Nicolay ran most of the way to the Capitol, arrived gasping for breath. Gave the reports to the head clerk and dropped into a chair. Congressman Wade, the fire-breathing abolitionist, was on his feet and in fine oratorical form.
“Never, and I repeat never, will I put my name to this proposal that will so weaken our resolution to do away with the evil institution of slavery as soon and as rapidly as possible. Men have died, battles have been fought on this principle. Simply freeing the slaves is not enough. That their masters should be paid for freeing them is an insult. God has called for the punishment of these evil men. They must be hurled down from their high station and made to suffer just as their helpless Negroes suffered at their hands. It would be treason if we allowed them to escape God’s justice…”
“You dare speak of treason!” Congressman Trumbull shouted, on his feet and waving his fist, apoplectic with anger. “You betray your country and betray all the young men, both of the North and the South, who gave their lives to rid this country of the foreign invaders. Now we hope to bind up the wounds of war and unite against this common enemy and you want to prevent that. I say that any man who speaks as you do is the real traitor to this country. If it were within my power I would see you hanged for your treasonous cant.”
This session of Congress was loud and vituperative and ran far into the night. Only exhaustion finally ground the discussion to a halt. With the acknowledgment that it would continue the following day. They would stay in session until agreement of one kind or another was reached.
Far from Washington, in the most northern part of the State of New York, an armed column of soldiers was moving briskly through the night. This was the smallest command that General Joseph E. Johnston had had in many years. And the strangest. The infantry regiments, the 2nd and 13th Louisiana, had served under him in the past. They were mostly from New Orleans and the surrounding parishes. Lean and hard; tough fighting men. The four artillery batteries had joined up with them in Pennsylvania. They were good and well trained soldiers. But he was still not used to having Yankees under his command.
And then there were the supply wagons. Not only the military ones, but the five others driven by Missouri mule skinners. Silent men who chewed tobacco constantly and spat with deadly accuracy.
If General Robert E. Lee himself had not met with Johnston to tell him in detail what needed to be done, he might have begun to doubt the sanity of the operation. But once General Lee had explained the overall concept of the strategy he had agreed at once to take command. Within twenty-four hours of their meeting his troops, guns, wagons and horses had come together in the marshaling yards. It was after midnight and raining hard, the rain hissing on the metal covers of the kerosene lamps, when they had boarded the waiting trains. The wagons had been pushed aboard the flatcars, the horses coaxed and pulled into the boxcars, the weary troops more than willing to fill the passenger cars. After that the only stops had been for coal and water as they rolled north. To Woods Mills, New York, a rail junction where two lines crossed. And perilously close to enemy-occupied Plattsburgh.
“I want scouts out on all sides,” General Johnston ordered. “Cavalry down the roads that we will be taking.”
“We’ve got us a volunteer here,” a cavalryman said. “Came riding up when he saw who we were.” A burly man on a large horse came forward out of the darkness into the light of the lantern.
“The name’s Warner, gentlemen, Sheriff Warner and this here is my badge.”
The general looked at it and nodded. “Lived here long, Sheriff Warner?” the general asked.
“Born here, traveled a bit, served in the cavalry during the Indian wars, General. Had enough of the army by that time and I come back here. Nothing much here but farming and I didn’t take to that. Sheriff died of the pox and I got his job. If there is anything I can do to lend a hand — why I am your man.”
“You know the local roads?”
“Know them better than I know the back of my hand. I could find my way around anywhere here in the dark with my eyes closed.”
“Well we prefer that you to do that with your eyes open. You can go with these men here.” General Johnston pulled the lieutenant aside as he started to follow his men. “Keep an eye on him and the roads you take. You can never be too careful.”
But the sheriff proved to be a man of his word. They bypassed the sleeping Plattsburgh and the British units stationed there without being seen.
With Sheriff Warner showing the scouts the way, they had crossed unseen south of this city during the night, and by morning were moving steadily along the shore of Lake Champlain to ambush the boats.
And it worked exactly to plan. The dawn attack with the cannon, the destruction of some of the craft, the flight north of the rest. Then his command had turned in their tracks and followed the boats north. But there was a fair wind from the west and the boats were soon hull down and out of sight. Which was fine, very fine indeed. The trains were waiting for them when they got back to Woods Mills and the tired men and horses were happy enough to board them once again. The civilian wagons that had been left behind were still aboard the train, the mule skinners as surly and silent as ever.
In his headquarters car General Johnston met with his officers.
“A job well done, gentlemen,” Johnston said. “Night-time movements with a mixed force is always difficult. I must commend you how it all worked out.”
“Come a danged long way, General, if you don’t mind my speaking out plain,” Colonel Yancey said, pouring himself a large glass of corn whiskey. “Just to blow up a few bitty boats, then turn around and march away.”
“I do agree with you, Colonel — if that was the only goal of this operation,” Johnston said, holding up a sheaf of telegrams.
