Grant Comes East cw-2

by Newt Gingrich

  The parade ground for this grand review had been carefully chosen by Walter Taylor. A gently sloping ridge, where the famed divisions of the Army of Northern Virginia could deploy across a front of nearly two miles, regiment after regiment, the hard-fighting battalions from Virginia, Georgia, Texas, the Carolinas, Florida, Mississippi, and Alabama. The heroes of Fredericksburg, of Gettysburg, and of Union Mills. Shot-torn standards were proudly held aloft, whipping in the stiff afternoon breeze. The day was still bathed in sunlight, though the western horizon was dark with approaching storms.

  Before them, across the broad, open valley, the twenty thousand men that Beauregard had brought to Maryland had advanced in columns of company front, the men in general ragged and lean, veterans of the hard-fought campaigns in the swamps around Charleston, their uniforms sun bleached to light gray or butternut. A few regiments were neatly at tired, militia units from Georgia and North Carolina that till now had known only soft duty, the occasional chasing down of deserters or Unionist bushwhackers up in the hills. These men were dressed in solid gray, carried backpacks, their muskets shiny.

  The arriving units had paraded down the length of the Army of Northern Virginia, passing beneath sharp, hardened eyes, veterans, some only seventeen years old but still veterans, who looked appraisingly, nodding with approval at the boys from Charleston, remaining silent at the sight of the militia, in their hearts concerned but also smugly glad because the stay-at-homes were now going to see the "elephant" for real.

  The unwritten orders from Lee's headquarters had been sharp and clear. The men of Beauregard's command, now officially the Third Corps of the Army of Northern Virginia, were to be greeted as brothers, no taunts, no airs; if victory was to be finally theirs, their blood would be needed as well.

  As the last of Beauregard's men marched the two-mile length of the review, Wade Hampton's brigade put in their appearance, Jeb Stuart in the lead, his arm still in a sling from the bullet taken in Baltimore. The troopers deployed out, drew sabers, forming a battlefront a quarter-mile wide, keeping alignment, advancing first at walk, bugles sounding the walk to trot, and then a canter. The waning sun, disappearing behind the roiling storm clouds, reflected off a thousand drawn blades. "Charge!"

  Stuart was in the lead by half a dozen lengths, hat blown off, mouth open, shouting the command, then roaring with delight as the troopers, leaning over in their saddles, blades pointed forward, broke into a mad gallop. A wild rebel yell erupted from the charging line, to be greeted by the enthusiastic roar of the watching army, tens of thousands of voices commingling, battle flags held aloft, waving back and forth, the music of the band drowned out, even the musicians now lowering their instruments and joining in the cheer, the music far more piercing and soul-stirring than anything they could ever hope to create.

  On the slope above the army, tens of thousands of civilians from Baltimore, who had come out to witness the show, joined in the cheering as well.

  Unable to contain himself, Lee stood tall in his stirrups, Traveler's head up, ears pricked back, as if ready to join in the mad dash sweeping before them, the thunder of the charge echoing, and then drowned out as ten batteries, deployed to Lee's left, fired a salute of fifty guns, the thumping roar booming down the line, the cheering of the men redoubling at the thunder of the guns, stirring the blood, filling all with the vision of all that they had done, and all they would still do when next the guns fired for real.

  The last echo of one of the heavy thirty-pounders drifted away. The smoke swirled and eddied eastward, driven by the wind of the approaching storm, the distant heavens matching the reports with the roll of thunder, the shimmering golden light of the sun now disappearing behind the dark, gray-green clouds.

  Stuart, turning out from the charging line, cantered up to Lee, sweat glistening on his face, and with drawn saber he saluted; his mount, with a gentle urging, lowering his head and lifting a front leg in salute as well.

  Grinning, Lee returned the salute.

  "Magnificent, General Stuart," he proclaimed, "a fitting climax to a glorious day."

  All along the two-mile line, commands echoed from division generals, to brigadiers, to regimental commanders.

