Grant Comes East cw-2

by Newt Gingrich

  Even though Grant's thinking rarely turned to outright guile, he could see that Stanton was trying to outmaneuver and box him in. He wondered if perhaps his old foe, Halleck, licking the wounds of public humiliation at his dismissal from supreme command, was even now lurking in a room down the hallway, waiting to rush in once this meeting was over.

  The doorway opened and he almost cried out with relief. Elihu was there with President Lincoln behind him.

  Obviously a bit flustered, Stanton stood up as Lincoln came in. His features were pale, eyes deep-set with exhaustion, black coat rumpled as if he had been sleeping in it, trousers stained with mud.

  "Mr. President, General Grant and I were just discussing the forthcoming campaign."

  "Yes, I can well imagine," Lincoln said.

  He looked over at Grant and a genuine smile wrinkled his face.

  "General, so good to see you," and he extended his hand.

  His contacts with Lincoln, up to this moment, had been only remote. He had never stood like this, so close, almost a sense of the two of them being alone. He looked straight into the man's eyes and liked what he saw. Homey, down-to-earth, the prairie lawyer without pretense.

  The handshake was firm, strong, with a touch of an affectionate squeeze just before he let go.

  The colonel in the outer office came in, dragging two straight-backed chairs, hurriedly deployed them, and left, closing the door.

  Lincoln went to the window and looked out. Dawn was breaking, wisps of fog curling up, the sky overhead visible now with streaks of pink and light blue.

  "A long night, gentlemen," Lincoln said, and then turned back, "but hopefully a better day now. General Grant, I'm delighted to see you at last"

  "I am honored to be here, sir."

  'Tell me of Vicksburg and your journey to here. I need to hear some good news for a few minutes."

  Grant briefly reviewed the climax of the campaign and his hurried journey east, Lincoln smiling and nodding as if all other cares had disappeared for the moment.

  "Remarkable, when you think of it gentlemen. When I first came to Washington almost twenty years ago, the trip took weeks. When I was a boy, my trip to New Orleans, traveling with a raft of cantankerous hogs, took well over a month. And now we can all but leap across the country in a matter of days."

  "After this war is over, sir," Haupt said proudly, "we'll go from Chicago to San Francisco in less than a week."

  'Think of it," Lincoln said with a smile. "I read in Scientific American just a few weeks back how some tinkerers are talking about balloons powered by steam engines that will traverse the skies, perhaps even crossing to England in a matter of days. I would love to see that."

  Stanton coughed and shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

  "Our good secretary is reminding us, gentlemen, that we must deal with business before we can play with our dreams. Is your health well this morning, Mr. Secretary?"

  "No, sir. The cursed asthma again."

  "I'm sorry to hear that, but yes, down to business."

  "Mr. President, I was just discussing with General Grant our wish that he establish his headquarters and operational base here in Washington. It will serve to defend our capital, but also has a logic in terms of logistics, with our superior water transport moving the men and equipment he might desire."

  Lincoln nodded thoughtfully, crossing his legs to reveal a pale white shin, his sock having slid down to pile up atop his shoe.

  "And, General Grant, your opinion on this? I should add that though the secretary speaks in the plural with his statement as to 'our' wishes, I will admit to not having discussed this with him yet at length."

  Stanton bristled slightly and Grant saw the interplay between the two, and the opening Lincoln was providing him.

  "Sir. I think Harrisburg is the better choice."

  "Enlighten me."

  He presented his argument in a concise, clear manner, both in terms of the plan he was formulating and the logistic issues, which Haupt weighed in on. Concluding his presentation, which took no more than five minutes, he fell silent.

  "I think, sir, that establishing the base in Harrisburg would be redundant," Stanton replied sharply. "We already have Sickles north of the Susquehanna. It would divert from him resources and rolling stock needed for his own efforts."

  "I thought all efforts were for the same goal," Lincoln said softly, looking back out the window.

  "A renewed Army of the Potomac, a hundred thousand strong, coming down out of the north," Stanton pressed, "with General Grant here in Washington acting as the anvil, would force the conclusion we want."

