Grant Comes East cw-2

by Newt Gingrich

  Of course, though he had not discussed it too much with Lee, now was the chance to win some glory as well. Lancaster would be in their pockets tomorrow morning. A day's hard ride could even take them to Reading and what a treat it would be to cut the major junction of so many rail lines, in effect all but isolating Grant from the Eastern seaboard. It would be a whirlwind of chaos for the Yankees, exceeding anything Jeb had done the year before in the Peninsula. To think even about venturing into the outskirts of Philadelphia was not beyond reach, tearing up tracks and burning bridges as they advanced. His boys would certainly enjoy the ride in such a rich countryside, and enjoy even more the chance to wreck some locomotives along the way.

  The ferryboat down below on the river docked, and twenty more of his troopers got off, leading their horses, whooping and hollering as they mounted and galloped up the slope.

  It was a grand day to be in the cavalry and Wade soaked up the moment with joy. The campaign had begun.

  Paris, France

  August 16,1863 3:00 a.m.

  Emperor Napoleon III studied the dispatch carefully, sitting alone. There would be time later to sit with advisors, his wife, and confidants to discuss all that it implied. The dispatch had arrived from the coast only the hour before; advance word of its coming via the semaphore link to Le Havre had kept him awake in anticipation.

  News had come at the start of the month about Lincoln's defeat and the shattering of his army. The newspapers, as usual, had overblown the details but he could surmise that though nothing could ever rival his uncle's victory at Auster-litz, still it was a worthy victory for the Southern cause.

  But this news now, of the fall of the Union's third largest city, the secession of yet another state, that was news indeed. Could it finally signal that the Yankee cause was unraveling?

  He sipped from his glass of wine, reading the dispatch yet again, the evaluation of the Confederate army, the appraisal of President Davis and of this General Lee. Yes, he would have made a worthy marshal of the empire. He had breeding, strength, audacity, and luck.

  He knew what his own generals and admirals would say. That there was too much risk. That Mexico was proving harder than first anticipated, that other countries in Europe might take advantage of the situation if France committed more resources to the Americas.

  Did that ever stop his uncle? The name of Bonaparte was not made through caution.

  He could see it clearly. Here was a chance to forever establish French dominance. Help the South, let them win, and that contemptible American nation divides and in short order divides yet again into internal squabblings. Within a generation, a new empire of his own creation would flourish, as that of the old empire should have flourished fifty years ago.

  As for the Yankees' much vaunted ironclads, they had yet to meet a true ship of Europe. Le Gloire, the pride of the French navy, and her sister ships, ironclads as powerful as anything the Yankee tinkers might fashion, would leave nothing but wreckage in their wake. Land a few brigades of troops, engineers, artillery on the border with Texas, and there build a base to operate from. Then sweep northward.

  Perhaps even Spain could be Coaxed into the coalition. Cuba could offer a fine port to help sweep the arrogant blockade from the coast of Florida and perhaps even as far as South Carolina.

  He smiled as he contemplated all that was possible. A new coalition, Catholic Austria and Spain, with France in the lead, reversing all the misfortunes that had befallen the world since 1815. For the slaveholding South he cared not a whit; they were just a means to an end, a humbling of England, a realignment of the balance of power. His fleets, operating out of Vera Cruz, Brownsville, Havana, would re-establish the glory that should be France's. The other European powers, except for England, would see the rightness of this as well. Russia, which had sent its pathetic fleet to New York City the winter before, would stand back, not wishing to risk yet another humiliation like the one he had dealt it in the Crimea. Those tradesmen across the Channel, so intent on their profits, would not stir. They will not come into the fight for the South, but they most certainly will not align themselves with that damnable uncouth lawyer from the frontier. They will sit it out and by the time they realize their folly, it will be too late. Mexico will be taken, perhaps even gains in the Caribbean.

  Yes, he would commit to this. It was time.

  In Front of Fort Stevens

  August 16, 1863 8:00a.m.

  General Lee looked around at the gathering of officers. They were camped in nearly the same spot that had been his headquarters the month before. Yet the feeling was different now. The men were rested, the weather fair, though promising an intense heat by later in the day.

  Longstreet had just ridden in; Beauregard and Hood were already present. Stuart was fifty miles to the north, deployed toward the Susquehanna. He had privately given Jeb his orders the night before, the cavalier grinning as he rode off. Lee smiled as Longstreet rode up and dismounted. "Good marching weather," Pete said, coming under the awning and taking a cup of coffee. "Roads are good, weather's fine, the men know something is up." "It's hard to keep it hidden at times," Lee replied. He looked around at the gathering and began. "We're not going to attack this city again," he announced. Beauregard stirred in his seat but held back from comment.

  "I know this seems like an elaborate effort for nothing, putting all but one division on the road again. At the very least, let us say it's given our army a chance to stretch its legs again, to not turn into garrison troops. But an attack on Washington is out of the question now."

  "Then I hope you will inform us as to your intent, sir," Beauregard said calmly, looking straight at Lee.

