Antebellum (Gone For Soldiers)

by Jeffry S. Hepple

  Anna thought a moment, then smiled. “I’ll have to write that one down in my Lincoln quotation book.”

  “You better not since I stole it from a little-known English poet named William Blake,” Lincoln replied.

  Anna’s smile broadened. “When I from black and he from white cloud free, And round the tent of God like lambs we joy: I’ll shade him from the heat ‘till he can bear, to lean in joy upon our father’s knee. And then I’ll stand and stroke his silver hair, And be like him and he will then love me.”

  “You’ve read Blake,” Lincoln said in delight.

  Anna laughed. “I read everything, Mr. Lincoln. That is, Mr. President-elect.”

  He grinned. “You get that message off to Major Anderson quick. South Carolina’s teetering on the edge. He and your boy may not have much time.”

  November 23, 1860

  Fort Moultrie, South Carolina

  Quincy Van Buskirk put a Special Delivery letter on Major Anderson’s desk.

  Anderson looked at the return address, then at Quincy. “The office of Abraham Lincoln?”

  “My mother is with him in Illinois. It’s rumored that she may have a prominent position on his staff.”

  “Never happen.” Anderson removed the letter from the envelope and unfolded it. “The country’s not ready for women in power positions. Especially your mother, whose reputation is less than stellar.”

  Quincy decided not to comment.

  Anderson looked up from the letter. “You’ve nothing to say?”

  “No, sir.”

  “I just insulted your mother.”

  “I noticed, sir.”

  “And you’re going to do nothing about it?”

  “What would you suggest that I do, sir?”

  Anderson shrugged. “I was led to believe that you had an uncontrollable temper.”

  “Someone has led you astray, sir.”

  “Huh.” Anderson looked down at the telegram. “Then please accept my apology for my callous remark.”

  “I accept it, sir.”

  He looked up again. “Have you read this?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Anderson shook his head. “It’s often easier to get forgiveness than permission. Do you understand it?”

  “Yes, sir. But after giving the matter some thought, I don’t think either permission or forgiveness will be necessary.”

  “Why not?”

  “Well, sir, I think that in the event of attack by secessionists, even an unsuccessful but stalwart defense of Fort Sumter would make the commander an overnight hero with the public in the North.” Quincy waited for Anderson to absorb that. “Punishing a hero in time of war is not politically sound, sir.”

  “All that and Lincoln’s encouragement aside, we’re still right back where we started from.” Anderson put the letter down. “We’ve still got not so much as a single word from Washington about Sumter. Technically it’s under the command of the Corps of Engineers.”

  “Everyone knows that the Corps of Engineers are not really fighting troops, sir. You’re the commander of the garrison, so logically, it must be you who holds military command. You’ll just be moving your troops from one post within your command to another.”

  “I’ll be sure to tell my defense lawyer to use that line during my court martial.” Anderson thought another moment, then sighed. “All right. If we do this, when do we do it?”

  “We have time to plan, sir. If secession’s decided by the South Carolina legislature, the first public reaction will be celebration. After that, there will be doubts. If other states join, that will be the time to act.”

  Anderson nodded. “If there’s a precipitous secession, in all likelihood we’ll receive a demand to surrender or to abandon the fort from the State government.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that,” Quincy said. “If that were to happen we would have perfect cover to occupy Fort Sumter.”

  “We would still have to move surreptitiously.”

  “Yes, sir. But our preparations for leaving here wouldn’t arouse suspicion if we said we were complying with the State’s orders.”

  “Of course it’s possible that there will be no secessions.”

  “Possible, sir. But very unlikely. There’s a mob mentality in Charleston. I think it will be only a matter of days before there’s a formal declaration.”

  “Did you know that I served here once before?” Anderson asked after a short silence.

  “Yes, sir, I did know that. I also know that your father served here during the Revolution when it was called Fort Sullivan.” He paused. “Abandoning this fort is the right thing to do, painful though it may be.”

