“Yeah.” Longstreet sat silent for a moment, his eyes on the flame of the lamp. “I always thought Grant steady but unremarkable. He’s got an army now, though. You know he’s been raising volunteers for the Army of the New Republic, but I doubt you’ve heard how many. When Grant sends the word out, he’ll have five thousand men under arms, enough to overwhelm every regular army garrison in Illinois.”
“Five thousand?” Mosby trained an admiring look on Longstreet. “You’re working with him?”
“Second in command. Cump Sherman…you remember him, Win…has a few thousand volunteers in Indiana ready to rise as well. He’s coordinating closely with Grant and me. That’s another reason I’m down here. The Army of the New Republic has been a lot of groups, most of them small, operating independently. We’re going to have to work together, establish a true command structure. Grant, Sherman and I are trying to lay the groundwork for that.”
“Cump’s joined the Army of the New Republic?” Hancock asked. “That shouldn’t surprise me. The cocky bastard never did care for rules.”
“If anyone wishes to exercise authority over my actions, they must first prove their legitimacy and competence to me,” Mosby cautioned.
A rare smile lighted Longstreet’s face for a moment. “Grant told me to ask you to just keep on doing what you’ve been doing.”
Mosby smiled back. “That request I can agree to without hesitation. When will you rise?”
“That’s the problem.” Longstreet shook his head, morose once more. “We can raise a small army. What we can’t do is tell the people of the state why they should support us rather than the current federal government. To them, we’re all too likely to look like just another batch of soldiers planning on running the government. We need someone who can talk well, a civilian who’s known to be honest and can make the right speeches and the right arguments to win popular sentiment, to convince the people we really mean it when we talk about restoring the republic and getting the army out of politics.”
“We have a professor of rhetoric here,” Hancock said, with a half-bow toward Chamberlain. “He can doubtless offer up many fine words which would put us crude soldiers to shame.”
Longstreet frowned as if he didn’t get the humor. “We know who we need. Someone who we know the people of Illinois and surrounding states will believe. Grant sent me here to see if you had him, though I had hell’s own time finding you.”
“Had him?” Mosby asked. “Why would we have this individual?”
“We know you’ve been raiding the prison trains bound south. This man was arrested and brought to DC. We know that much, and assumed he was sent south after that. Fellow name of Lincoln.”
“Lincoln?” Chamberlain asked in surprise. “Abraham Lincoln?”
“Yes.” Longstreet squinted at Chamberlain. “Who are you again, sir?”
“Professor Chamberlain. From Bowdoin. In Maine.”
“Oh. Yes. Abraham Lincoln. Known and trusted in Illinois. Most important, a fine speaker and a true believer in the republic. We know that. We need to get him back to Illinois to rally the people to us, and we need him as soon as may be. The volunteers are growing restless. Jobs are being sent to factories near plantations in the south and out west where slaves can do the work for less than even the pitiful wages paid up north by those who say they must compete with slave-labor. Families are suffering, folks losing homes and farms while the bankers make more money every day off their misery, and it’s getting hard to hold our volunteers back. It would be a disaster if the volunteers act before we have the means to convince the rest of the people of our motives.”
“I remember the name of Lincoln now,” Mosby said. “We’ve seen some pamphlets with Lincoln’s speeches on them that got smuggled down this way. The man does have a fine way with words.” Mosby shook his head. “But we do not intercept every train. We must have missed the one Lincoln was on.”
“He did not go by train,” Chamberlain said, drawing surprised glances again. “He was sent to Fortress Monroe as a prisoner.”
Everyone looked at Chamberlain in silence for a moment, then Mosby spoke with a hint of skepticism. “How do you know this, sir?”
“We went before the same tribunal. I was in the room when he was sentenced. Rendition to Fortress Monroe.” Chamberlain felt awkward at the way these men were hanging on his words, yet also pleased that he was contributing in some small way to their efforts. “We spoke very briefly before being separated.”
“Hmmm,” Longstreet observed. “Good-lookin’ fella, would you say?”
