Grant Comes East

Chapter Nine

July 20,1863

4:00 a.m.

The sudden lurching of the boat as it bumped against the dock roused him from a deep, dreamless sleep.

Ulysses Grant sat up and instantly regretted it, as he banged his head on the overhead deck. Softly muttering an obscenity, he lay back, disoriented for a moment. He was in a narrow cabin lit by a coal oil lamp turned down low. The space was little bigger than a coffin, just enough room for a bed, with the deck only inches from his face. Beside the bed was a small nightstand, with a basin of water on it Under the stand was a chamber pot In the comer sat a small chair with his coat draped on it.

Rolling over, he slipped out of the bed and found that even at his stature he could not stand upright The boat swayed gently; topside he heard shouted commands, the scurrying of feet

There was a knock on the door, it was Elihu. "We're here." "I'll be right out"

He splashed some water on his face, buttoned the plain four-button coat of an infantry private, and looked down at his uniform. The only mark of command was the hastily stitched shoulder boards with three stars. The third star for each shoulder had been cut out and sewn in between the existing two stars, since no official three-star insignia could be found. The uniform was stained, rumpled, smelling of sweat both human and horse, but there was no changing to a fresh uniform now. In the hurried confusion in the dark at Port Deposit his trunk had never been transferred from the train to this courier boat. There was nothing to be done about it now, and he opened the door.

Elihu was hunched over in the corridor.

"What time is it?" Grant asked.

"Just after four Philadelphia time, not exactly sure what it is here. We really flew down the Chesapeake. That young lieutenant in command has nerves of steel; I couldn't see a damn thing and yet he was puffing along, boilers wide open."

The journey had gone by in a blur for him. Express train to Philadelphia, where they changed trains, and from there down to Perryville on the north bank of the Susquehanna, where they had transferred to a waiting courier boat.

"You get any sleep?" Grant asked.

He had felt a twinge of guilt when the young naval lieutenant in command of the boat insisted that Grant take his coffinlike cabin, leaving Washburne and Haupt to fend for themselves aboard the toylike boat.

"Haupt slept on the deck, in the pilot's cabin; I played cards with the crew."

"Win anything?"

"You know it's against regulations to gamble aboard a naval vessel," Elihu said with a grin. "How would it look for a congressman to be caught trying to take the earnings of our gallant sailors?"

He shook his head.

"They cleaned me out. I lost fifty dollars."

Climbing a half dozen steps up a ladder, Grant and Washburne came out on the deck. The open boiler aft was ticking and hissing, steam venting out. All was wrapped in a thick, oily fog, muffling sound; the dock they were tied to illuminated by gas lamps that cast a feeble golden glow. The air was thick with a fetid, marshlike scent, mingled with the stench of sewage.

The young lieutenant and his crew of five stood at attention by the narrow gangplank. Haupt was already on the dock, disappearing into the shadows.

Elihu stepped down the gangplank, two of the sailors grinning and winking at him. Grant followed, stepped on to the dock, and looked around. It was as if he had walked into a ghost land. A lone sentry on the dock was the only living presence, the sailor looking at him nervously and then snapping to attention.

"No one knows we're here," Elihu said.

"Fine with me."

They stood in the fog, Grant not sure at the moment what should be done next Haupt returned a moment later.

"No one knew we were coming. It's a bit chaotic, casualties being brought in from the fight at the fortifications, but I'm having three horses brought to us. They should be here in a few minutes."

Grant slowly walked along the dock, hands behind his back, the point of his cigar glowing. A shallow draft ironclad was tied off just ahead of where they docked, guns protruding fore and aft, a wisp of steam and smoke venting from the stack. A detail of half a dozen sailors approached out of the fog, running hard, a naval ensign leading them. They drew up short, and the ensign saluted, the men coming to attention.

"Sorry, sir, no one told us you were coming," the ensign gasped.

"No problem, Ensign. What has been going on here?"