  “I know. But it feels cowardly. Like betraying an old friend.”

  December 12, 1860

  Fort Moultrie, South Carolina

  Major Anderson waved toward the chair across from his desk. “Sit down, Captain Van Buskirk, and listen to this.”

  Quincy took the seat and waited.

  “Let’s see.” He scanned a message form. “Here’s the important part: ‘... you are to hold possession of the forts in the harbor, and if attacked you are to defend yourself to the last extremity. The smallness of your force will not permit you, perhaps, to occupy more than one of the forts, but an attack on or attempt to take possession of any one of them will be regarded as an act of hostility, and you may then put your command into either of them which you may deem most proper to increase its power of resistance. You are also authorized to take similar steps whenever you have tangible evidence of a design to proceed to a hostile act.’” He looked up expectantly.

  “Who signed that, sir?”

  “Major Don Carlos Buell, Assistant Adjutant General of the Army, approved by Secretary of War John B. Floyd.”

  “Then we have permission and won’t need to seek forgiveness.”

  “Yes. This gives us complete military and political cover to do as we see fit. I’m surprised that President Buchanan permitted it.”

  “I doubt that he’s even aware of it, sir, or Secretary Floyd, for that matter. Don Carlos Buell is an old friend of our family. I’ll wager that he has methods for getting the Secretary’s signature without the Secretary’s knowledge.”

  “No bet,” Anderson said. “All the more reason to keep our plans secret.”

  “I agree, sir.”

  “I’ve also revised my opinion of your mother. Lincoln would be a fool not to keep her very close. She gets things done.”

  December 26, 1860

  Fort Sumter, South Carolina

  As the soldiers and officers of the First Artillery Regiment began to debark from the boats, a man appeared in the darkness with his hands held high over his head. “Don’t shoot. We’re civilians.”

  “Hold your fire.” Captain Quincy Van Buskirk pushed his way toward the man through his disorganized troops. “Where’s the Army detail?”

  “There ain’t but one soldier,” the man said, trying to point without lowering his hands. “He’s in the lighthouse.”

  “Put your hands down, man,” Quincy said in an annoyed tone. “No one will harm you.”

  “Can we go then?”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Construction workers.”

  Quincy looked beyond him and saw a number of men gathering in the darkness. “Do you have your own boats?”

  “No, Governor.”

  “Then you stay. We cannot spare the boats.”

  “But we ain’t soldiers, Governor,” the man protested. Several others behind him joined in voicing their disapproval.

  Major Anderson had joined them as this was said. “You men go back to your quarters now. We’ll discuss what to do about you later.”

  “I have me own boat,” one man shouted. “I can take three with me.”

  “Then go,” Anderson said dismissively.

  Quincy cleared his throat noisily.

  “What?” Anderson asked.

  “Might I suggest that we send a detail to re
trieve weapons and ammunition from the arsenal first, sir?” Quincy asked. “Before these construction workers spread the word that we’re here.”

  “Ah. Yes. You lead the party. Go immediately. And get all the rations and supplies you can carry.”

  “That man said that there’s a soldier manning the light, sir.” Quincy pointed.

  “Yes. The soldier would be with the Corps of Engineers. I’ll talk to him. You see if you can find the Corps of Engineers officers ashore.”

  “Do you know their names, sir?”

  “Captain Foster and Lieutenant Snyder.”

  “Should I bring them here?”

  “Yes. If they’re foolish enough to want to come.”

  ~

  Major Anderson looked up from his makeshift desk of crates as Quincy Van Buskirk hurried in. “Any trouble?”

  “Some,” Quincy said. “Governor Pickens claims that he has a guarantee from President Buchanan that Fort Sumter would not be manned.”

  “Pickens himself confronted you?”

  “Yes, sir. He tried to present me with the President’s letter as a direct order, but I refused to take it. It was touch and go for a few minutes, but we escaped without a shot being fired.”

  “I wonder if there’s any truth to his claim.”

