Grant Comes East cw-2

by Newt Gingrich

  Sincerely, Abraham Lincoln

  Sergeant Miller knew that if this promise would indeed be honored, this was now a cause worth dying for.

  Headquarters Army of Northern Virginia

  August 19,1863 10:00 p.m.

  It had been a long day. General Lee looked up at Venable and nodded wearily. "Was it really that bad?" Lee asked. "Sir, it's hard to say, but I saw what was left of Pickett. The division most likely took fifty per cent casualties, maybe more. I can't speak for McLaws, but I know Robertson was hit hard as well, but we stopped them cold."

  Lee wearily shook his head. Pickett had been ordered to delay, to draw back slowly, not get into a head-on confrontation with an entire corps, two corps actually, from the sound of Venable's report.

  Every man lost was one less man available for the real fight, the confrontation with Grant that Lee knew would come next. So far it had, more or less, gone according to plan. Sickles was in the field on his own, the garrison in Washington still immobilized, Grant still in Harrisburg. No news from Wade Hampton, but that was to be expected; in another day or two he would most likely cross the river with details regarding the dispositions of the enemy forces.

  He had to defeat Sickles in detail. Not just another defeat and retreat, but to take him out of battle forever. Then turn back on Washington, harass it, and wait for Grant to emerge and come to the relief of the city. He had assumed all along that Grant would do so, but would do it in conjunction with Sickles, a combined force he could not have defeated except with extreme luck. Pickett wasting his division in a stand-up fight… well, he would deal with that later.

  "Get some rest, son. Colonel Alexander will find you a comfortable place and a surgeon to look after that wound." "Sir, I should report back to General Longstreet." "An order from me, son. Get some rest, get your wound attended to. Tomorrow you'll have more than enough to do."

  Venable nodded.

  "Thank you, sir. And bless you."

  "And God bless you, too," Lee responded.

  Venable left his tent.

  Lee looked back down at the map spread before him. Longstreet, with Hood overlapping his position, had things well enough in hand. Together they could parry any thrust Sickles might offer, and it was more than fair to assume Sickles would indeed attack come dawn.

  He would have preferred that it was Hood or Longstreet guiding the next step in his plan, but the simple logistics of marching order had put Beauregard on his left, and thus it would be Beauregard's role to spring the trap come morning. Instinct told him that he should move to that flank. Beauregard was an unknown quantity and that was where his moral influence could have the greatest impact. He decided then and there to arise long before dawn and ride to the left of the line.

  There was nothing more he could do now. Outside his tent he could hear his weary troops marching by, men who had forced-marched over forty miles, the last of the columns coming up, exhausted, staggering, the stragglers now filling the roads as well, provost marshals guiding them to where their units should be deploying.

  Judah Benjamin had come up to join him and was asleep now in the next tent, stricken by the intense heat of the day. He longed to talk to him but knew he could not disturb the man. He had been dangerously ill by the time he reached headquarters, and even now a surgeon was still attending him, wrapping his body in cool, wet towels.

  What I would give now for but one more corps, he thought yet again, the conversation with Rabbi Rothenberg still" haunting him. If we had acted that day, that very day when Maryland had declared for the Confederacy, even now a hundred thousand more would be mobilizing across the South. There was many a man of color already in the ranks, those of half blood, quarter blood, servants loyal to their masters, even here and there freemen who had fallen in with local friends, but the majority? The vast majority, they of course would never fight for a cause that in the end only promised them bondage.

  France would be inconsequential this year, most likely always. The crisis was here and it was now. I have but one army left; I spent a fair part of it at Gettysburg and Union Mills. I spent more of it before Washington and now again today on Gunpowder River. I can spend no more and yet still hope to win.

  But one corps more and how different it might all be, a decision that, if given the chance, I myself would proclaim and adhere to. We are saddled by this madness of slavery, this abomination that sets men against men, though of a different color, nevertheless, still created by the Creator. The rabbi was right; in Heaven would we dwell separately? What would the Savior say of this?