  Lincoln looked back at Grant.

  "Your reply to that?"

  "A hundred thousand for the Army of the Potomac?" Grant asked.

  "They are the army of this theater, sir," Stanton replied.

  "And have lost," Grant said quietly without condemnation, just a simple statement of fact.

  "Are you saying they should be disbanded?" Stanton asked heatedly.

  "No, sir. They have a role, which I've already mentioned just now to the president. But a hundred thousand strong?"

  "You disagree with the number?" Lincoln asked.

  "Sir, you've appointed me commander in chief of all forces in the field. To do that task I must be in command, and in the field, not trapped in a besieged garrison. Washington will hold just fine for the moment. If another crisis appears, I can quickly shift men here as needed. But if I stay here, I will be cut off, only able to communicate with all the other field commands by a tenuous line of courier boats racing from here up to Perryville and back. The delay will be crippling in and of itself, and will render me ineffective in my post"

  "You answer to the War Department, General Grant" Stanton said heatedly. "General Halleck found it workable to run things from Washington. If you do not like that arrangement, sir…"

  And his voice trailed off as Lincoln held up his hand for silence.

  No one spoke as Lincoln stood back up and walked to the window. He gazed out for a moment. Grant looked straight at Stanton, who was obviously angry, breathing hard, each breath a labored struggle.

  Lincoln finally turned.

  "General Grant, I give you full discretion."

  Stanton shifted, looking over at Lincoln, about to protest

  "Mr. Secretary, you've done an admirable job these last two weeks."

  Grant could detect a certain strain in Lincoln's voice. He knew of the controversy that had blown up about the contradictory orders sent by Stanton and Halleck to Meade, after Lincoln had ordered Meade not to risk his forces recklessly in an attempt to re-establish contact with Washington. He could see that there was a complex battle now brewing between these two men, and his own position was a major piece in that fight.

  "Sir, I must protest" Stanton replied.

  "And your protest will be duly noted. You are right that General Halleck managed things from here, but he did not win from here. I want General Grant out in the field. It's good to hear for once a commander asking for that, and not hiding behind his desk. I think General Grant is right: if he stays here in Washington, his position will be rendered ineffective, and we do not want that now, do we, Edwin?"

  The secretary, flustered, was unable to respond.

  "Good then, that's settled. Gentlemen, I've been up all night and would like to find some sort of breakfast So if you will excuse me."

  The group stood up as Lincoln headed to the door. He stopped and looked back.

  "Grant, would you care to join me?" he asked.

  "Mr. President, I have numerous details to go over with the general," Stanton protested.

  "I think General Haupt could be of more assistance to you at the moment Don't worry, I'll have our commander here back to you later today."

  Without waiting for a reply Lincoln was out the door. Elihu beckoned for Grant to follow.

  Lincoln waited in the hallway as the door closed behind

  Grant. Not a word was spoken as t
hey went back down the stairs. The corridor was packed, word having raced through the building that the president and Grant were in with Stanton. Men snapped to attention, saluting, Lincoln smiling, shaking a few hands until they were out in the street.

  To Grant's dismay he saw several reporters racing up, notebooks out, shouting questions. A provost guard was waiting, however, rounding the reporters up, pressing them back against the wall of the War Office. The press howled, especially when a captain of the guard shouted a reminder that the city was still under martial law and they were to keep quiet about whom they saw, under penalty of arrest.

  Lincoln set off at a brisk pace, crossing the street, heading back to the White House, a mounted guard detail forming a circle around them, but moving at a discreet distance, allowing the three to talk without being heard.

  "Well, that was interesting," Elihu offered.

  "Stanton wanted to chain you to that building," Lincoln said, shaking his head. "He wanted you where he could watch you and control you. You would think that we all would have learned by now."

  "I smell Halleck in this," Elihu replied angrily.

  "All of them are jealous," Lincoln said, shaking his head. "Grant, I'm afraid there are some here who are not pleased by your promotion."