  “Pickens read the letter to me twice. It said that Fort Sumter wouldn’t be immediately manned. There was no promise that it would never be occupied.”

  “Politicians,” Anderson muttered. “You have to love them.”

  “I’ve brought with me Captain John G. Foster and First Lieutenant George W. Snyder of the Corps of Engineers, sixty-eight noncommissioned officers and privates, plus eight musicians, sir.” Quincy said.

  “How many additional boats did you bring back?”

  “Three longboats, sir. The civilian authorities wouldn’t permit us to take any from the arsenal.”

  “Supplies and rations?”

  “Not as many as I would have liked, sir. As I said, it was touch and go there.”

  “In addition to Army personnel, we have forty-three workmen here. That’s a lot of mouths to feed. Perhaps we should spare the boats to send them ashore.”

  “Will we need them? The workmen, I mean. What’s the condition of the fort?”

  “I’d say it’s ninety percent complete. Most of the remaining work is on the upper level, the parapet or barbette positions. We don’t have enough guns to man them anyway.”

  “How many guns do we have, sir?”

  “Sixty, in all, but unless we use your infantry, we haven’t enough men to crew them.”

  “We might train some of the infantry so that they can be used as artillerymen if there’s no ground attack.”

  “See to it.”

  January 9, 1861

  Fort Sumter, South Carolina

  A barrage of cannon fire erupted from Morris Island and moments later cannon from Fort Moultrie joined.

  As the Fort Sumter crews ran to roll out their guns, Major Anderson climbed to the parapet where Quincy Van Buskirk was already peering through the brass swivel-mounted spyglass. “What the hell are they firing on?”

  “A civilian merchant vessel. She’s a hull-side paddlewheeler and it appears that she was escorted to the mouth of the harbor by a warship.” He relinquished the telescope to Anderson. “She must be carrying supplies and reinforcements for us.”

  “I’ve had no communications that would support that conclusion,” Anderson said, taking up position behind the telescope. “I’m not going to engage in her defense without orders.”

  “I doubt that we could make enough difference anyway,” Quincy agreed. “The gun crews on Morris Island are very efficient.”

  “Cadets from the Citadel under P.G.T. Beauregard,” Anderson said. “Beauregard was my assistant when I was the artillery instructor at West Point.”

  “Bugger,” Quincy muttered. “Another fine officer gone south.”

  “Indeed.”

  “Are they turning back, sir?” Quincy asked, pointing. “The merchant?”

  “Yes. It looks like they’ve sustained minor damage.” Anderson turned away from the telescope and looked at Quincy. “Well, it’s official.”

  “What is, sir?”

  “Civil war. And the South has fired the first shot.”

  February 13, 1861

  Fort Brown, Texas

  Lieutenant Colonel Robert E. Lee was seated at a desk. Across from him Captain Jeb Stuart and Lieutenants Paul Van Buskirk, Johnny Van Buskirk and Fitzhugh Lee were standing at attention. “As you have undoubtedly heard,” Colonel Lee was saying, “Texas has seceded from the Union. Consequently, the Commander of the United States Army, Department of Texas, surrendered all troops in his command to Texas, and then resigned from the United States Army. He is now a general in the Secessionist Militia. Questions?”

  “Yes, sir,” Stuart said. “Does that mean we’re prisoners of war?”

  “I don’t honestly know,” Lee replied. “But if we are, our duty is to escape.”

  “Or resign and join the secessionists,” Fitz Lee suggested.

  “You may if you wish,” Colonel Lee replied. “For myself, I shall be returning to Virginia. Virginia has not seceded.”

  “We’ll go with you, sir.” Johnny gave Fitz a look of disapproval.

  “Of course, sir,” Fitz Lee said to his uncle. “Whatever you think is best, sir.”

  Lee looked at the two Van Buskirk boys. “Your father will be raising a regiment. Perhaps you should join him.”

  “He’ll be bringing it east, sir,” Paul said. “We can meet him there when we know more.”