  Too many thoughts were beginning to flood in, diverting him from the moment, the task ahead in the next day, the next week.

  He leaned over and blew out the coal oil lamp. Standing up, he unbuttoned his tunic and took it off, draping it over a chair, and then knelt

  "My God. Guide me as to what Thy will shall be. May there be some purpose in Your eyes for the suffering that now afflicts our nation. Those who fell today, both friend and foe, I beg You to grant them eternal joy in Your presence, and grant peace to those who mourn. I beg this in the name of Jesus. Amen."

  He lay down upon his cot and tried to go to sleep while outside his tent men continued to march through the night.

  Chapter Twenty

  Headquarters Army of Northern Virginia

  August 20,1863 4:00 a.m.

  'T'here had been precious little sleep, and with the JL announcement that Pete Longstreet had arrived, Walter had come in as ordered, bearing a cup of coffee, and gendy shaken him awake. As Lee stood and stretched, he wiped his brow; the night was sultry, hot, promising another day of killing heat. He pitied his men having to fight in this.

  Walter handed him the tin cup, and he gratefully took it, gingerly holding the handle, blowing on the rim, inhaling the rich fragrance.

  He caught a glimpse of Longstreet standing outside and motioned for him to come in. Pete looked haggard, eyes dark, blood staining his uniform. Venable had told him about their nearly getting overrun by the charge, of Pete in the middle of it, pistol drawn, dropping a Yankee at nearly point-blank range.

  Pete was carrying a cup of coffee as well, and Lee motioned for him to sit down on one of the folding camp chairs.

  "General Longstreet, a favor this day," Lee said.

  "Anything, sir."

  "Stay back from the fighting."

  Longstreet lowered his head.

  "It caught me by surprise as well, sir, that charge, the way they came in. I didn't expect it."

  "Even if they didn't charge, you were within easy range of musket fire. I cannot bear to lose you, sir, you have become my right arm."

  He chose that phrase deliberately and Longstreet looked up at him startled, features suddenly going red.

  "Thank you, sir. I will of course follow your orders."

  "Very good, General; now tell me what has transpired."

  He briefly reviewed the previous day's action, Lee shaking his head as Pete described the breaking of Pickett's division and the relentless Yankee charge that followed.

  "I thought all division commanders were clearly aware that we cannot afford the loss of a single man in such an action. Why did General Pickett press the attack so? Why did he not fall back as we discussed in our last staff meeting prior to the return march on Washington?"

  "Sir, you know George. His enthusiasm for a fight was up; he thought he saw a chance to drive the Yankees."

  "An entire corps or more?"

  "I know. I should have come up earlier to supervise him, but the long march; frankly, sir, I'll confess I was on the point of collapse myself from the heat."

  "Don't blame yourself. That is why we are supposed to have division commanders, men who can think independently when required, but also men who can balance that independence with an understanding of the broader scope of the plan. I am gravely disappointed in General Pickett for throwing such a fine division into a frontal battle when he should have given ground back slowly, leading Sickles into our
main advance."

  "I agree."

  "I am not going to relieve him, but I shall indeed talk to him once this fight is over. Now, tell me, how bad was it?"

  "The returns still are not in, a lot of stragglers, but I believe we lost close to five thousand men yesterday, roughly four thousand of those with Pickett. Garnett is dead, Kemper severely wounded and out of this campaign."

  Lee sighed. Another division fought out Four veteran divisions fought out since June; Heth, Pender, Anderson, and Pickett nothing more than shattered wrecks. God, how much longer can we bear this cost?

  "There is one positive side to this," Longstreet interjected. "Pickett savaged their Third Corps. We took some prisoners when they finally fell back, and word is that their First Division is now a hollow wreck."

  'Trading man for man is a game we can never win," Lee replied.

  "I know that, General, sir, but as you have told me repeatedly these last few weeks, this is a battle against General Sickles. That was his old corps and he had his pride in that corps. Well, sir, I understand that pride. His men took terrible losses yesterday, but ultimately they did drive one of our best divisions from the field. Sickles will be spoiling for a new fight this morning."

