Johnston spread a map of north Georgia over the table and the two men were soon poring over it. Because of the necessity of avoiding large concentrations of Federal troops, it was agreed that Wheeler’s raiding force should quickly move far to the north of the old battlefields of New Hope Church and Kennesaw Mountain, striking at the railroad bridges spanning the Etowah and Oostanaula Rivers. Johnston stressed that the enormous railroad tunnel running through the aptly-named Tunnel Hill near Dalton had to be one of their primary targets.
For half an hour, Johnston and Wheeler discussed which regiments of cavalry should be part of the raiding force and which should remain behind with the Army of Tennessee. During these conversations, Johnston could almost forget his personal distaste for Wheeler, though this might have simply been due to relief that he would soon be gone.
“One more thing, General Wheeler.”
“Yes?”
“You should be aware that General Forrest shall soon be ordered into Tennessee to attack the Union railroads in that state. In order to maximize the effectiveness of both operations, you should confine your own activities to the area south of the Tennessee River in order to avoid any duplication of effort.”
Wheeler nodded. “Very well, sir.”
Johnston wasn’t sure if this particular order would be obeyed, as Wheeler had a well-deserved reputation for interpreting his orders with extreme looseness. But he didn’t particularly care, for his hopes for severing the enemy supply line rested much more with Forrest than they did with Wheeler. As long as the insubordinate commander of his army’s cavalry was out of his sight, and hopefully creating at least some trouble for the Yankees, Johnston was happy.
About ten minutes after Wheeler had departed, a telegram from the War Department arrived.
General Johnston,
Please be advised that General Hood has requested a transfer from the Army of Tennessee to the Department of the Trans-Mississippi. The War Department has decided to grant this request with immediate effect. Please notify General Hood. You may select a temporary commander for Hood’s corps from among your division commanders, although General Cleburne is not to be appointed under any circumstances. You shall be notified of Hood’s permanent replacement when the decision has been made.
Secretary Seddon
Johnston found this message confusing on many levels. On the one hand, he was irritated to once again find that Hood was communicating with Richmond outside of the proper channels and even more irritated to learn that the War Department apparently found this behavior completely normal. He considered sending a note of protest about this, but knew it would do no good and would unnecessarily antagonize the President.
His annoyance was quickly swept away by delight at the import of the message. Since discovering Hood’s treachery, Johnston had been puzzled as to what exactly he should do about it. Now, Hood was solving the problem for him. Clearly his anger at not being granted command of the army and at missing out on the glory of the Peachtree Creek victory had been too much for Hood. Rather than endure an embarrassing situation, he had decided to take himself out of the picture. To Johnston, who had just rid himself of Wheeler, it all seemed too good to be true.
He frowned again when he noted the end of the message, stipulating that the War Department would choose a permanent commander for Hood’s corps rather than leave the decision to Johnston. Since he had first taken command of the Army of Tennessee, most of his personnel requests had been ignored by Richmond, which saw fit to appoint its own people. To see that this situation was continuing was not pleasing. Johnston highly doubted that Robert E. Lee was treated in such a slipshod manner.
He shook his head when he reread the proviso that Cleburne was not to be given the command, even temporarily. Hardee would be displeased no less than Cleburne himself. There was no doubting that Cleburne was the finest division commander in the Army of Tennessee. If it were up to Johnston, Cleburne would have been appointed to the command without much thought. Considering the critical role he had played in the Battle of Peachtree Creek, he certainly was entitled to it.
Johnston knew why Richmond refused to give Cleburne his due. The infamous, if still secret, memorandum Cleburne had presented in January calling for the emancipation of slaves and their enlistment in the army had poisoned Cleburne’s chances for any future promotion. Had Cleburne been an ordinary division commander, that foolish piece of paper would have been the end of his career altogether.
Johnston began writing. Hood was notified that his transfer request had been accepted and ordered to turn over command of his corps to General Cheatham.
*****
July 27, Morning
Lincoln let out a deep breath, even as the two men sitting opposite him continued their joint tirade against him. The conversation had become so heated that Lincoln felt compelled to raise his hand to quiet the men down. For just a moment, he was reminded of the more raucous court cases he had had as a lawyer back in Springfield, when the judge had to loudly pound down his gavel to silence the boos and hisses coming from the audience behind the attorneys.
“Senator Sumner, Congressman Stevens, if you will permit me to interrupt you for just a moment and get a word in myself, I can only try to reassure you that your concerns are unfounded.”
“We require reassurance,” Congressman Thaddeus Stevens said coldly, his face as unmoving as a block of granite. “With the recent reversals in Georgia and Virginia, and the success the Democratic Party seems to be having in molding public opinion, we fear the pressure to repudiate the policy of emancipating the slaves is increasing. More to the point, we fear that you are buckling under such pressure.”
Lincoln shook his head, and tried to summon up an injured expression. “Believe me when I tell you, Congressman, that I am not buckling under the pressure to repudiate my abolition policy. I remain as firmly committed to emancipation as ever. Rest assured, there can be no peace between the North and the South unless and until the South agrees both to rejoin the Union and to abolish slavery. My proposals for the restoration of normal relations with the South include a requirement that the Southern states approve a constitutional amendment specifically prohibiting slavery in all its forms.”