"The fight, sir?"

"Yes."

"We could hear it, hell of a barrage. Our artillery really put it to them. The barracks have been converted over to a hospital for rebel prisoners. A dirty lot, sir, covered in lice most of them."

Grant said nothing. The navy was used to a far different standard of living, and the sight of a real infantryman, who had been campaigning for weeks in the field, would of course come as a shock to them.

"Is it true, sir, you're coming from the West with fifty thousand men?" the ensign asked excitedly.

"You know I can't discuss that with you," Grant replied, a note of reproach in his voice.

"Sorry, sir. Just that's been the word around here the last few days."

There was a clattering of hooves, and several cavalrymen approached, leading their mounts. The sergeant in charge of the small detail did not look all that pleased.

"Are you General Grant, sir?" he asked coolly after saluting.

"Yes, Sergeant."

"Some general just came up and said he was requisitioning three horses."

"That's right, Sergeant. Don't worry, I'll make sure we get them back to you by midmorning."

"Sir, I don't like being dismounted at a time like this."

"I understand, Sergeant."

The trooper reluctantly handed over the reins of his mount, a towering stallion.

"He's a tough one, sir, sensitive mouth, so be careful."

Grant smiled, took the reins, and quickly mounted. The horse shied a bit, tried to buck, and he settled himself down hard in the saddle, working the bit gently but making it clear he was mounted to stay. The horse settled down.

Elihu and Haupt mounted as well. Grant looked around, totally disoriented.

"I know the way," Elihu announced.

The sergeant looked up at him, and Grant sensed the man was a bit disappointed, half hoping that the mighty general would wind up on his backside for having taken his horse.

Elihu led the way, moving at a walk down the length of the dock, passing another ironclad, this one rigged with lanterns hanging over the railings and boarding nets strung around its circumference.

They eased past a line of wagons, several carriages, and a couple of ambulances. The main barracks were aglow with a light that cast dim shafts of gold out the windows to dissipate in the cloaking fog. From within he could hear low groans, a sudden cry of pain. Naval sentries, half-asleep, stood outside the building, leaning on their muskets. Four bodies were lying on the lawn, bare feet sticking out from under the blankets, the corpses, like all corpses, looking tiny and forlorn.

Elihu broke into a slow trot as they went through the gates of the naval yard, the sentries looking at them wide-eyed as they passed.

"Hey, was that Grant?" one of them asked as they passed, their conversations muffled and then lost in the fog. They trotted up a broad avenue, passing a convoy of wagons parked by the side of the road. No one was about The streets were empty, the soft glow of streetlights marking their way. Two- and three-story houses lining the road were dark. Several street corners had small patrols stationed, three or four men. Some were up, standing, more than one man curled up, sleeping in a doorway while a lone comrade fought to stay awake, keeping watch.

A black cat darted across the street in front of Grant, causing his horse to shy, arid he fought it back down, urging it forward.

Elihu chuckled.

"Not superstitious, are you?" he asked.

Grant said nothing, letting go of the rein with one hand to reach into his pocket pull out a match, and strike his cigar back to life.

A wagon rumbled past them, going in the opposite direction. Inside, piles of newspapers were stacked high. The road slowly climbed up a slope, the narrow confines of houses giving way to a broad, open expanse of lawn. He didn't need to be told; it was the Capitol.

Dim lights glowed from within, the fog breaking up slightly to reveal, in the first early light of dawn, the great iron dome that was still under construction.

Elihu slowed a bit, reined his horse in, and stopped for a moment

"No matter how many times I see it, it still gives me a lump in the throat," he whispered.

Grant said nothing, looking up at the towering heights. Even now, at four-thirty in the morning, the building was open. A row of ambulances was parked in front of the east portico, stretcher-bearers carrying their burdens up the steps. Civilians were coming in and out, some moving slowly, wearily, after what must have been a long night of labor, others hurrying in.