“Lincoln?” Chamberlain asked. “No. No, that is one thing I cannot say. His words are far handsomer than he is.”
Longstreet nodded. “You did meet the man in truth, then.”
Hancock spoke up. “Fortress Monroe? Do you know how they were sending him there?”
Chamberlain tried to recall the words spoken by the judges at the tribunal. “They mentioned the Merrimac. They said it was leaving for Hampton Roads the day after the train I was on left Washington, and Lincoln should be put on it.”
“A warship,” Mosby said. “One of the steam frigates. If Lincoln is as important a prisoner as we have been told, they would have sent him by such means rather than risking overland travel. If the Merrimac left Baltimore today she would probably have arrived at Fortress Monroe before nightfall.”
“He’s there now, then,” Longstreet said. “We feared that he had been hanged or shot already.”
“They said,” Chamberlain replied, “the judges at the tribunal that is, that they did not want Lincoln to be a martyr. They wanted to keep him in prison indefinitely.”
Longstreet stared at the lamp again. “They might succeed in that. Fortress Monroe. Helluva strong place.”
“Damned helluva strong place,” Hancock agreed.
“You need Lincoln?” Mosby asked.
“We do,” Longstreet said. “He’s not a handsome man, but he’s an honest one. No offense, Win, but it is far easier to find handsome men than honest ones. Lincoln can unite the people behind us. The people up north anyway. I don’t know about the south.”
“Yes, you do,” Armistead commented. “The ones running the federal government have long made cause with the slave-holding aristocracy in the south. Neither of them want anything to change, neither want a free country with open democracy, and a permanent state of military emergency suits the slave-holders just fine. They will try to convince the people of the south to back the federal government, and many will believe them and fight for them for fear of revolution and lawlessness.”
“If I had that many slaves in my backyard, I would fear lawlessness more than tyranny, too,” Hancock said. “Lo, we’re also talking about Virginia here.”
“I know it, Win.” Armistead glared at the floor. “But it would not be Virginia I would be fighting. It would be the federal government run by the mighty and the wealthy, and the ones in Virginia willing to continue running that government as a tyranny that keeps Virginia and all other states in bondage. To free Virginia, I must fight.”
Mosby nodded. “There is truth in that, sir. Who here knows much about Fortress Monroe?”
Hancock and Armistead both stood, then each deferred mockingly to the other before they jointly bent over the table and sketched out a diagram. Chamberlain craned to look, seeing a rough hexagon with six irregularly spaced arrow-shaped fortifications projecting from its sides. “As James said,” Armistead explained, “Fort Monroe is a mighty fortification of modern design. The walls are high and thick, this moat around the walls is deep and wide, and there are only three narrow causeways into the fort, at roughly these locations. It would require an army to besiege and take that fortress, and the Navy warships in Hampton Roads would use their artillery to support the fort as well.”
“Who’s in command there now?” Mosby asked.
“Colonel Lee, who also helped design the final fortifications a decade ago.”
Longstreet grimaced. “Bobbie Lee
is no fool. He’s a skilled professional, doubtless assigned to command the fortress because all of the political factions in Washington know he favors none and can be trusted to keep imprisoned all sent to him.”
“How many men does he have?”
Armistead answered again. “A regiment, supposedly, but it was always understrength, carrying only five companies on its rolls. About six months ago the regiment was ordered to send two of those companies to the Army of the West. Replacements were promised, but all here know how rarely those actually appear with the army fighting on two fronts as well as dealing with all of the volunteers such as us. If I were a betting man, I would wager that Lee still only has three companies remaining to man the fort.”
“That is thin, but it’s plenty enough to keep us out.” Mosby frowned in thought. “Everyone knows that Fortress Monroe is invincible. That’s a weakness. Overconfidence and surety are deadly conceits.” Mosby looked around. “But how would we overcome the fort’s defenses?”
“With what we have? It could not be done, not in a fair fight,” Armistead declared.
Mosby smiled. “I fight to win, sir.”