  "Yes. I think I should. We will demonstrate along this line today, tomorrow, and the day after, if need be. I want increased activity. I want all three of you to move cautiously when it comes to your personal safety. The Yankees have sharpshooters in their works, yet I want you to be seen, as if surveying the line for an attack. I want night probes; don't hesitate to burn off some powder; we have plenty of captured Union powder in reserve now. I want them to think that we are preparing a full-scale assault across the entire front."

  "Sir, if we should see some promise of success, I'd counsel going in," Beauregard offered. "Perhaps another night attack; my boys are up to it."

  Lee emphatically shook his head.

  "General Beauregard. We have no more reserves. I will not venture the horrific casualties it will take to storm this city."

  "Even if we did take it now," Longstreet interjected, looking at Beauregard, "we couldn't hold it for long."

  Lee nodded his thanks. The relationship with Beauregard had been stiff ever since the man's arrival. Though Davis had made it clear that Lee was in command of this campaign, Beauregard was already chafing at being subordinate to a man he had outranked little more than a year ago. Twice he had requested independent command since his arrival, and each time Lee had reined him in, the first time with soft diplomacy, the second time more sharply, with a clear statement of who was in command. It would be like Beauregard to let a probe or reconnaissance turn into a full-pitched bat-tie, and Lee looked straight at him.

  "My orders are clear. Absolutely no general engagement is to be initiated. Demonstrations only. I don't want some hot-headed brigadier or division commander getting carried away, and, gentlemen, I will hold the three of you directly responsible if such a situation does develop. Do I make myself clear on this?"

  Again the harsh tone that since Union Mills and the firing of Dick Ewell had become more and more his way of managing this army. He looked straight into the eyes of each man and waited until they nodded in agreement. Beauregard nodded and lowered his head.

  "Then why?" Beauregard finally asked.

  "I'll discuss the details in due time, gentlemen," Lee replied.

  Longstreet, ever the poker player, revealed nothing. Hood simply smiled, used to how Lee preferred to run things.

  "For the moment, gentlemen, demonstration only. Y
ou are not to discuss anything with your subordinates other than the orders just given.

  ‘I want all of you to be ready to move at a moment's notice, to move fast and light."

  "I think I know what's coming," Hood finally ventured.

  "In due time, General. We all learned our lesson last fall at Sharpsburg when it came to the security of our operations. This next effort might entail a serious risk. Do not think my reticence is out of mistrust; rather it is simply out of concern for our safety and ultimate success."

  "I wish we had thirty thousand more men," Hood said quietly.

  "We don't," Lee snapped. "All we will ever have is what now marches in our ranks. There is no sense in wishing for more. We have a preponderance of artillery now, and I plan to see that used." He looked around at the gathering.

  "Any questions?"

  No one spoke.

  "Fine then, gentlemen. Let us see to our duty. The moment I feel that all is ready I will pass to each of you detailed orders, which are to be followed to the letter. Remember though, when it starts, it must be done with speed."

  He stood up, indicating that the meeting was over.

  The generals walked off, all except Longstreet, who lingered by the table.

  "I think you ruffled up Beauregard," Pete said.

  "Perhaps, but all it takes is for one loose-mouthed staff officer to spread the word; it leaks into Washington, and then an order goes out forbidding Sickles to move. I'm hoping now that the exact opposite will happen, that Sickles might very well get the order to move, and when he does, we are ready. Walter and Jed have done a magnificent job of drawing up routes of march, deployment of supplies, even possible positions for the bulk of our artillery so they can move quickly to where they are needed. This one is well planned, General Longstreet; all I have to do is give the word to go. I'm confident on this one."

  Longstreet nodded back to the map and pointed at Harrisburg.

  "Suppose he doesn't do what you expect. Then what?"

  "Sickles?"

  "No, Grant, sir. That is now our main concern."

  "He will," Lee replied. "Grant will hesitate, caught off balance by Sickles, and then the administration will force him to detach troops to cover here. No, they will tie his hands as they have all the others."

  "I hope so," was all Longstreet could say.

  Harrisburg, Pennsylvania

  August 17,1863 9:00 p.m.

  Haupt, good to see you." Grant came out of his chair, extending a hand as the frail figure of Gen. Herman Haupt stood by the open flap of his tent

  The appearance of the man shocked him. He was wasting away by the day; by the light of the coal oil lamp he had a pale, yellowish cast to his skin, his cheeks were hollow, eyes sunken.

  As Haupt took a seat across from Grant, the general made a decision, uncharacteristically, without reflection or contemplation of the impact it might have on his plans.

  "Haupt, I think I should relieve you of your office. Send you home for a month or two."

  Haupt looked up at him angrily and shook his head.

  "I respectfully decline, sir."

  "Damn it, man, you are dying."

  Haupt smiled.

  "Not yet, and besides you need me."

  "Yes, I need you, but a lot of good you will do me or the army if you are dead."

  "Not by a long shot yet, sir. Give me a few more weeks, let me sort out a few things, and then I'll take the leave you suggest."

  "Suppose I order you to go home now, tonight?" Haupt chuckled.

  "I'd refuse. And then what? Court-martial me for insubordination?"

  Grant shook his head and laughed softly. "No, I'd never do that, Herman." "It's getting better, sir."