He was tempted to stop, if only for a few minutes. It had been years since he had trod these halls, and within were men who had suffered, some enduring the final agony of having paid the ultimate price for the preservation of what this building represented. But other matters pressed, and he slowly rode on.

They skirted around the south end of the Capitol, dropping down to the broad, open, almost marshy ground below the building. Directly in the middle he stopped again and looked up.

The structure towering above him was imposing, solid, conveying a sense of the eternal… the temple of the republic for which he fought

Whether it would one day stand as a hollow testament to the failure of the dream, or remain the central hall of freedom, now rested squarely upon his shoulders. It was a responsibility he had not sought but which fate seemed to have thrust upon him. Strangely, he found himself wondering how this place would look fifty, a hundred and fifty years from now. Would it be barren, a city abandoned like so many capitals of the ancient world, or would it be vibrant, alive, the dream continuing, a place of pride, a republic that would endure this time of crisis and emerge yet stronger?

He pressed on, following Elihu, who had slowly ridden ahead, Haupt at his side. They reached Pennsylvania Avenue and turned left. There was a light scattering of traffic, the first streetcar of the morning slowly making its way up the hill to the Capitol. A company of troops marching in route step passed on the other side of the road, rifles slung over shoulders, the men bantering among themselves, barely noticing the two officers and a congressman trotting past A barricade blocked off most of the street farther on, with two twelve-pound Napoleons deployed behind it, sentries standing at the narrow opening. No comments were exchanged as they rode through, though one of the men looked up curiously at Grant as he saluted.

As they dropped down off Capitol Hill, the fog thickened again. Riding in the middle of the street, they could barely see the buildings flanking either side. A drunk sitting on the curb was being soundly dressed down by a policeman who was hoisting him to his feet. A few ladies of the evening, or in this case the early morning, loitered under a streetlamp, looking over hopefully as they passed, but offering no comments.

They passed by the bright lights of the Willard, a small crowd gathered outside, mostly officers, but none looked over at his passage. He was glad of that, otherwise the rumor would explode like wildfire. With his private's sack coat, collar pulled up against the morning damp, he was barely distinguishable, except for the three stars on each shoulder.

Directly ahead was the War Department, Elihu leading the way. In the fog he caught a glimpse of the White House, troops deployed on the front lawn. The sky was brightening, shifting from indigo to a sullen gray.

They reined in before the dark somber mass of the War Department building. The sentries out front, in spite of the hour, were well turned out, uniforms smart, brass polished and reflecting the glow of the streetlights.

As he swung down off his mount, several orderlies came out of the doorway and at the sight of him slowed, stiffening to attention.

"General Grant?" one of them asked.

He returned the salute and nodded.

"Sir, the secretary of war is in his office; he told me to escort you in the moment you arrived."

Haupt dismounted with him, but Elihu stayed on his horse.

"Think I'll wander over to the White House," Elihu announced.

In spite of the hour, Grant knew that Elihu would rouse the president, and he was grateful. Stanton had no real love for him, and at this crucial first meeting it would be good to have Lincoln present.

Grant followed the orderly into the building after telling one of the sentries to find a way to return the horses back to the cavalrymen at the naval yard.

The corridors were brightly lit with gaslight, the floor beneath his feet sticky with tobacco juice, cluttered with scraps of paper, and even what appeared to be splotches of blood. Even at five in the morning it was bustling with activity, staff officers running back and forth; a lieutenant with his arm in a sling-the blood on the floor obviously from the leaking wound in his elbow-leaned against a wall, pale-faced, not even noticing as Grant walked past him. In his good hand he was clutching a roll of papers.

They went up the stairs, turned down another corridor, the air a bit stuffy and damp, and without fanfare were ushered into the outer office of the secretary of war.

A well-dressed colonel, sitting behind a desk, stood up as Grant and Haupt came in.

