Grant Comes East cw-2

by Newt Gingrich

  And yet it was as if Lincoln was sitting with him now, in this tent, telling him to stay the course, to hold fast, to do what they had discussed in their brief meeting of a month past.

  If anything, the cutting off of Washington was perhaps one of the great blessings of this campaign. Unlike McClellan, Burnside, Hooker, or Meade, he was, in fact, free. He was not tied by hourly telegraphs bombarding him with orders, counter-orders, demands, and entreaties. And yet he knew that something had changed in Lincoln as well. He remembered sitting in the White House, the two of them talking, Lincoln sharing the story of the colored White House servant who wanted to fight.

  "That man focused the war for me, Grant," Lincoln had said. "He had not lost his nerve. He had seen the history of our republic across fifty years. He had seen the failure of the promise, but also the hope of the promise. I learned from him that we cannot fail, we will not fail, as long as men like him are willing to stand for what they believe in, to give the last full measure for what this dream of our republic can be."

  And in that meeting he had learned that Lincoln's will, combined with his determination to see it through no matter what the cost, could indeed prevail.

  Lee might very well attack Washington within the next day or two. He doubted that the man would take the risk. If the situation was reversed, he knew he would attack, regardless of loss, but the South could no longer afford that. But even if Washington did indeed fall, he would stay his own course and within a fortnight he would be ready to proceed.

  He chafed at the waiting. Ord, Logan, Burnside, even Banks were ready to go, but it still depended on Haupt, the gathering of the supplies, of horses and mules, wagons and limber chests. Lee had the preponderance in artillery, a strange reversal of the moment, but even that could be overcome.

  The waiting was painful, but it had to be endured till all the pieces were in place.

  Only when all was ready would he move. He would not make the mistake he had made last autumn in front of Vicksburg. Lee was too savvy an opponent to give him that opening. When the time came, Lee would have to be so soundly defeated, in the field, in an open fight, that the hopes of the South would be forever dashed. It was not just a battle on the field of action; it was a battle that would have to shatter, once and for all, their will to fight Otherwise this conflict could drag on for years, fought in the mountains and bayous, a bitter fight that would forever pollute any hope of reconciliation.

  He had to win, not just the battle, but the peace as well.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Perryville, Maryland

  Headquarters Army of the Potomac

  August 17, 1863 11:00 p.m.

  Gen. Dan Sickles sat alone, contemplating the goblet of brandy in his hand, swirling it, letting the thick drink coat the sides of the glass, inhaling the fragrance, then taking a sip.

  The moment had come. It had arrived faster than he had anticipated; another week, two weeks would have been preferable. He could still use another ten thousand in the ranks, some more guns. The Army of the Potomac was barely fifty thousand strong, two-thirds of them the old rank-and-file veterans, the remainder new troops, many of them ninety-day men. His recruiting effort had paid off handsomely, with returning veterans bringing four thousand new men into the ranks of seasoned regiments.

  The new regiments he had distributed into hardened brigades, and he hoped that something would rub off on them. He had less than twenty batteries of artillery, many of them just three or four guns, but the crews were die pick of the old Army of the Potomac, consolidated out of many of the old artillery reserve units. Of cavalry he was very short as well. Stoneman could barely put five thousand sabers into the field.

  All day long courier boats had scurried in from Washington. He had tried to intercept the dispatches destined for Grant, but they had been carried by men from Grant's headquarters who couldn't be swayed to reveal the contents.

  But the news was clear enough and he didn't need to read the dispatches and secrets of Grant He had so conveniently set up a telegraph station and announced it was open to whomever needed it on 'Vital business of the public interest" that reporters from the New York papers and the Associated Press were hurrying back to use it.

  Thus he knew a heavy bombardment had been going on for nearly two days; the rebels were firing off artillery ammunition with abandon, shelling the Washington fortification line along a seven-mile front. A dozen shots from the heavy guns had been dropped into the edge of the city. There was a report that one shell had burst on the Capitol grounds itself, killing a horse.

  Some reported an air of panic, especially among the colored of the city, who were desperate to get out, but passage on boats was forbidden except for military purposes.

  One report stated Lincoln had been wounded when he had gone up to watch the bombardment of Stevens, and that had created a true panic, only to be negated when the next dispatch boat anchored, the reporters on board dismissing the claim.

  All were convinced though that Lee was preparing an all-out assault, one that would strike perhaps within the day.

  Next there was the news of Wade Hampton. That had been confirmed when in a delightful display of arrogance Hampton personally sent a dispatch to the Philadelphia Inquirer via telegraph from Lancaster, inviting them to come and give an interview, or, if the paper desired, he would visit their offices within the week.

  Hampton had actually created a wonderful situation for the Army of the Potomac. Dispatches and orders between Harrisburg and Washington now had to be routed through New York and it was causing delays, confusion.

  It was wonderful. And Sickles was determined to take advantage of it

  "General Sickles, the dispatch from the War Department is here."