“These were waiting for me at Woods Mills. Our troops have broken the enemy all along the Hudson front. The British are on the run. And any of them that manage to reach the landings at the lake will find their transport gone. Soon they’ll all be in the bag. We did exactly what we set out to do to cut off their retreat. But, I can tell you now, the boats were the smallest part of this action. Although what we did was most consequential, it was really part of a bigger plan that will be set into action very soon. The most important events are coming up now.”
The general smiled as sudden silence filled the car. He took his time pouring whiskey into his own glass and sipping a bit of it. He had a most attentive audience.
“I refrained from telling you about this any earlier because our true purpose could not even be hinted at. General Lee swore me to silence — and I now ask the same of you.”
“Permission to interrupt, sir,” Captain DuBose said, then continued when the general nodded his head. “Was there any other news in the telegrams? Have you heard any more about the state of Jeff Davis?”
“Indeed there was information in this last batch. Alive and recovering — but very weak. Good news indeed. Now — back to the war. This was a fine operation, gentlemen, I congratulate you. Yancey was absolutely right. We did come a long way to blow up a few bitty boats. That is done. It was the perfect cover for the action that we will be taking now. We are now on this train which is definitely not going back to Pennsylvania.” The cars rattled and swayed through a set of switches, driving home his point. “We are on a different track and heading for our final destination, the city of Ogdensburg. If any of you are not clear about Yankee geography I can tell you that Ogdensburg is on the shore of that mighty river, the St. Lawrence. And of course you know what is on the other side of this river…”
“Canada!” Captain DuBose shouted, jumping to his feet. “Canada with the salaud English clumped up there thick as fleas on an old dog. We cannot be here by chance. Is that it, General? We are here to make things very bad for the English?”
“Yes, gentlemen, that is it.”
TAKING THE WAR TO THE ENEMY
Lincoln looked around at the members of his Cabinet, and shook his head in disbelief. He pulled hi
s bony legs up before him, resting his heels on the edge of his chair, and wrapped his arms around them. “Why I have not seen as many long faces since my last visit to a livery stable. We should be celebrating victory gentlemen, not looking as though we have suffered dismal defeat.”
“The war is at a stalemate,” Secretary of War Stanton said. “Sherman has stopped at the Canadian border. The British sink our merchant ships at sea, then land and pillage our shores at will. They justify these actions by saying that a state of war still exists between their country and ours. This is nonsense. They invaded us. Congress declared that a state of war did exist only after their invasions. Now that they have been hurled back from our land, have been defeated at sea — what cause do they have for these continued murderous attacks on our citizenry?”
“None whatsoever, seeing that they have agreed to discuss peace,” Seward said, with equal gloom. “But despite this agreement the Prussian talks progress not at all. Adams has presented our terms, which are reasonable indeed, but nothing pleases Palmerston or his lackeys. The British representatives in Berlin still make impossible demands for reparations, apologies, everything they can think of — other than seriously discussing peace. I feel that the Tory government is determined to press on with this war and only agreed to the talks to quiet the opposition parties in Parliament.”
“Let us then talk of the good news,” the President said. “The Reconstruction Bill has passed the lower house and will surely be approved by the Senate. When I sign it into law we will see the beginning of the end, hopefully, of our internal war. As regards the broader conflict I assure you that our generals are not standing still. If the British do not want peace then they shall see enough war to give them their fill. I have the distinct feeling that they will be far more surprised than we will be at the developments in the near future.”
“What do you mean?” Seward asked. “As Secretary of State I should be privy to all war plans.”
“You should be — and so should I,” the President said. “But there are also times when you should play poker with your cards close to your chest. The city of Washington is populated by foreign agents, eager to seek out any tiny nugget of information and sell it on. But you should at least know that certain operations are in progress. Orders have gone out, carried by hand since we found numberless taps, people listening in, on our telegraph wires. I, personally, do not know the details of these endeavors, so no one in this Cabinet should feel put out. What I can tell you is that the British in Canada are due for some interesting experiences in the very near future.”
There was a secretive smile on his face when he left the Cabinet Room, almost mischievous. It might be safe to tell them what was in the wind, but Chase was a great gossip. Seward would undoubtedly tell his daughter; word might leak out. Better to just not talk about it no matter how put out the Cabinet might feel.
Hay met the President in the hall as he left the Cabinet Room.
“The delegation of Negroes is here now. I let them into the President’s Office to wait. Told them you would be there as soon as the Cabinet meeting was over.”
“I will see them now. Do you have any inkling of what they have in mind?”
“None at all, although I did make inquiries as you asked me to.”
“Then we shall see, we shall see.” He turned the knob and went in.
The men stood when Lincoln entered. The well-dressed Negroes took this meeting very seriously, and looked with great interest at the man who was having the most drastic effect upon their lives.
“I believe that I have met some of you before at an earlier conference.”
“You have, Mr. President,” their leader E. M. Thomas said. “We had a most interesting discussion with you in this very same room.”
“We did indeed. As I recall your group then was less than enthusiastic about Congressional approval for the plan for Negro settlements in South America.”