  Hundreds of fifers and drummers picked up the beat, music playing, regiments forming into dense columns to march back to their encampments. Those closest to Lee, parading past, holding hats aloft, cheered him and the president of the Confederacy by his side.

  Lee looked over at Davis, normally so sphinx-like. He was smiling, breathing hard.

  "By the Almighty, General Lee, with an army such as this we can lick the world," Davis proclaimed.

  And for a moment he believed it as well, swept into the passion of it all, the tens of thousands of his men, rested, fit, well fed, eager now to go back into the fray and finish it. They had never known real defeat, they had taken Baltimore without effort, they had brought another state into the Confederacy, and now they were reinforced back up to a strength of over fifty thousand rifles and two hundred and fifty artillery pieces. He knew that in the next action they could sweep the field again. He could see it in their eyes, these men confident of victory. And their spirit leapt into his soul. They were ready.

  A pavilion of open-sided tents had been set up atop the slope, the tents linked together to form a vast covered area that could accommodate several hundred people. Tonight there would be a ball, the finest of Baltimore invited to attend with their ladies. Dinner would be a "special repast in the tradition of the Army of Northern Virginia"-fried and basted salt pork served with a sprinkling of ground hardtack, the first sweet corn of the season, and "Confederate coffee" made with chickory. It would be seen as delightful and quaint, the talk of a city so used to dining on far better fare. The cooks, of course, were substituting fresh bacon for the salt pork, the topping was made with real bread crumbs, and since the army was awash in captured coffee, the real treat would be provided instead, but still the officers and guests would wink at the substitution. One of the famed Booth family, who by chance was in Baltimore when the city was taken, would provide the after-dinner entertainment with dramatic excerpts from Shakespeare's plays, and then the

  Regimental Band from the Twenty-sixth North Carolina would offer a selection of waltzes, polkas, and reels.

  Lee with Davis, Beauregard, Benjamin, and Stuart at his side rode up to the pavilion. Longstreet and Hood, coming over from their respective commands, arrived at the pavilion just behind Lee.

  Hood was positively beaming; he had always been one to enjoy such pageantry, and for once the mood between him and Stuart was openly jovial. Dismounting, Lee looked over at Longstreet, who stood to one side, and approached.

  "Did you enjoy the parade?"

  "You know I find them to be a bit tiresome, sir. Rather have the men out drilling."

  "Still, it's good for their spirits. It boosts morale to see the army assembled and a proper greeting to General Beauregard's men."

  "We're as ready as we'll ever be," Longstreet replied. "You could see that today."

  Lee smiled; it was a concession that on Old Pete's part that the grand review had caught his soul as well.

  Yes, they were ready; the question was, To do what?

  One corner of the pavilion had been set aside for Davis, Lee, and his staff to have a private repast before the beginning of the afternoon's and evening's festivities. Orderlies from his staff, well turned out in new uniforms, waited, the table already spread with the finest Baltimore could offer- oysters, champagne, fried clams, half a dozen selections of wine, crabs freshly boiled and spiced crab cakes, French brandies, thinly sliced beef, sweet corn, and, of course, fried chicken.

  For once he did not feel guilty as he looked at the cornucopia of food spread upon the table. His men had been indulging in the same, except, naturally, for the spirits, eating as the Army of Northern Virginia had not eaten since the hard, bitter days before Richmond, the year before.

  Already spoiled by Yankee largesse in their march north to
Chambersburg, and then to Gettysburg and beyond, they had known true luxury the last three weeks. With President

  Davis ready to sign a voucher order, the warehouses of Baltimore had been stripped clean of anything that would feed and boost the morale of this army. The men had marveled at the cans of condensed milk issued to them to lighten their coffee. And coffee! Not just any coffee, but a selection of beans from Jamaica, Brazil, Colombia, so that a lively trade had developed between regiments issued one or the other.