  Dan looked up; the sentry had opened the tent flap. A young captain, one of his own staff, entered and saluted, handing a sealed dispatch from Stanton. It was a private arrangement the two had agreed to the week before, and all day he had been anxiously awaiting what he hoped would be orders.

  Dan motioned for the man to wait and opened the envelope, recognizing Stanton's bold handwriting. He scanned the letter, then reread it again carefully, smiling.

  "How were things when you left?" Dan asked.

  "Sir, everyone's on edge. There was a report of an attack column being seen forming up along the Blandenburg road. Word is the rebels will attack this evening."

  Dan nodded, studying the dispatch. It was a copy; the original was already on its way to Grant, but he would not receive it until some time tomorrow. It was an appeal to Grant from Stanton to consider releasing additional reinforcements for Washington, but far more important, it was a request to authorize the Army of the Potomac to make a reconnaissance in force on Baltimore, by land, sea, or both, to ascertain if Baltimore could be retaken, and, if possible, to do so and from there to threaten Lee's rear. In addition there was a second note, in Stanton's hand, directed to Sickles. The wording of it was important and he studied it carefully.

  All indications are that the rebels will storm the capital today, or no later than tomorrow. This is based upon reliable intelligence gathered from deserters and observations of their movements. One of the primary missions of the Army of the Potomac since the start of this conflict has been the protection of this city and the Administration. Though final orders for troop movements must come from the General Commanding, nevertheless I believe it is within your authority to exercise the traditional role of the Army of the Potomac and to find some means to exert pressure upon the Army of Northern Virginia and divert them from this impending attack….

  It was precisely the excuse he had been looking for, an idea that had been well placed with several congressmen and senators across the last week and Stanton, as to be expected, snapped at the bait

  He dismissed the staff officer and settled back in his chair, pouring another drink, then lighting a cigar.

  Yes, there was an opportunity here that could come perhaps only once in a lifetime. It was fraught wit
h peril, but then again, what opportunity did not also pose a risk? He could steal the march and have the bulk of his forces across the river before Grant was even aware of what he was doing. He could, as well, then delay the recall, which he knew would come, doing so by the time-honored tradition of "lost" dispatches, misinterpretations, and claims that communications had been cut If cornered, he had this letter, direct from Stanton, as his defense, but by then he would already be into Baltimore, and at that point not even Grant would dare to venture a recall. Instead the general from the West would have to march to his support or appear to be the one playing politics, risking the Army of the Potomac out of a fit of pique that he had not achieved what this army of the East phoenix-like, had done on its own.

  Lee would not take this lying down. If already in the city of Washington, he would most likely try and hold that position, then turn with part of his force to engage. The numbers then would be almost even, forty-five to fifty thousand on each side. Lee would have to leave at least one of his three corps behind, most likely Beauregard's, to occupy the city. Then it would be an open stand-up fight.

  And if ever he had confidence in his boys, it was now. They had tasted the most bitter of defeats. The cowards, the shirkers, had all deserted, and though many a valiant lad and many a good senior officer had fallen in the last campaign, the core that was left was as tough as steel, wanting nothing more than revenge, to restore their honored name.

  With that victory his own place would be assured. Grant would be forced to treat him as a co-commander, and that upstart so unfamiliar with the finer nuances of politics, would soon be left in the dust and it would become clear to the public that he, Sickles, had won this war.

  He savored that thought. The chance to prove his own mettle was here at last. The life of a ward heeler, of a mere congressman, of the snickers behind his back over that ridiculous Key affair, would be finished forever. Most important the 1864 campaign for president loomed ahead.

  There was, as well, within his soul, a still loftier ambition. His love of his country could not be questioned by any who truly knew him, though his vision of what that country was, and should be, might differ greatly from those of the ones born to wealth and position. He had clawed his way up, and he knew that nowhere else in this world could one such as he have reached the heights he now occupied. This country had to be saved, its brawling energy, its factories and urban power, and all that derived from that power, expanded to encompass the Western world. Too many good comrades had died for that end. He wanted their deaths to be worth something.

  As he contemplated his brandy, tears came to his eyes, for despite his public bluster and bravado, he was at heart a sentimentalist, so typical of his age. The sight of the flag, shot, torn, fluttering in the wind, could still move him to tears. For his army, his Army of the Potomac, he felt a love deeper than any he had ever known. They were his boys, his men. He loved them with a passion, and they knew it, returning his love. They knew him first as a brigade commander, then division, corps, and now finally army, never afraid to stand on the volley line, a fighting general who had all but begged across two years to be unleashed and bring victory.

  Victory, in a week I could bring victory.

  He drained the rest of his goblet and poured out the remainder of the bottle.

  Faces drifted before him, so many comrades gone, men of the old Excelsior Brigade, his first command, bled out in the Peninsula, at Antietam, Fredericksburg, Union Mills. Without hesitation they had gone forward on every field, always following the colors, the flag, always the flag going forward, God bless them.

  He remembered a flag bearer from the city, the scum of the gutter before the war, ennobled by it in the end. It was at Chancellorsville, that ghastly, obscene debacle that he could have so easily reversed into a Union victory of historic proportions. They were retreating, and a flag bearer staggered to his side, looked up, and gasped, "Sir, I just want you to know, the flag never touched the ground."