Senator Charles Sumner raised a pointed finger, like a professor interjecting during a presentation by one of his students. “Ah, but it is not simply the abolition of slavery we’re talking about. If the South is brought back into the Union, whether by force or of its own free will, we shall have to protect the political rights of the freedmen, especially voting rights. Otherwise, the slavocrats will find ways to keep the blacks in subjugation.”
“And I fully intend to protect the political rights of the freedmen, Senator Sumner,” Lincoln said, sounding increasingly frustrated.
“Then why have you not yet announced a policy on the subject, Mr. President?” asked Stevens. Again, he was as unmoving as stone, which Lincoln never ceased to find disconcerting.
Lincoln sighed in exasperation. He had, of course, been harried by the abolitionist lobby since the moment the war began. He never ceased to be amazed at how otherwise intelligent and moral people couldn’t understand political realities. At the time he had issued the Emancipation Proclamation, he had thought the abolitionists would give him some credit and allow him some breathing room. Instead, they had simply begun demanding even more, and had paid no attention to whether it was truly in his power to give it, or whether it furthered the war aims of the Union.
“Gentlemen, I have told you many times that I fully intend to protect the political rights of the freedmen at the conclusion of the war, including the right to vote. But in case you haven’t noticed, we have not yet won the war. Stirring up public opinion on the issue will only cloud matters further at the present time. Why can we not agree that the war is to be won first, and only then get down to the details?”
Stevens answered. “Because with the ending of the war, the government will no longer have to ability to act through the use of wa
r powers. Under the reconstruction plan you have proposed, we shall soon have Southerners again sitting in the Senate and the House of Representatives, who would be certain to oppose all meaningful efforts to secure and improve the conditions of the freedmen.”
“But announcing such policies at the present time would have two profoundly negative effects,” Lincoln protested. “First, it would stiffen rebel resistance and doubtless result in more of our brave men losing their lives. Second, it would lend credence to the Democratic charge that our government is fighting more for the abolition of slavery than for the preservation of the Union.”
“Aren’t we?” Stevens asked rhetorically.
Lincoln eyed him coolly. “We are fighting for two great causes, Congressman Stevens. One is the abolition of slavery. The other is the preservation of the Union. Neither can be achieved without the other.”
“But as we have said, it is not just the abolition of slavery,” Sumner interjected.
“Yes, I know. The protection of the political rights of the freedmen, as well.”
“And not only that,” Sumner said with greater force. “The property of Southern slaveholders must be appropriated by the government and redistributed to the freedmen. Free schools must be established for the young freedmen in the South, the funding being appropriated from the Southern states themselves. And any man who served this so-called Confederacy in any prominent political or military role must be forever barred from participating in politics. The power of the slavocracy must be completely crushed, so as to prevent it from ever rising again.”
“I have heard you say these things many times before, Senator Sumner. Can you not see that such rhetoric merely makes the rebels stronger? It causes them to redouble their resistance to our armies and makes the cause of abolishing slavery all the more difficult.”
“I am not concerned with the mundane matters of military policy, Mr. President,” Sumner said in all seriousness. “I am concerned with what is morally right. And I have no sympathy for slaveholders.”
“Nor do I, as you know better than most.” Lincoln was making an unspoken personal plea. Despite their differences on matters of policy, Lincoln and Sumner had a personal friendship of considerable warmth. He recalled an evening dinner, not many months before, after which Sumner had read Lincoln several sermons by the celebrated Boston Unitarian preacher, William Ellery Channing. A long conversation on the evils of slavery had followed. Lincoln had thought he had made it perfectly clear to Sumner that their views on the moral imperative of emancipation marched in total lockstep.
“Mr. President,” Stevens said, in a low tone that Lincoln had long since learned to associate with some grand yet subtle threat from the political giant of Pennsylvania. “You must be aware that many Radical Republicans are becoming increasingly willing to cast their votes in the upcoming presidential election to John Frémont, whose views on these subjects are more in keeping with ours.”
“That would be the most self-defeating act in the history of American politics,” Lincoln said with conviction. A few Radical Republicans, having lost all sense of political reality, had broken away from the mainstream party and nominated Frémont for president at a rogue convention in Cleveland. “As any child can clearly see, Frémont has no chance at all of winning the election. Support for him merely drains support away from the true Republican Party. In essence, anyone who casts a vote for Frémont, in actuality, casts a vote for McClellan, and thus for the perpetuation of slavery.”
“I am merely stating facts, Mr. President,” Stevens replied.
“Yes, facts,” Lincoln said, his voice more tired than it had been. “If you’ll permit me, gentlemen, allow me to state certain facts as I see them.”
“Certainly, Mr. President,” Sumner replied. Stevens merely bowed his head, deigning to grant Lincoln permission.
“We have recently suffered a serious military disaster in Georgia. Our offensive against Richmond has completely stalled. The people are war-weary. The treasury is nearly empty. We are rather like a man walking across a frozen lake, uncertain as to the thickness of the ice beneath his feet. Would it not be wiser for us to wait until we are on more solid ground before we begin to jump up and down?”
