been all but ignored by Lincoln and Stanton since the debacle north of the Potomac, and expected the situation to continue until the president found a suitable replacement for him. That Lincoln was having a hard time with that was common knowledge. Meade was proud enough to know that he was at least as good as any of his contemporaries with the possible exception of the relatively unknown but inexperienced Ulysses Grant. He was confident that Grant would not replace him, at least not for a while. A crisis was brewing at Chattanooga that would require his handling. In the meantime, Meade would head the army and keep it ready to repulse any attempt by the Army of Northern Virginia to capture the nation’s capital.
On receipt of the orders, he’d gone directly to see Lincoln and Stanton, huddled together as usual in the White House.
Meade fought
to contain his temper. “Mr. President, your orders are astonishing. We are within weeks of the end of the year’s campaigning season. Now you wish me to use the army to attack Lee? May I ask what has caused this shift?”
Lincoln was grim. “Reality, General, reality has changed my mind. The pressure to do something, anything, has simply become too much. The people want something done about Lee and they want it done as soon as possible. The army—your army—must march forth and attack General Lee wherever he might be found. And that raises a point—do you know precisely where Lee is?”
Meade bristled. “Of course we do and they know exactly where we are as well. Our patrols have been probing each other since Lee decided to camp. Their cavalry screen is very good, but not impenetrable, and besides, it is difficult to hide an army of that size.”
Stanton grunted. “It won’t matter what we know. As soon as he hears that you’re on the move, he’ll come out of his hole and attack. When he does that, can you whip him?”
Meade started to sweat. “If he attacks me, I will beat him, just like I did for the first three days at Gettysburg. But I will be honest. If I have to attack him, the advantage will be his. His army is much more maneuverable than mine. I have so many men now that I am afraid the Army of the Potomac will be quite cumbersome.”
“Are you saying you now have too many men?” asked Stanton, aghast at the possibility that the Army of the Potomac was too large to control.
Meade’s face turned red. “Of course not,” he responded angrily. “A general can never have too many men. I’m merely pointing out that a smaller, more agile Confederate army will be able to maneuver more easily than mine.”
Lincoln was not sympathetic. “General, you have more than a hundred thousand men to Lee’s seventy or eighty thousand or so, or do you believe the reports that he outnumbers you?”
The President was referring to the fact that Allan Pinkerton, the owner and founder of the detective agency that bore his name, had again come out with estimates of Confederate manpower that appeared to wildly exaggerate Rebel numbers. This was consistent with the advice he’d given McClellan during the Peninsula Campaign of 1862. Pinkerton had fed McClellan with projected numbers that had the large Union Army greatly outnumbered, which fed the Little Napoleon’s fears of defeat.
“Sir, we all know that Pinkerton’s numbers are rubbish. I merely submit that any campaign against Lee will be a bloody one.”
“Then so be it,” said the President. “If at the end of the day, we have a few men standing and they have none, we will have won and we can begin to forge a peace.”
Meade was calming himself as he saw the extent of Lincoln’s wishes. “But sir, a peace built on so much blood? Is that even possible?”
Lincoln stood and gestured for the others to remain seated. “Unless the South sees reason and negotiates a true peace that involves the Confederate states returning to the Union and abolishing slavery, it will be a case of pay the blood price today or pay it tomorrow. May I suggest, General, that you return to your command and determine just when you will be able to bring General Lee to battle?”
Meade departed. He retrieved his horse from a groom and, along with a few staffers, rode down Pennsylvania Avenue. Some people recognized him and a couple of soldiers saluted, but most did not. He was just another grumpy-looking man on a horse.
Meade was deep in thought. He would be leading the largest army ever brought forth in the United States and he had serious doubts as to his ability to handle it properly. He would never admit it, but the events surrounding Gettysburg had shattered him. Even the so-called victory after the first three days was not without controversy. There were those who said that the battle had been won by others, such as Hancock, who was still mending from his wounds.
He spurred his horse faster. He needed to purge himself of his doubts.
Cassie got up quickly as she saw the dozen or so horsemen approaching. Around her the students picked up their things and retreated toward the trees. A glance showed the children running to their mothers. The men had slipped out of sight, but they were no doubt very close.
Mariah approached her, her hands clenched tightly. She remembered how Mariah had been sexually used by white men and how she had sworn to die before she would let it happen again. She quelled an impulse to take her by the hand.
Cassie stepped forward to meet the riders. They came to a halt about ten yards away.
The lead rider was a stocky man in his thirties in a frock coat and a top hat. He glanced around him, looking down his nose as if confronted with something of gross unpleasantness. At last he took notice of Cassie. “And what do we have here, young lady?”