"Good morning, General, we were expecting you," the colonel announced in a soft, silky voice. "The secretary is asleep but I have orders to wake him the moment you arrive. Please make yourself comfortable."

The colonel slipped through a doorway, barely opening it, and the etched glass panes of the inner office, which had been dark, now glowed from a light within.

There was muffled conversation. Grant settled back in the leather-bound seat and looked over at Haupt, who was obviously exhausted.

They didn't wait long. The doorway opened, the colonel beckoning for them to enter.

Stanton was up, hair rumpled, feet in carpet slippers, an unmade daybed in the corner, with blankets kicked back. He wheezed slightly as he came up and shook Grant's hand.

"You made good time, sir.".

"General Haupt is to be thanked for that. We had an express with track cleared all the way from Harrisburg to Perryville."

Stanton beckoned to a couple of seats across from his desk as he settled down. The colonel reappeared bearing a silver tray with a pot of coffee and one of tea. He poured the tea for Stanton and coffee for Grant and Haupt, then withdrew.

Stanton opened a desk drawer and pulled out a pocket flask.

"Would you care for a bracer in that, General?" he asked.

Grant, features expressionless, shook his head. Stanton put the flask back in the desk.

"Give me a minute to wake up, General," he said, and leaning back in his chair, Stanton noisily sipped on his cup of tea, draining it, then refilling it.

Grant waited patiently.

"Did you hear what happened here the last two days?" Stanton asked.

"Just the telegrams you sent up to me and the usual newspaper reports."

"We bloodied them. Two divisions, Perrin and Pettigrew, were all but destroyed. It was a major defeat for Lee and his men."

"That's what I heard."

"We have some reports that Jefferson Davis is in their camp."

"I heard that as well, sir."

"If he's there, I think that means he will renew the attack." Grant said nothing, making no comment about Stanton's observation.

"We are getting stronger pretty fast," Stanton continued. "All of Strong's brigade is up from Charleston. Two more brigades are slated to arrive today, along with some additional units out of Philadelphia and several ninety-day regiments that were mustering in New Jersey. I hope the rebels do try it again."

"I don't think they will," Grant ventured.

"Why?"

"If Lee failed in his first assault, and did so with the casualties you are reporting, I cannot see him trying the exact same attack again. One attempt against a fortified position might be justified, but a second one on the heels of a failed attack would be folly. And Lee is not given to folly."

"Are you certain of that?"

"No one can ever be certain in war, but it's what I would do and I think Lee is a professional who avoids self-destructive mistakes."

"Suppose Davis orders another attack? He obviously came north to be here and gloat over their final victory. I cannot see him turning away from us now. The political repercussions would be significant."

"I think, sir, that General Lee would resist any such order. In spite of their victories of the last month they cannot afford any more serious losses. If he takes Washington but drains his army's manpower, it will be an even worse defeat in the end."

"And you are certain of that?"

Again Grant shook his head, knowing right here at the start that Stanton was trying to force him into a commitment to his own vision of what would come next.

"And again, sir, nothing is certain in war."

Stanton coughed noisily and then looked over sharply at the cigar in Grant's hand.

There was an ashtray at the comer of the desk and he put it out.

"Do you know why I summoned you here?" Stanton asked.

"I would assume, sir, to review the plans of the forthcoming campaign."

"Yes, General. Since your appointment to field command of all armies, I have not the slightest inkling of what your intentions are."

"Sir, I thought it best not to entrust such delicate information to either the telegraph or dispatches. I was going to prepare a full report for you once I was in Harrisburg."

"Why Harrisburg?"

"Sir, I plan to make that the base of my operations." Stanton coughed again and then poured another cup of tea. "You did not get my approval for making that your headquarters."

"I know that, sir."

Haupt stirred uncomfortably by Grant's side and Stanton looked over at him. "What is it, Haupt?"