  Every man now had new shoes, hats, blankets, even trousers and jackets, the milliners conveniently ready with gray dye to convert trousers that only the month before had been destined for the armies of the North. Canvas for tents had been found, including the very canvas that now covered the pavilion, along with hundreds of saddles, wagons that had escaped from the rout at Westminster, ammunition for both artillery and rifles, two hundred additional ambulances for the medical corps, thousands of mules, yet more remounts for the cavalry, forge wagons for artillery, even portable bakery wagons containing ovens and steam engines "borrowed" from fire departments, which might prove of use in some unexpected way.

  For an army that had marched for far too long on lean stomachs it was as if they had gone to heaven while still alive. Bullocks by the hundreds had been driven into the camps; each night the regiments offered choices of fresh beef until they could eat no more. Wagons loaded with sweet corn came in from the countryside, and fresh-faced girls made it a practice to visit the camps, bearing loaves of home-baked bread, cakes, and cookies, greeted with reverent respect, at least on the surface, by these hard-fighting veterans. They had endeared themselves to the citizens of Baltimore, who were now eager to compare the valiant and yet humble Christian boys of the South with the hawk-faced Yankees of Massachusetts and New York.

  Far more than any diplomatic efforts of Benjamin, or cool leadership of Davis, the ordinary rank and file of the Army of Northern Virginia, so hard and remorseless in battle, had shown themselves, at heart, to be really nothing more than boys and young men, desperate for home, for the simple things in life, and in so doing had won Baltimore back to the South.

  Already dozens of requests for the right to marry had come up from the ranks, and Lee had been forced to pass a strict injunction that such things would have to wait until the war ended, unless it could be proven that the couple had known each other before the war and were now, by this circumstance, reunited. As a gesture of this new joining of Maryland to the cause, both he and Davis had attended a wedding only the day before, between a young boy on Stuart's staff, the same Lieutenant Jenkins who had infiltrated into Baltimore, and the object of his affection, the charming young daughter of a Methodist minister, the couple separated for two long years. Their wedding had become the social event of the month and was widely reported in all the newspapers.

  As he looked around the pavilion he saw young Jenkins, still dressed in his formal uniform, and as he caught the boy's eye, he smiled as the young man blushed and lowered his head, having come from his all too brief honeymoon to participate in the review.

  The entourage settled down under the pavilion, the breeze sweeping in now cool, the storm front approaching. Orderlies and staff scurried about, offering fresh pastries, coffee, wine, raw oysters, and even small, crystal shot glasses of brandy.

  President Davis, showing his delight at the proceedings, accepted a glass of French wine and raised the glass high.

  'To the success of our cause," he announced.

  The group stood, Lee taking a glass as well, though merely swallowing a drop or two for the toast

  "And to France," Benjamin added. "May they soon stand by our side."

  'To France!"

  The group sat down, and for a moment there was only polite conversation, commentary about the grandeur of the review, and anticipation for the evening's festivities.

  Davis, sitting beside Lee, leaned over.

  "I must say, never have I seen the men so fit, so eager, General Lee."

  "Thank you, sir, the past weeks have indeed been a tonic for them. Our boys deserved it after all they have accomplished."

  Davis nodded, sipping from his glass of wine. Benjamin came around the table to join them. "The French consul is waiting to see us, sir," he said. "In a few minutes, Judah. After all, we can't go running to him."

  Judah smiled.

  "He finally shared with me the dispatch he sent to the Emperor Napoleon III."

  Davis, eyes sharp, looked up at Benjamin.

  "I transcribed it as best I could after meeting with him this morning." Judah reached into his breast pocket, pulling out a sheet of paper, which he then handed to Davis.

  "His report predicts that by the middle of autumn the Army of Northern Virginia will meet and defeat the new army being created by Grant He also predicts that General Johnston in the West will recapture Vicksburg."

  Davis said nothing. The report had just come in the day before that Johnston had indeed ventured such an attack, now that most of the Army of the Tennessee, except for Sherman's corps, had come east Sherman had handed Johnston a stunning defeat, routing his army and driving it clear across Mississippi and into northern Alabama.

  "Well, the dispatch went out a week and a half ago," Davis said.