“Good enough, but the walls and the moat remain.”
An idea popped into Chamberlain’s head as he thought of getting through walls which could not be breached. “A Trojan horse?”
Everyone looked at him, then Mosby nodded. “A subterfuge can get us through walls which are proof against any artillery we could bring to bear. But what subterfuge? What could get into that fort?”
After a moment’s thought, Hancock grinned. “A regular cavalry force, sent south to hunt that traitor Mosby and his evil compatriots. Arriving in the dead of night with forged orders. We’ve got enough uniforms for men and regulation tack for horses to put together almost a full company that will look official in the dark. Once we were inside, with most of the garrison asleep, we could gain control of the fort long enough to free the prisoners, including Lincoln.”
There was silence as everyone considered the idea, then Longstreet shook his head gloomily. “Even if you arrive in the middle of the night, Bobbie Lee will have left standing orders to awaken him in such an event. He’ll come to see you and your orders, and he knows everyone here. Once he recognizes one of us, the game will be over, and no enlisted trooper can play an officer convincingly enough to fool Bobbie Lee.”
“He doesn’t know me,” Mosby replied. “That gives us one officer.”
“Two,” Chamberlain heard himself saying. “He doesn’t know me, either.”
Once again he became the center of attention, then Armistead smiled. “You would be willing to participate in this operation, Professor Chamberlain?”
“Yes.” Chamberlain swallowed nervously, then nodded. “It’s important. I will do what I can.”
Hancock frowned appraisingly at Chamberlain. “You’ve got the right bearing and style of speaking to play an officer. Can you, though?”
“I’ve taken on roles, sir, in speeches. This would be another role.”
“A role which might cost you your life, sir, and one upon which the lives of many others will depend.”
“I will do what I can as best I can,” Chamberlain repeated. “I can do no less than the rest of you.”
Mosby nodded. “Your spirit is right for the role. Our West Pointers will teach you the exact ways to act and the language you must use. We will attempt this, gentlemen. I tire of fighting on the margins, pricking the hide of the enemy but causing no real damage. The cause of freedom requires that we run greater risks and strike greater blows.” He stood up, pointing to the diagram of Fort Monroe. “Captain Longstreet says we must get Lincoln back to Illinois as soon as we can. Tomorrow we will start assembling our force of counterfeit government cavalry and moving toward Norfolk. With luck, we will strike Fortress Monroe within a week’s time.”
He raised his glass. “To victory, gentlemen.”
The others raised their glasses as well, Longstreet adding a gruff addendum. “Or death.”
Hancock smiled again before downing his drink. “Or both victory and death, damn it! Welcome to the cause, professor.”
Six days later, Chamberlain rode a horse through the night’s darkness toward one of the causeways leading into Fort Monroe. He wore the uniform of a captain in the regular army cavalry, a pistol holstered on one hip and a regulation saber in a scabbard on the other. The unfamiliar weight of the weapons made him less uncomfortable than the fact that he was riding at the head of the column pretending to be a company of regular cavalry. Mosby had decided that, given the chance Lee might recognize him from drawings on wanted posters, it would be better for someone totally unknown to Lee to pose as the commanding officer of the cavalry. Mosby was riding several files behind him now, close enough to intervene if things started to fall apart, but Chamberlain still felt alone as the northernmost gate to the fort loomed ever closer.
They had already made it through two checkpoints tonight on the road to the fort, the sentries at both places waving through the column without a hint of suspicion. But the fort itself would be a more challenging encounter, so Chamberlain did his best to fall into the role of an officer who had recently been awarded his rank for political achievements. Any errors he made should be attributed to his inexperience by the regular soldiers in the fort.
Two sentries stood forth as the mounted column neared the gate, one of them calling out a challenge. Chamberlain raised one hand as he had been taught by Buford. “Column halt!” As he reined in his own mount and the rest of the cavalry clattered to a stop behind him, Chamberlain answered the challenge, his voice clear and confident in the quiet of the night. “Third Company, Tenth Cavalry, Captain Green commanding, here on orders from the War Department.”