"Sir, Harrisburg is an ideal location to constitute a new field army. Its rail connections are some of the best in the North. It offers easy access not only to upstate New York and New England, but to the Midwest as well. We will have to run literally thousands of trains in the next month in order to create this force, and I suggested Harrisburg almost immediately as the place to marshal. Besides, though not a field commander, I think it evident that by organizing at Harrisburg, we maintain a potent position to strike into the rear of Lee's lines of communication, thus ultimately forcing him to battle."

"Thank you for that analysis, Haupt, but there is another consideration that carries far more weight, and that is the political consideration of maintaining Washington no matter what the cost."

"Mr. Secretary," Grant interjected, glad that Haupt had offered a moment's diversion with a very pointed and cogent argument, "I think it is fair to state that Washington is secure now."

"Are you certain, General Grant? We've had reports that a massive Confederate column, maybe upwards of fifty thousand strong, is already marshaling in Richmond; advance elements even now are moving into the Shenandoah Valley, coming up to reinforce Lee or to act as an independent striking force."

"And who commands this?"

"Our agents report it is Beauregard."

Grant said nothing. He had faced Beauregard once before, at Shiloh, and did not hold him in the high regard that others did.

"I would think they are destined to merge with Lee's forces," he finally offered in reply.

"Whether with Lee or not, such a force could very well tip the scale and take the capital."

"I would not place this new force in the same caliber as the Army of Northern Virginia. They are scraping the bottom of the barrel. Chances are many of the units are state militias, about as useful as our ninety-day regiments. It could take them weeks, a month or more, before their numbers will even be noticed."

"Sir," Haupt said, pressing back in to the conversation. "The Confederate railroad system is a shambles. Several different gauges on their lines hinder any transfers when moving long distances. They have to stop and transfer men and equipment between trains every time they encounter a new gauge. Last winter, when the Army of Northern Virginia was encamped in front of Fredericksburg, they could barely move half a dozen supply trains a day, forcing Lee to scatter his forces across hundreds of square miles for forage. The task of moving that number of men north, if that is indeed the number, will strain them to the breaking point."

"The number is valid," Stanton snapped.

"As reported by whom?" Grant asked.

"I've sent Pinkerton agents into Virginia."

Again Grant did not reply. Some of the agents were good, obviously the one who had sent the message to him about Davis was doing his job, but most of them were amateurs when it came to doing field reconnaissance. It was similar reports, early in 1862, claiming the rebels had two hundred thousand in front of Richmond, that had crippled McClellan. In his own mind, he cut the numbers in half. At most Lee would get twenty-five thousand.

"I think, General Grant, that you should stay in Washington, establish your headquarters here, and make this your main base of operations. Sickles, up on the banks of the Susquehanna, is even now reorganizing the Army of the Potomac. Between your force and his, Lee can be trapped."

"Sickles? Dan Sickles?"

"Yes, Dan Sickles. I signed the order this afternoon promoting him to command of the Army of the Potomac."

He felt his face flush at this news.

"Sir, as commander of all forces in the field, I feel I should have been consulted on this."

"General Grant, you've been incommunicado ever since this debacle unfolded. I was forced to act and act I did."

Before I could countermand it, Grant thought

"Why General Sickles?" he finally asked.

"I don't like him any more than you do, Grant," Stanton replied. "But he has powerful friends in Congress. We need the continued support of the Democratic Party and he is firmly in their camp and now their hero of the hour. His after-action report for Gettysburg and for Union Mills has been printed up and circulated, even the newspapers have it."

"I've yet to see this report, who was it forwarded to?" Grant asked.

"It came straight to me. With Meade dead, he had the excuse to bypass proper channels. Copies were leaked as well. I do have to admit mat the man had a point about Gettysburg. If Meade had allowed him to go forward on July 2, he would have plowed straight into Lee's flanking march and perhaps destroyed it. He argued as well that if he had been allowed to march to the support of Fifth Corps in front of Taneytown, rather than ordered to proceed to Union Mills, he could have turned Lee's left flank and forced the rebels to withdraw. It's causing an uproar. He was scheduled to appear before the Committee on the Conduct of the War to testify."