  "Fortunately. I think that the dispatch, combined with the dozens of newspapers, both north and south, which were sent along with it, might do the trick. Napoleon's forces are stuck in Mexico. His promises to the Hapsburg have drawn them into the fray; there are even regiments of troops from Austria being dispatched to Mexico. If ever he has a chance to ensure his success and prestige in both Europe and the New World, it is now, at this moment He will commit to us because a Union victory would be a disaster for French policy. They would be forced to abandon Mexico if Lincoln wins. We are their only hope."

  Lee shifted uncomfortably. The thought of European soldiers again tramping across the Western Hemisphere left him uncomfortable. It struck at the almost hereditary spirit, inculcated into his blood, that this hemisphere was a world to be left alone by the monarchies of Europe.

  Davis smiled as he scanned Judah's notes.

  "How long?" Davis asked.

  "It went out under a fast packet, flying French colors so it could not be stopped by the blockade."

  With that, Judah grinned. Fort McHenry still held, a ring of Union warships lying out in the harbor. No ships had been allowed in since the city fell, but through a nice sleight of legal hand, a ship's ownership had been reassigned to a French company, and by international law it could not then be prevented from sailing. The incident two years earlier of Confederate diplomats being stopped on the high seas by the Union navy aboard a ship flying English colors had almost precipitated war, and since then the Lincoln administration had been careful to a fault to avoid a repeat. The ship had been allowed to pass, with the consul's assistant on board.

  "The ship should arrive within the week in France. Maybe as early as three or four days from now if the passage is smooth. We paid extra for the fastest ship in the harbor and a full load of fuel on board. A month from now we might hear the results."

  A group of civilian well-wishers came down and the president stood up, extending his hand, Lee standing as well and then backing away from the crowd, though for several minutes he had to endure a small crowd of young ladies who gathered around him, beaming, pressing him with questions, which he politely answered until Walter came up to him with the "usual" excuse that there were some "urgent issues that needed to be addressed."

  Grateful as always for Walter's tactful help, he moved away from the crowd. Benjamin detached himself as well and walked over to Lee's side. Without comment the two drifted away, walking down to the line of artillery pieces, the gunners swabbing the bores clean. At Lee's approach a gunnery captain sensed that the general wanted some privacy, and detailed the men off. Lee returned the man's salute and nodded his head in thanks.

  The storm from the west was coming closer and the other gu
n crews were laying tarps over limber chests and gun barrels. The breeze was cool, refreshing.

  "I assume the president told you he is returning to Richmond tomorrow?" Benjamin asked.

  "Yes, he mentioned it just before the review."

  "But I'll be staying on for a while."

  Lee smiled. He had developed a genuine affection for Benjamin, whereas the presence of Davis had seriously disrupted the routine at headquarters and imposed significantly on his own time, with Davis asking for daily conferences, discussions, and meetings with various representatives from Maryland. It was a political side of his job that he was glad to be freed from.

  Lee looked across the field. He was used to a large degree of independence in his operations, answering to no one, and to have Davis now sitting in on every council of war, and attempting to be, at times, part of the planning, had made things difficult

  "Impressive review today, General Lee."

  Yes, it had indeed been impressive, and for a moment he had allowed it to sweep him away. There was something about tens of thousands of troops, massed together, the cheering, the music, the precision of columns on the march, that stirred his soul like nothing else. At such moments one did indeed feel invincible. War had changed so much since he had taken the oath on the plains of West Point so many years ago, but the moments of pageantry had not gone away, and they masked the illusion of what the real purpose was.

  He had agreed to the pressure exerted by the president to make another try on Washington, though he felt it would be an exercise in futility, except for one hope, that by threatening the capital yet again, it just might dislodge Grant, Sickles, or both from their inaccessible enclaves north of the Susquehanna.

  The ring was beginning to tighten and Lee knew it Davis had impressed upon him for the last three weeks that the thought of Baltimore falling back into Union hands was intolerable, and he had to agree, that now, after taking it after the public joining of Maryland to the Confederacy-though there had been no real benefit from that so far other than grist for the newspapers-they could not let it fall.