The sergeant in charge of the sentries came close to look at Chamberlain in the light of a lantern the sergeant held high. After a brief examination, the sergeant saluted. “Good evening, sir. I’ll have to call the officer in charge of the watch. We didn’t receive any word that you were coming.”
“That’s because it was a secret movement, sergeant,” Chamberlain declared with self-important superiority. “Fetch your officer.”
Waiting was doubly hard because he had to appear self-assured despite his fears. But it was only a few minutes before a lieutenant came hastening out of the gate and saluted Chamberlain. “Lieutenant Walker, Captain of the Guard, sir. May I see your orders, sir?”
Chamberlain returned the salute with the hint of casualness that Hancock had drilled him on, offering the orders which Mosby’s forgers had crafted. “It’s late, lieutenant,” he prodded.
“Yes, sir. I’m certain the captain will understand that I have to proceed according to the fort commander’s standing orders, sir.” The lieutenant read the orders carefully, then examined the column behind Chamberlain as best he could in the dark. “Are there civilians back there, sir?”
“A few prisoners,” Chamberlain explained as if bored.
“Welcome to Fort Monroe, sir. Your men may enter, though I request they dismount and lead their horses. I will notify Colonel Lee of your arrival.”
Longstreet had been right about that. “There’s no need to disturb the colonel’s sleep on our account,” Chamberlain suggested.
“Thank you, sir, but I am required to notify him. Please rest your command in the courtyard inside the gate while I inform Colonel Lee and he provides direction for your billeting and the disposal of your prisoners.”
As the lieutenant strode quickly away, Chamberlain turned to face his column. “Dismount! Follow in a column of threes!” If he hadn’t been so nervous, this military officer’s role would have been a pleasurable thing.
Chamberlain led the way into the fort, noticing as they passed through the gate just how thick were the walls to either side of it. As Armistead had said, this was a fortress which could have held out as long as Troy. But like Troy, its guardians were allowing a disguised enemy to breach those walls.
“My men nee
d to water their mounts,” Chamberlain insisted to the guard sergeant once all of the supposed cavalry force was inside the fort. Mosby had assumed they might need an excuse to get some of the false cavalrymen out of sight of the gate sentries.
The sergeant looked around, but there was no officer here to back him up, and Chamberlain’s request was perfectly reasonable. He nodded. “You can send them a few at a time to the troughs, sir.”
Chamberlain faced his column, his eyes searching for Mosby. “Lieutenant, we’re to wait for Colonel Lee. Send the men in small groups to water their mounts.”
They waited under the starlight, the men silent but the horses stamping and blowing occasionally. Mosby told off detachments to go water their horses, and none of the sentries noticed that in each group fewer men came back each time than had gone out. Chamberlain had to fight down a powerful urge to scan the darkness for those men, whom he knew would be moving stealthily to surprise the sentries on the walls and ensure there were no sentries at the other two gates which should be sealed for the night.
Finally, Chamberlain saw the lieutenant returning with another officer. In the light of the lieutenant’s lantern, Chamberlain could see that Colonel Robert E. Lee was an older and courtly man, reminiscent of Captain Armistead but more elderly. His neatly trimmed hair and beard were a gray that stood out against Lee’s dark blue uniform. Even if Chamberlain hadn’t known that Lee was the product of generations of Southern aristocracy he would have guessed it from the man’s appearance and attitude of unquestioned superiority. From all he had been told Lee had the brains and skills to justify that attitude, but it bothered Chamberlain to realize that Lee would have acted the same even if he had no claim but ancestry to authority. For the first time, Chamberlain realized that aristocracy wasn’t simply a broad comparison, but a literally true description of how the upper class in the south saw themselves.
Distracted by these thoughts, Chamberlain barely remembered to salute first as Lee approached. Lee returned the salute slowly and precisely, turning to view the column of soldiers. “Tenth Cavalry? I was not told you were coming here, Captain Green.”
The Last Full Measure Page 3