  Lee nodded in agreement.

  "Everything is set?"

  "Yes, sir. We will engage just after dawn, then retreat as you planned."

  Lee smiled, blowing again on the rim of his cup. Yes, Longstreet was right. It was a chess match, and Sickles would move aggressively forward, especially if he thought he saw the queen moving off the field. His passions would be up after yesterday's losses and the momentary glimpse of what he thought was victory. Lee understood that feeling; it had almost seized him as well more than once.

  "Fine then, General. It's after four in the morning. Daylight will be upon us soon. God watch over you. I am going to join Beauregard on the left and I will see you at sundown when we close on Sickles's army."

  Headquarters Army of the Potomac

  August 20, 1863 4:30 a.m

  Gen. Dan Sickles stepped out of his tent, stretching, looking out across the plains south of Gunpowder River. The smoke from a thousand circling camps hung low in the early-morning mist, men gathered about the fires, cooking breakfasts, orders ringing in the still air, companies beginning to form up.

  All of it filled him with a deep pleasure, a love for all that this had given him. The smell of fatback frying, the wood smoke, the rich heavy air of an August morning, the shadowy glimpses of companies forming lines, companies forming into regiments, and regiments into brigades, all these were sources of satisfaction.

  Men were beginning to load up, rolling up blanket rolls and slinging them on, buttoning uniform jackets. A group of men from one of his New York regiments were gathered in a circle, on their knees, heads bowed as a priest offered absolution and then communion. Nearby another group, Baptists probably, were standing with heads bowed as one of them read a Psalm.

  Here and there a drum sounded, a few notes of a bugle; a flag was uncased and held up, officers rode back and forth shouting orders and encouragements. All of it sent a chill down his spine. A few years back he couldn't have dreamed that there would be such a moment in his life, and.he thanked God that it had been given to him. He loved this army more than his own ambitions. His pride in it was unbounded, and today he would do his all to see them served rightly, to give unto them the victory they had thirsted for across two bitter years, a victory they so richly deserved. Once achieved, nothing could ever take that away from them, no general out of the West, no president in the White House. No one could ever steal away again the honor of the Army of the Potomac.

  Yesterday, in that final charge, he had sensed the moment when Warren had swept forward, thought that perhaps here was the moment when they would see the Army of Northern Virginia break at last, flee the field, the glorious banner, the Stars and Stripes, sweeping the field of all who dared to oppose it. It had been so close, except for that final shock, the cunning trap at the edge of the cornfield. He had to admit it was masterful, a grudging nod to old foes, most likely Long-street.

  But that would not happen today.

  All three corps were deploying now. His battered Third on the left, the Fifth to the right, again the Sixth in the second line. They would advance as one. If Lee wished a stand-up fight like yesterday, he would give it to him, but he doubted if Lee would stand. He knew the numbers. Lee could no longer afford such losses; he would give back, retreat, most likely falling back on the defenses of Baltimore. If they could but trigger the beginning of a rout, get Lee dislodged, just for once, and on the run, they could bowl him over and win the day, and in that winning of the day win the war.

  And, thinking coldly, he knew it had to be today. Parker was still with him, still waving his orders. If he did not press the engagement at dawn, claiming he was forced into the fight, he would have to fall back as ordered. If he refused a direct order while not caught in the heat of battle, even his staunchest advocates would no longer be able to defend him. And once he pulled back, he knew Grant would replace him. He had to press it today; this was his one and only chance, and he smiled at the thought of it This was just the kind of gambit he reveled in.

  An orderly came up, leading his mount Already, in the predawn light, the skirmish lines were coming to life after their night of informal truce. The battle had begun.

  The White House

  August 20, 1863 5:00 am.

  ‘Good morning, Jim, how are you today?'

  Lincoln walked into the kitchen, and at the sight of him the servants began to scurry. James Bartlett who obviously had been asleep, head resting on a table, looked up, startled, and came to his feet Lincoln smiled.

  "Sorry, Mr. President, must have dozed off," James said a bit nervously, and Lincoln smiled again.