  "I'm sorry if that is the case."

  "Don't be. It's not a time to be sorry about stepping on toes. Especially big toes sticking out from under the safety of their desks."

  "Yes, sir."

  "I think I'm going to like working with you, Grant," Lincoln replied. "You're from the West, as I am; we see things differently. None of this flummery and posturing. I'm sick to death of it, while good boys are dying. Why everyone needs so dang much gold braid to play dress up for what is after all the business of killing is beyond me."

  Grant spared a glance down at his own soiled tunic and trousers. He had been a bit embarrassed while riding through the city. He was glad now his dress uniform had been left behind.

  "Smoke, if you feel like it, Grant; I know it bothers our poor secretary with his lung sickness, but it's fine by me. When we meet Mrs. Lincoln, however, I'll ask you to refrain."

  "Yes, sir."

  He reached into his breast pocket, pulled out the last of his cigars, and paused for a second to strike a match on the side of his boot. He puffed it to life and nodded his thanks.

  "That's Grant. I know it!"

  The streets were beginning to fill with early-morning traffic. Several companies, in columns of fours, were marching by in the other direction, and a cheer went up for Lincoln and Grant.

  Grant did not acknowledge it; it was something he hated and it was clearly evident these men had never served under his command. Lincoln tipped his hat, nodded, and pressed on.

  The last wisps of morning fog were breaking up, the sun hot and low on the eastern horizon, casting long shadows.

  They approached the front entrance to the White House. The troops who were camped on the ground were getting rousted out, the word of who was approaching obviously having raced ahead. Orders were shouted, men falling into ranks, forming twin lines across the front lawn and snapping to attention. Lincoln stopped and put a hand on Grant's shoulder, causing him to turn.

  "A few comments and questions before we go in," Lincoln said softly.

  "Anything, sir."

  "You are to be in sole command, General. We have lacked that for too long. To be frank, I felt that General McClellan saw the armies as nothing more than his personal escort I made mistakes as well then; I was patient when I should have interfered and I interfered when I should have stepped back. I think any president would be tempted to do so, but I've learned my lessons. I think as well I should have been far more forceful in finding a general that would fight, then letting him go do his business. You are my expert at battle, so unless there is a profound issue that cannot be avoided by me, I will stand back and let you see to your business."

  Grant could not reply to that. The reality was simply too startling. But three short weeks ago he was handling a siege on the Mississippi, all that he commanded almost within direct view at any given moment. Now every soldier as far afield as Texas or the Indian Territories was under his command

  And yet it did not overwhelm him. He thought of the many cold, rainy nights, sitting alone with Sherman, talking of how the war should be fought, how if allowed to do so they could bring the bloodletting to an end. The price, up front, would be cruel, and yet in the end it would spare all of the nation endless years of half measures and unrelenting agony. This president had just given him that power.

  "The secretary is not happy with your appointment. Frankly, it was done without serious consultation with him. Some claim it was the spur of the moment, the night I learned of the destruction of the Army of the Potomac. Maybe so, but I will tell you, Grant, that the thought had been building for some time."

  "I appreciate that confidence, sir, I hope I can live up to it."

  "All right, then. To speak bluntly and no whispers on the aside. I know about your problem with drinking."

  Grant flushed and lowered his head.

  "I know as well that you have kept it under control in spite of the vicious rumors launched by your enemies, including some back in that very office we just left.

  'I'll only say this once and the matter will never be spoken of again. Until this war is finished, not another drop, sir. If you shall fail in that pledge, your enemies and mine will howl for your head and I doubt if even I will be able to save it. I have placed a confidence in you and I expect it to be observed."

  Grant looked back up into his eyes and saw there was no recrimination. The gaze was almost fatherly as Lincoln reached out and squeezed his shoulder.

  "You have my word of honor on that, sir," Grant replied humbly.

  "Good. Nothing more will be said on that," and Lincoln smiled.

  "Now, establish your headquarters where you will. If Harrisburg is your choice, so be it"

  "And General Sickles, sir?" Lincoln sighed.