Lincoln spoke without rancor, although the formation of the settlements had been a favorite of his. Then he realized that there was a newcomer in the group whom he had never seen before. A burly man with a thick growth of hair, a pointed beards — and the most concentrated and intense scowl that he had ever seen on a human face. The man pushed by the others and put out a muscular hand.
“I am Frederick Douglass, Mr. President,” he said. Shaking the man’s hand was like seizing a slab of wood.
“I of course know of you by reputation, Mr. Douglass. It is time we met.”
“Time indeed. The Reconstruction Bill that you presented to the Congress is as important as the Constitution itself. It is the first step along the road that will lead to the freedom of my people. Your stature among the Negroes, both in the North and South has never been equaled by another human being. Uncle Linkum, as the slaves call you, places you upon a pinnacle in Zion. Every other boy baby is now named Abraham in your honor.”
“Indeed…” the President said, for once at a loss for words. The others in the group murmured in agreement to Douglass’s words.
“That is why you must do more,” Douglass said with grim intensity; the murmurs of approval turned to gasps of shock. “Once you have set your foot upon the road of freedom you must walk the entire length of it. To the very end where my people must have the same rights as your people. To be free in every way, free to own their own property and free to vote in free elections.”
There was shocked silence among the listening men at the strong words addressed to the leader of the country. One of them pulled at the sleeve of Douglass’s jacket; he shrugged the man off.
Lincoln tugged at his beard, his face expressionless. “You make your views quite clear,” he finally said. “Now I suggest that we take our seats and see where this frank discussion might lead. In some of your speeches that I have read I note that you have a pretty poor opinion of this country that you want to join.”
“I do now — but that could change.”
“I surely hope so. I don’t see how a person who hates the Fourth of July can be a true American.”
If possible, Douglass’s perpetual scowl deepened. “I said that this holiday has no meaning for black Americans. Nor does it. Slavery brands your republicanism as a sham, your humanity as a base pretense, your Christianity as a lie.”
“In the slave states what you say is true. But soon slavery will be at an end.”
“It is my strongest wish to see that day. But it is my fear that the deeply prejudiced slave owners and planters will not surrender their slaves that easily. That is why we have come to meet with you this day. To bring you our aid. You must enlist the help of the former slaves to assure their own freedom. The black churches are united in the South and you must seek their cooperation. Other black organizations are also offering hope.”
Lincoln nodded. “We shall. I am also organizing a committee to oversee the enforcement of emancipation.”
“I should indeed hope so. How many Negroes will be on that committee?”
“I hadn’t considered…”
“Then consider it now!” Douglass said, jumping to his feet. “If the committee for administrating equality does not have equality then you are lost before you begin. I thereby ask you to appoint me to that committee. What say you, sir?”
“I say,” Lincoln drawled slowly, “I say that you have a very positive personality, Mr. Douglass, and a very forceful one. Some might say that your temerity borders on effrontery, but I shall not be so bold as to say that. I do not know what your career ambitions are in life, but I do say that you would make a good railroad lawyer.”
The small jest released the tension in the air; some of the group even smiled. A slight nod of Douglass’s head was more of an acknowledgment of a worthy opponent than agreement. Before he could speak again the President went on.
“I shall take your words to the committee when it is formed and tell them of my agreement with your position.”
The meeting ended on this conciliatory note. Lincoln, ever the profession
al politician, had neither given ground nor made any promises that could not be kept. Although he did believe that Douglass’s suggestions were for the good. The cooperation of the freed slaves was a necessity.
The flat fields on the banks of the St. Lawrence River were ideal for an encampment. The last wheat had been cut and the stubble was crisp underfoot. The air was beginning to warm up under the pale sun, but there was still a scattering of snow in the furrows from the previous night’s flurries. Winter was drawing close. The tents were quickly set up and camp made.
Private Ducrocq was leading the colonel’s horse; he joined the horse handlers from the artillery on the track down to the water. It was nice here, except for the cold it reminded him very much of the Mississippi near Baton Rouge. Even the flatboat out there on the river was much like the ones he had poled through the muddy waters at home. He looked with interest as the oarsmen turned it toward the shore as it came closer, then grounded close by the drinking horses. The solid, gray-haired man standing in the bow stepped carefully ashore. He looked around at the horses and soldiers and nodded happily.
“C’est l’armee Americaine, n’est-ce pas?” he asked.
“Oui, certainment. Etes-vous Français?” Ducrocq replied.
“Certainment pas, mon vieux! Je suis Français Canadien. Je suis id pour parler à votre officier supérieur, le Général Johnston.”
Ducrocq pointed out the officers’ tents in the field above. Louis Joseph Papineau thanked him and went up the bank. The soldier looked after him and thought what a strange accident it was to meet someone speaking French up here in the cold north so far from home. Then he laughed aloud.
Even a simple garçon from the bayous knew that there were few coincidences like this in war. French Canada was just across the river — and two regiments of French-speaking American soldiers were on this shore. And then there were the gun batteries and the heavy-laden wagons. Something very interesting was in the wind.
Stars and Stripes Forever sas-1 Page 30