  He could see the lie in that but decided that for the moment he could not push the issue further.

  "What do you have for me?" Grant asked.

  "I barely got through. It's chaos not fifty miles from here. Hampton's taken Lancaster and is even now riding toward Reading. I'll confess, he's made a mess of things for us. He caught a number of supply trains in the rail yard at Lancaster. Wrecked nine locomotives."

  Grant could see that such wanton destruction of his precious machines troubled Haupt. At heart he was a builder, not a destroyer.

  "We'll take care of him. But what else?"

  "I've got ten more batteries of guns coming down from Albany. I'm routing them around Lancaster and Reading and they should be here late tomorrow. Remounts are still coming in via the Pennsylvania railroad."

  Haupt paused for a moment, reached into his haversack, and pulled out a notebook, thumbing through the pages.

  "Let's see now. Two thousand, three hundred and fifty horses from Ohio, eight hundred and seventy mules from Ohio and Indiana as well. Seventy-five more wagons out of Lancaster before Hampton hit it. Two regiments from Illinois and one from Indiana should arrive here in three days. The colored regiments from Philadelphia will transfer here starting tomorrow. I'm routing them up to New York and then across to the Pennsylvania and Susquehanna through Pottsville, yet again to avoid Reading. Replacement bridging is in place at Wheeling for the Baltimore and Ohio, and a million rations should be stockpiled there by the end of the month. Vouchers to all the rail lines involved have been drawn as well."

  He thumbed through his notes.

  "Shoes. I've got fifty thousand more coming down from

  Massachusetts and Vermont, but that will take another week. We're still short of tentage; one of the trains Hampton took was loaded with them, and of replacement rails and some bridging material."

  "The pontoon bridges?"

  Haupt shook his head.

  "Only enough for five thousand feet so far. I'm pushing it hard, sir, but the routing of trains is still something of a tangle from the Midwest. We've yet to successfully shift all the rolling stock back out there, and it's causing problems."

  Grant extended his hand and patted Haupt on the arm.

  "You're doing fine, just fine, Haupt."

  Herman said nothing, eyes glazed as he stared off.

  "I'd like you to get some rest Haupt If I lose you, I lose the one man I'm relying on most right now."

  Haupt's shoulders seemed to sag, as if the words of comfort had placed upon him an additional burden.

  "Sorry, sir. Sorry I took sick at this time."

  "No apologies should be offered, Haupt."

  "I'll be on the pontoon bridges first thing in the morning."

  Grant sighed. There was no way he could simply detach this man, to send him home, to let him take a month to recover from his bout with dysentery. Even if he wanted to, he could not, not tonight

  "Go and get some rest, General. And that is an order."

  "Yes, sir."

  Haupt legs visibly trembling, stood up and saluted. Grant guided him out of the tent and watched him walk off. As Haupt disappeared, he caught Parker's eye.

  "Call for my surgeon again," Grant said. "I want that man taken care of."

  Parker saluted and followed Haupt.

  Grant stood by the open flap of his tent The night was cool, pleasant, a gentle breeze wafting in as he lit another cigar, coughed as he drew the first deep breath, inhaling the soothing smoke.

  In the open fields beyond, hundreds of campfires illuminated the night He could hear distant laughter, songs, a banjo playing. Nearby several officers were passing a flask, laughing.

  It was all so soothing, and in this moment, alone, he realized yet again that in spite of the horror, the tragedy of it all, he did love it. The scent of wood smoke on the breeze, mingled with the rich smell of hay, horses, a gentle August evening camped in the fields of Pennsylvania. Better, far better than Mississippi with its hot, sultry evenings without a breath of fresh air. This was good, a moment of pleasure regardless of all that had transpired in the last day.

  As he looked out over the encampment, the men, his men, victorious veterans of so many hard-fought campaigns, he was captivated yet again by the sense of destiny, of powe
r.

  He knew they were ready for the task ahead. It was strange how one could sense such things, as if the will of seventy thousand could become but a single voice, a voice that said that together all would see it through to the end, no matter what the cost.

  He closed the flap to his tent and returned to his desk. The urge for a drink was suddenly upon him. Strange how it would come when unexpected, unanticipated. Just one drink, a soothing taste to relieve the tension.

  But he had made the promise to one whose trust he desired, and though he knew that he could find the bottle easy enough, hidden away in his trunk, he gave it not a second thought.

  The latest dispatch from Washington had come in just before sunset Enemy fire all along a five-mile front heavy artillery bombardment, fear that a night assault might be launched.

  A copy of the New York Herald was on the table, declaring that Washington was on the brink of collapsing, a paper from Philadelphia decrying the continued slaughter, calling for Lincoln to meet with Davis to end the war.

  It was strange. He and Lincoln were separated by not more than a hundred and fifty miles, but they could, in one sense, be as far away as if Lincoln was in China. Dispatches had to be routed through Philadelphia, to Port Deposit, and then by courier boat to Washington. Here again Haupt had set up such an efficient system that the secured envelopes moved efficiently, for their communications could not be trusted to any wire, where along the way a telegrapher could accept ten dollars from a reporter to divulge what the two were saying to each other.