  "My hand was forced on that point. He might be a thorn in your side, the last of the old guard of McClellan's time, but then again, he seems to have conducted himself well in division and corps command. And like it or not, he was right about the second day at Gettysburg. If he had been allowed to advance, the same request he had made at Chancellorsville, all might be different now."

  Lincoln smiled.

  "Perhaps we would not even be meeting like this if he had been listened to. Some philosophers muse on the idea that history can take many paths, and perhaps that is true. It might very well have been the case at Gettysburg. So General Sickles now has his chance, but he is to answer to you."

  "And if I find it necessary to relieve him?"

  Lincoln sighed and looked away.

  "Grant, you are the supreme military commander, but in this one case I will have to ask for your forebearance. Can I ask you to trust me on this score? The ramifications would, unfortunately, go far beyond the military issues and affect our entire war effort. I hope you understand."

  He could not refuse the request as Lincoln had just made it, as if he was a neighbor asking for a favor.

  "Yes, sir. Whatever you wish."

  "Fine then. Are you hungry?"

  Grant smiled and nodded his head.

  "Yes, sir, to tell the truth I'm starving."

  "We have an excellent cook. Perhaps some flapjacks with maple syrup, a good slice of fried ham, and some coffee?"

  "I'd be delighted."

  "We'll talk more later, when we are alone. But let's relax for the moment. I just met this remarkable fellow I'd like you to meet Hope you don't mind that he's colored."

  "Of course not, sir."

  "Been learning a lot of history from him these last few days; he's known every president since Madison. Has some delightful insights."

  'It would be a pleasure to meet him."

  "Good then. Elihu, I know you're looking for a meal as well at taxpayers' expense."


  "Thank you, Mr. President."

  Lincoln started to lead the way again, but then stopped and it seemed as if a visible weight had suddenly come back down upon his shoulders. He looked back at Grant, eyes again dark, careworn.

  "May I ask a question, General Grant?"

  "Yes, sir, anything."

  "Can we win? Can we end this madness before it destroys us all, North and South?"

  The intensity of the question, the look in Lincoln's eyes struck him. Rarely given to sentiment, he found his own voice choking for a moment, and he was unable to speak. It was as if a mystical bond was, at that moment, forged between them. As if in whatever way possible, he had to lift some of the infinite burden off this man's shoulders, and even as that thought formed he felt the weight, the awesome responsibility of knowing that the republic, its very survival, its fate over the next hundred years, rested on him as well.

  He slowly nodded his head, looking straight into Lincoln's eyes.

  "Yes, sir, we can win."

  Chapter Ten

  Near Leesborough, Maryland

  July 20, 1863 2:00 p.m.

  The last of the storm was passing to the southeast, dark clouds bristling with lightning. Stepping down off the porch of a pleasant frame house whose owner had offered him coffee and biscuits while waiting out the blow, Lee stretched, looking around, breathing deeply of the cool fresh air that came sweeping down out of the northwest.

  After three weeks of unrelenting heat, humidity, and rain, he could feel that the weather had indeed changed, that this last blow had swept the air clean. The rain had come down in torrential sheets for a half hour, swamping the road, but now, as a column of men from Pickett's division were filing out of the woods where they had sought temporary shelter from the blast, he could see their renewed vigor. The temperature had dropped a good fifteen to twenty degrees, the air was crystal clear, sharp, a pleasure to breathe. It sent an infectious mood through the men, who were joking, laughing, splashing around in rain-soaked uniforms, boots tied around their necks. For a few minutes they seemed almost like schoolboys again.

  He mounted Traveler, staff falling in around him. He waited patiently for President Davis and Secretary Benjamin to come out of the house, the two climbing into an open four-horse carriage that had been "borrowed" from a wealthy landowner near where they had camped the night before. The owner was furious about the requisitioning until he heard who would be using the carriage, then simply asked for a receipt, along with an affidavit to be given back with the carriage, confirming who had ridden in it. It was obvious he planned to make a commercial venture out of the carriage when it was finally returned.