"But if he was appointed to command of the Army of the Potomac that hearing would be canceled?" Haupt asked.

That ploy was something he had never considered, and Grant shook his head. Yet again, the political maneuverings. Command in the East was clearly much more political and complex than command in the West Distance from Washington might have been a bigger advantage than he had thought.

"Yes, something like that He won't have time to testify now.

"Besides, he suppressed the rebellion in New York City and even the Republican papers are hailing him as the savior of the city."

Grant looked at the crushed cigar in the ashtray, wishing he could relight it.

"You are stuck with him, Grant" Stanton said.

"But nevertheless he will still answer to my orders," Grant said softly.

"In proper coordination with this office," Stanton replied.

Even though Grant's thinking rarely turned to outright guile, he could see that Stanton was trying to outmaneuver and box him in. He wondered if perhaps his old foe, Halleck, licking the wounds of public humiliation at his dismissal from supreme command, was even now lurking in a room down the hallway, waiting to rush in once this meeting was over.

The doorway opened and he almost cried out with relief. Elihu was there with President Lincoln behind him.

Obviously a bit flustered, Stanton stood up as Lincoln came in. His features were pale, eyes deep-set with exhaustion, black coat rumpled as if he had been sleeping in it, trousers stained with mud.

"Mr. President, General Grant and I were just discussing the forthcoming campaign."

"Yes, I can well imagine," Lincoln said.

He looked over at Grant and a genuine smile wrinkled his face.

"General, so good to see you," and he extended his hand.

His contacts with Lincoln, up to this moment, had been only remote. He had never stood like this, so close, almost a sense of the two of them being alone. He looked straight into the man's eyes and liked what he saw. Homey, down-to-earth, the prairie lawyer without pretense.

The handshake was firm, strong, with a touch of an affectionate squeeze just before he let go.

The colonel in the outer office came in, dragging two straight-backed chairs, hurriedly deployed them, and left, closing the door.

Lincoln went to the window and looked out. Dawn was breaking, wisps of fog curling up, the sky overhead visible now with streaks of pink and light blue.

"A long night, gentlemen," Lincoln said, and then turned back, "but hopefully a better day now. General Grant, I'm delighted to see you at last"

"I am honored to be here, sir."

'Tell me of Vicksburg and your journey to here. I need to hear some good news for a few minutes."

Grant briefly reviewed the climax of the campaign and his hurried journey east, Lincoln smiling and nodding as if all other cares had disappeared for the moment.

"Remarkable, when you think of it gentlemen. When I first came to Washington almost twenty years ago, the trip took weeks. When I was a boy, my trip to New Orleans, traveling with a raft of cantankerous hogs, took well over a month. And now we can all but leap across the country in a matter of days."

"After this war is over, sir," Haupt said proudly, "we'll go from Chicago to San Francisco in less than a week."

'Think of it," Lincoln said with a smile. "I read in Scientific American just a few weeks back how some tinkerers are talking about balloons powered by steam engines that will traverse the skies, perhaps even crossing to England in a matter of days. I would love to see that."

Stanton coughed and shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

"Our good secretary is reminding us, gentlemen, that we must deal with business before we can play with our dreams. Is your health well this morning, Mr. Secretary?"

"No, sir. The cursed asthma again."

"I'm sorry to hear that, but yes, down to business."

"Mr. President, I was just discussing with General Grant our wish that he establish his headquarters and operational base here in Washington. It will serve to defend our capital, but also has a logic in terms of logistics, with our superior water transport moving the men and equipment he might desire."

Lincoln nodded thoughtfully, crossing his legs to reveal a pale white shin, his sock having slid down to pile up atop his shoe.

"And, General Grant, your opinion on this? I should add that though the secretary speaks in the plural with his statement as to 'our' wishes, I will admit to not having discussed this with him yet at length."