  “Very well,” Lee said. “Let us poll the troops and see who will go with us and who will stay.”

  March 11, 1861

  Washington, D.C.

  Francis P. Blair, Sr., was the founder of the Washington Globe and its editor until 1845. In 1856, he had founded the Republican Party and had taken the bold step of bringing a woman, Anna Van Buskirk Lagrange, into the Party’s organization. “I must speak to the President,” he said, barging into Anna’s small White House office.

  She looked up in confusion. “I don’t manage his appointments, Mr. Blair.”

  “I know that,” Blair said angrily. “But John Nicolay and John Hay have both told me that Lincoln’s too busy to see me now.”

  Anna stood up and came around her desk. Blair, who was the father of General Francis P. Blair, Jr., and of Postmaster General Montgomery Blair, was known, not always affectionately, as Father Blair in the Lincoln White House, but he couldn’t be ignored. “Can you tell me what you need to see him about? Perhaps I can intervene,” Anna asked in a placating tone.

  “Fort Sumter,” Blair replied.

  “Please have a seat and let me see what I can do.” Anna left the room and found John Nicolay and John Hay, Lincoln’s aides, in Nicolay’s office. “Father Blair is in my office having a temper tantrum,” she said. “He insists upon seeing the President about Fort Sumter.”

  Nicolay shrugged. “The President’s in the Cabinet Room reading the written statements of the Cabinet members on that very subject. He wanted to finish so that he knew the members’ consensus opinion before speaking to Mr. Blair.”

  “Well, can I tell Mr. Blair that he can see the President when he’s finished reading those statements?” Anna asked.

  “That’s exactly what I already told him,” Hay said. “But he wanted to get in there before the President read Seward’s statement. Apparently he knows what Seward has said and he strongly disagrees with it.”

  “Did you tell that to the President?” Anna asked.

  “Yes,” Hay said.

  “You told him everything?” she asked. “Even about Mr. Blair wanting to speak to him before he had read Seward’s statement?”

  Hay nodded. “Of course I did.”

  “Then surely he’s read it by now,” she replied. “That would have been the first thing he did after you left the room.”

  The
two men exchanged a look, then both nodded.

  “Take Father Blair into the Cabinet Room, Anna,” Nicolay said. “It would be best if you could manage to stay in there until he leaves.”

  Anna looked a bit uncertain. “Why should I stay?”

  “Mr. Blair is more likely to be polite if you’re in the room,” Hay said. “He sometimes forgets that he’s speaking to a President of the United States and he embarrasses himself and the office when he does so.”

  “I see.” She took a deep breath. “Thank you.”

  She hurried back to her office and found Blair pacing. “The President is in the Cabinet Room. I’ll take you.”

  “I know the way.”

  “He’s not expecting you, sir. It would be best if I announced you.”

  “It’s unnecessary.”

  “There should be some formal protocol when seeking to speak to the President of the United States, even when the seeker is a trusted and valued advisor who was instrumental in his being elected.”

  Blair cleared his throat. “Yes. Of course. You’re quite right, Anna. Quite right. Lead on.”

  Anna led the way to the Cabinet Room, then knocked on the closed door.

  “Come in,” Lincoln called.

  Anna opened the door just wide enough to stand in it, blocking Blair’s view of and access to the room. “Mr. President, Mr. Blair is here to see you.” She used hand gestures to indicate that she wanted to be included.

  Lincoln was seated at the head of the long table. “I’m always happy to see Mr. Blair. Could you stay please, Anna? There’s a matter of some importance that I must discuss with you when Mr. Blair is finished.”

  “Yes, sir. Of course.” She opened the door all the way and stepped aside.

  Blair burst through the door and charged toward the President. “Will you give up the fort?”

  Lincoln had started to rise and offer his hand to Blair, but sat back down and tapped the small stack of paper. “The majority of the Cabinet seems to favor it.”

  “It would be treason to surrender Sumter, sir. Such a step would irrevocably lose this Administration the public confidence.”