  "Wish I could doze off like that It's been a long night" "Sir, would you like some breakfast?" James asked. "What do we have?"

  "I could get you a nice slab of smoked ham, sir, a couple of eggs, freshly ground coffee." "That sounds good, Jim."

  The servant looked over at the kitchen staff, who did not need to be told. Within seconds the ham was being sliced, eggs cracked into a frying pan. Lincoln sat down at the servants' kitchen table and motioned for Jim to sit as well. The man looked at him, a bit surprised.

  "I'd like some company for breakfast Jim, join me."

  "Sir?"

  "You must be hungry, too, after a long night. Make that an order for two breakfasts and join me." "Yes, Mr. President"

  The staff looked over at the two wide-eyed, saying nothing as more eggs went into the frying pan.

  "Have you heard at all from your son and grandson?" Lincoln asked.

  "Not a word in nearly two weeks, sir. I know they're drilling in Philadelphia; word is they are to become part of General Burnside's corps."

  "Not a word?"

  "No, sir, the last letter was dated two weeks back. They're in good health and they say the men of their regiments are eager to get into the fight"

  Lincoln smiled. His letter to Jim's son was a secret; word would come back soon enough, and he could imagine the man's delight, this man who had known every president since Jefferson. It was not in any way whatsoever a calculated move, though he knew that everything a president did, from where he walked to whom he smiled at, was reported and commented on remorselessly. If a letter from a president to a colored soldier should become news, then so be it. It would show his own resolve on this matter and serve notice as to his intentions once this madness was finished.

  They were coming down now, in this crisis, to a question of numbers, and the men of his breakfast companion's race might very well be the final weight that tipped the scales.

  After the horror of the draft riots, he had carefully and quietly rescinded the draft in most places. Besides, Grant and others reported that the draftee troops coming in were worse than useless, an actual burden on the army, the bulk of them deserting, many of them, besm
irching the honor of their uniforms by thievery, desertion, cowardice. The Vacant ranks must be filled, but in this country the tradition still was that it had to be volunteers. After the disasters of the spring and summer, draftees and bounty men were not the answer, and in fact would hinder this final effort.

  It would have to be the men of color of this nation. The offer now was plain and clear. Not just emancipation, though he knew that if he was ever to honor the promise of the Declaration of Independence, full emancipation for all was a foregone conclusion. But what after that? There was a time when he had agreed to the idea of returning these men and women of Africa back to their homeland, filled with doubt that after the bitter legacy of slavery, and the way it polluted both sides, the two races could live side by side.

  He knew now that was impossible. As he looked at Jim, who sat self-consciously across the table from him, as he looked into this man's eyes, he could see the divine spark, the core of humanity that made him an equal in every sense of the word. It was the quiet, humble courage of this man on the terrible day when it looked as if Washington might fall that had stiffened his own resolve. It was the look on the faces of the men of Colonel Shaw's regiment as they charged to the front, the pride in their faces when the following week he had received a delegation of them in the White House, that made him realize that all along he had been guided toward this path and understanding.

  The promise had to be full equality, full rights, a place beside all men. This was now the great experiment of this nation. For more than four score years the experiment had simply been one of freedom-could common men govern themselves wisely? Most of the world had at first watched scornfully but now stood in admiration, and, for some, yes, even fear for all that this rule of common man implied.

  Now that question had evolved to the more fundamental one-could they indeed create a nation in which all men did have full and equal rights? A new America was evolving; the poet he had met sang of it, of a brawling, growing strength, of farms, factories, cities, and villages filling an entire continent. Men and women from around the world were now flooding in, drawn by the promise of the dream, of those first lines of the Declaration. The Irish with their strange Catholic ways, which many hated, but it was the Irish who had stormed the heights of Fredericksburg and Union Mills, and surely their blood had bought them a right to this land. The Germans, the Scandinavians filling the woods of Minnesota, even the Chinese coming off the boats in San Francisco to work the gold fields. Was this not now the great experiment, and were not the son and grandson of the man sitting across from him entitled to it as well?