  The man collapsed, dying, and yet still he struggled to plant the staff in the ground, to keep the colors aloft.

  A dozen of the dying man's comrades gathered around him, taking the colors from his cold hands, holding them aloft, weeping, begging to be ordered back in to restore their honor.

  "My God," he whispered, "with such men, how can we fail."

  He looked back down at his drink. No more, and he tossed the goblet to the ground, crushing it under his heel.

  I must be clear tomorrow, the boys expect it of me. If we are to win, if we are to save our country, I must be clear.

  At this moment he knew there was but one man who could achieve that victory, and the thought humbled him.

  I must risk all now, act swiftly, firmly, and without hesitation.

  The plan for movement was already in place, carefully devised, in secret, with his staff. Before dawn the steam-powered ferries of the Philadelphia, Wilmington, and Baltic more railroad, capable of hauling an entire train across the river in ten minutes, would swing into action, joined by the small flotilla of barges, canal boats, tugs, and ferries that had been quietly gathered on the north bank of the river over the last four weeks. By mid-afternoon he'd have a full corps across, his old glorious Third, followed then by the Fifth later in the day and the Sixth during the night. Once across, the Third would undertake a forced march on Baltimore via the main road through Abington and Gunpowder Falls, the Fifth along the road through Bel Air, the Sixth to follow as reserve. In two days they should be into Baltimore and victory. And several hours before starting the crossing, he would, as well, cut all telegraph lines to the north. Let Grant and the reporters both wait in ignorance until he could announce the victory of the Army of the Potomac.

  His own ambitions were overwhelmed for the moment, and in his dreams transcended his personal desires. We can end the war here and now. He knew enough of Lee to realize that perhaps he was walking onto a field of Lee's design.

  Then so be it, for once engaged he would drive forward with a determination the likes of which the Army of Northern Virginia had never before witnessed.

  And the men driving forward would be his chosen band of brothers, his comrades of the Army of the Potomac. In forty-eight hours it would be decided; he would be on the path to the presidency or he would be dead, of that he was convinced. With the Army of the Potomac by his side, he could not conceive of the latter. Victory was just ahead, a vision before him, just on the other side of the river.

  Near Reamstown, Pennsylvania

  August 18,1863 6:00 am.

  Wade Hampton reined in his mount, raising his field glasses to scan the dust swirling up from the west, several riders coming fast.

  A troop of cavalry, some of his North Carolina boys, many of them on fine, sleek horses freshly requisitioned from Pennsylvania farmers, trotted past, heading northeast, pushing toward Reading. This was a wonderful country for horses. The remounts taken in the last campaign had been vastly superior to what they had been riding only two months ago, but here, in this untouched land, could be found horses of true breeding, strength, and endurance. His brigade was for once overloaded with horses, some of the troopers leading a couple of remounts as they rode.

  Behind him pillars of smoke filled the morning sky. Following the tracks of the railroad that led toward Reading, the boys had been having a grand time of it, burning bridges, destroying supplies they could not bring along, knocking over water towers, and smashing switches. The evening before they had staged a grand spectacle as a parting show in Lancaster. Two trains, one hauling tank cars filled with coal oil, had been deployed a mile apart, their engines stoked up, brakes released, and throttles set to full. The amateur engineers then jumped off, and with hundreds of troopers whooping and hollering like small boys bent on devilish mischief, they watched as the trains built up speed and collided head-on, the tank cars loaded with thousands of gallons of coal oil bursting into flames. Even the civilians had watched the show with awe, children running about excitedly, laughing a
nd clapping at this orgy of destruction.

  The local farmers, many of them of the strange Amish and Mennonite sects, had proven to be a dour lot, but so far there had been no problems. His boys had acted, as always, as proper sons of the South, respectful of women, especially the young ladies and the elderly. And more than one had actually coaxed a smile with his charming drawl and courtly manners, even as they handed out vouchers left and right for horses and food. They had noticed, as well, just how many healthy young men were standing about as if there were no war being fought but fifty miles away, or now galloping past their own farms. It was troubling. He could understand these strange Amish who had taken a vow of peace, like the Quakers, but many were not of the religious dissenters. There was barely a town in South Carolina where a healthy man between sixteen and forty-five could be found. There were enough here in just this one county to raise an entire brigade.

  His men had ridden out of Lancaster in high spirits. The farms of the Amish and Mennonites had proven to be a virtual bonanza of food-slabs of hickory-smoked ham, tubs of something they called scrapple, links of fat sausages, beefsteaks, chickens, geese hung from nearly every saddle. To get fresh, roasting ears of corn or apples all one had to do was turn off the road for a moment and lean over a fence to gather in all he might desire. Loaves of fresh bread stuck out of haversacks, and a ruckus ensued when a trooper just ahead of him rode past one of his comrades and slapped the man's hat, which he had been cradling in his lap. A couple of dozen eggs were ruptured and a gooey fight broke out as broken eggs were thrown back and forth, the boys laughing.