“An amusing analogy,” Stevens said in a voice that sounded anything but amused. “But let me remind you, Mr. President, that the human beings held in bondage in the South have been waiting for their freedom for two-and-a-half centuries.”
“That, of course, I know,” Lincoln said. For a moment, he remembered the looks on the faces of the black dockworkers at City Point. Each face had had hopes and dreams, aspirations and fears, as real as those of any rich Southern planter or wealthy New England shipping tycoon. For whatever reason, it seemed that God had chosen Abraham Lincoln as the instrument of their emancipation, but he couldn’t comprehend why, nor could he fully comprehend how he was to do so. After all, he could no more alter political reality than he could repeal the law of gravity.
Lincoln found himself wondering what would happen if he simply gave in to Sumner and Stevens. What if their extreme views on how the South should be treated were simply adopted as a national policy by his administration? He shook his head. If he did such a thing, the occupied area of the Confederacy, as well as the border states of Kentucky and Missouri, would erupt in violent resistance. Thousands of Union officers and tens of thousands of enlisted men would throw down their weapons and refuse to fight. There would be riots in the streets of New York and Chicago by disgruntled factory workers fearful of freed slaves swamping the Northern labor force. The Southerners would be inspired to even greater feats of resistance to Yankee power. In such a scenario, the Democrats would win the November election in an unprecedented landslide.
“Gentlemen,” Lincoln said, his voice betraying immense fatigue. “I thank you sincerely for coming to the White House to share your views on these subjects. I can only plead with you to remember that we are on the same side and that winning the war against the South is a prerequisite for all else that you hold so dear.”
Senator Sumner and Congressman Stevens rose to their feet as Lincoln did. Handshakes and brief expressions of thanks were exchanged. A few moments later, the two giants of abolitionism left the office. Lincoln sank back into his chair.
He knew that, on a moral level, Sumner and Stevens were absolutely correct. Slavery was an evil that had to be eradicated and those who denied freedom to others did not deserve it for themselves. But the President of the United States had to operate in the real world. He had to deal with military and political reality. With that thought, he picked up and began reading a report about the conditions of the prison camp at Point Lookout, which had recently caused some controversy.
*****
July 27, Evening
“You wished to see me, sir?” Hardee asked.
“Yes, William,” Johnston answered. “Please sit down. How are things with your corps?”
“Fine, I suppose,” Hardee said, sitting back comfortably in his chair. “Little activity aside from some heavy skirmishing. But our scouts who have penetrated the Union line report that the Army of the Cumberland has almost fully withdrawn to the north bank of the river.”
“What’s left of it,” Johnston said, unable to suppress a grin.
Hardee smiled. “Quite so.”
“McPherson and Schofield will follow, I imagine. Make sure your men are ready to advance at a moment’s notice.”
“They are, sir. Have no doubt.”
“Good. Now, I’ve asked you to come because there is an urgent matter about which I need your advice. I received a telegram from Richmond yesterday. General Hood has requested a reassignment to the Trans-Mississippi.”
“What?” Hardee asked, incredulous.
“It seems that General Hood would prefer not to remain with the Army of Tennessee. I confess I do not know why. The answer to that question can only be provided by Hood himself.”
“I am shocked,” Hardee said. “I had no idea he
had any desire to leave the army.”
“Nor did I. Alas, that is not what I wished to discuss. We must decide which division commander we shall promote to take Hood’s place, at least until Richmond sees fit to appoint a permanent replacement.”
Hardee rubbed his chin for a moment. “The answer is obvious, sir. Cleburne. I can think of no better man than Patrick Cleburne. His record should speak for itself and a man more devoted to the cause of Southern freedom has not yet been born.”
Johnston nodded slowly. “Regrettably, there’s a problem.”
He slid the telegram from the War Department across the desk. Hardee’s eyes narrowed as he picked up the paper and quickly read through it. Johnston saw the expression on Hardee’s face change instantly to one of anger. He tossed the paper back onto the desk and shook his head.
“It’s not right,” he said sadly. “It’s just not right.”
“I know, William. Believe me, I know.”
Hardee’s voice now became flustered. “Cleburne is the best division commander in the Confederacy. He has fought gallantly in every major battle of the Army of Tennessee since the beginning of the war. He saved the army at Ringgold Gap. His performance at Peachtree Creek was perhaps the best rendered by any division commander on either side in any battle since the beginning of the war.”
“I agree with you completely, my friend.”
“Then why must I go back to him and tell him that, in spite of his outstanding record, he is to be passed over for promotion yet again?”
Johnston sighed. “I will tell him, if you like.”
Hardee shook his head. “No, I’m his immediate superior. I’m also his friend. I’ll tell him. But can I at least tell him why?”
“To be honest, your guess is as good as mine, William. Is it because he did not graduate from West Point? Is it because he is a foreign-born Irishman?” He paused for just a moment. “Or is it because he advocated freeing the slaves and enlisting them in the army?”
Shattered Nation Page 43