“I beg your pardon, sir?”
He frowned at her. The rider to his right, an unshaven man with more than a touch of the village lout to his appearance, let out a snigger.
“Would you care to introduce yourself?”
“My name is Dover. I am a councilman from the town of Cabin John.”
Cabin John was a river town to the south of here. Cassie had never been there and knew little about it. “Good afternoon, Mr. Dover. My name is Cassandra Baird and my father is, or was, colonel commanding the Sixth Indiana Mounted Infantry.”
Dover looked from side to side. “Doesn’t look like a mounted infantry unit to me.”
That got a bigger response from the rest of his crowd than it strictly deserved. Cassie waited out the laughter. “That is because it is no such thing, Councilman. It is in fact a very rough school. We have been authorized to teach these emancipated Negroes how to read and write.”
“Who authorized this school for niggers—or is this something you’re doing on your own?”
Cassandra flinched at the venom in his voice. “Captain, this is the brainchild of President Lincoln. He is contemplating starting a government program that would help freed slaves become productive members of society when the war is over.”
“The Apeman himself,” one of the riders said. Cassie felt her lips go thin.
“Productive,” another one muttered. “From the numbers of pickaninnies hereabouts, I can believe that.”
Dover wasn’t laughing. “Why were not local authorities consulted in this matter?”
“The President failed to consult the village council of John’s Cabin, sir? I shall make a point of mentioning that.” She heard a sharp intake of breath from Mariah.
Dover’s face darkened. “We do not approve of this education of the Negro. Darkies will become productive members of society when pigs learn to fly. They are little more than brutes who require direction and oversight from white people. Your so-called school is making them think they are as good as whites and that is both wrong and dangerous.” He glanced about him to assure himself that his men were all listening. “That is not my opinion, miss. Those are the words of Scripture.”
“Scripture, sir?” Cassie took a couple of steps forward. “Would you care to recite chapter and verse? No? Because I recall another passage, from the Gospels. Matthew, I believe, in which Jesus Christ bade his disciples to preach to all nations. All nations, sir. Not only the white people of Maryland.”
“You leave Jesus Christ out of this.”
“I didn’t bring up the Bible, Mr. Dover.”
Dover gritted his teeth. “You listen here, you young hussy. You may think your authorization allows you to run this nigger school among decent white people, but you are mistaken. I warn you, the next time I catch you trying to teach Negroes something they shouldn’t learn, I will go very hard on you.”
“Sir, are you threatening me with violence?”
“I wouldn’t think of it, ma’am. You’re white.” He gave her a nasty grin. “Or at least you appear so to me.”
With that, Dover and his small group rode away. Mariah, who remained prudently silent, came forward.
“Did that man frighten you?” Cassie asked.
“Yes. Yes, he did. You shouldn’t have spoken to him that way.”
“Oh
. . .” Cassie took her by the arm and led her back to where the others were gathering. “Don’t pay him any mind. He’s all talk.”
A glance told her Mariah was not so certain.
★ CHAPTER 14 ★
Blandon didn’t hold with paper money. Give him a good, solid coin of gold or silver, one that rang right loud when you slapped it on the counter. Paper money was most often issued by scores of pissant little banks throughout the country that frequently failed, leaving holders of their money up the creek. But he had to admit that old Abe’s experiment with paper money had its points. He had several thousand dollars in paper tucked in his money belt right now. Greenbacks, widely accepted and backed by a strong government. The fact that he was fighting that government meant nothing to Blandon. Rumor had it that it was even gaining acceptance down South, although he doubted that. Good old Jeff Davis would never stand for it.
Once again, he was staying clear of his own people. Incredibly, the bodies of the three Yankees he’d murdered and thrown down that basement had been discovered and there was quite a ruckus. They should have rotted away in that basement for months and before anybody bothered to look. He had not been accused of anything or even been associated with the massacre, but he was worried that the others who’d been with him might break down under pressure and implicate him.
The good Colonel Wade had likely heard about these murders, but hadn’t connected them to Blandon. To the colonel, war was an affair between soldiers, and civilians just didn’t come into it, which struck Blandon as humorous. Why was everybody so upset over three dead civilians when tens of thousands of soldiers lay rotting in shallow graves? It didn’t make sense. Yes, those civilians might have been ‘innocent,’ whatever that meant, but what about all those soldiers? He guessed the concerns arose because this war was what some people referred to as a “civilized war”, another thought that made him laugh. Civilized war? What the hell was that?
The Day After Gettysburg Page 19