Stanton bristled slightly and Grant saw the interplay between the two, and the opening Lincoln was providing him.

"Sir. I think Harrisburg is the better choice."

"Enlighten me."

He presented his argument in a concise, clear manner, both in terms of the plan he was formulating and the logistic issues, which Haupt weighed in on. Concluding his presentation, which took no more than five minutes, he fell silent.

"I think, sir, that establishing the base in Harrisburg would be redundant," Stanton replied sharply. "We already have Sickles north of the Susquehanna. It would divert from him resources and rolling stock needed for his own efforts."

"I thought all efforts were for the same goal," Lincoln said softly, looking back out the window.

"A renewed Army of the Potomac, a hundred thousand strong, coming down out of the north," Stanton pressed, "with General Grant here in Washington acting as the anvil, would force the conclusion we want."

Lincoln looked back at Grant.

"Your reply to that?"

"A hundred thousand for the Army of the Potomac?" Grant asked.

"They are the army of this theater, sir," Stanton replied.

"And have lost," Grant said quietly without condemnation, just a simple statement of fact.

"Are you saying they should be disbanded?" Stanton asked heatedly.

"No, sir. They have a role, which I've already mentioned just now to the president. But a hundred thousand strong?"

"You disagree with the number?" Lincoln asked.

"Sir, you've appointed me commander in chief of all forces in the field. To do that task I must be in command, and in the field, not trapped in a besieged garrison. Washington will hold just fine for the moment. If another crisis appears, I can quickly shift men here as needed. But if I stay here, I will be cut off, only able to communicate with all the other field commands by a tenuous line of courier boats racing from here up to Perryville and back. The delay will be crippling in and of itself, and will render me ineffective in my post"

"You answer to the War Department, General Grant" Stanton said heatedly. "General Halleck found it workable to run things from Washington. If you do not like that arrangement, sir…"

And his voice trailed off as Lincoln held up his hand for silence.

No one spoke as Lincoln stood back up and walked to the window. He gazed out for a moment. Grant looked straight at Stanton, who was obviously angry, breathing hard, each breath a labored struggle.

Lincoln finally turned.

"General Grant, I give you full discretion."

Stanton shifted, looking over at Lincoln, about to protest

"Mr. Secretary, you've done an admirable job these last two weeks."

Grant could detect a certain strain in Lincoln's voice. He knew of the controversy that had blown up about the contradictory orders sent by Stanton and Halleck to Meade, after Lincoln had ordered Meade not to risk his forces recklessly in an attempt to re-establish contact with Washington. He could see that there was a complex battle now brewing between these two men, and his own position was a major piece in that fight.

"Sir, I must protest" Stanton replied.

"And your protest will be duly noted. You are right that General Halleck managed things from here, but he did not win from here. I want General Grant out in the field. It's good to hear for once a commander asking for that, and not hiding behind his desk. I think General Grant is right: if he stays here in Washington, his position will be rendered ineffective, and we do not want that now, do we, Edwin?"

The secretary, flustered, was unable to respond.

"Good then, that's settled. Gentlemen, I've been up all night and would like to find some sort of breakfast So if you will excuse me."

The group stood up as Lincoln headed to the door. He stopped and looked back.

"Grant, would you care to join me?" he asked.

"Mr. President, I have numerous details to go over with the general," Stanton protested.

"I think General Haupt could be of more assistance to you at the moment Don't worry, I'll have our commander here back to you later today."

Without waiting for a reply Lincoln was out the door. Elihu beckoned for Grant to follow.

Lincoln waited in the hallway as the door closed behind

Grant. Not a word was spoken as they went back down the stairs. The corridor was packed, word having raced through the building that the president and Grant were in with Stanton. Men snapped to attention, saluting, Lincoln smiling, shaking a few hands until they were out in the street.

To Grant's dismay he saw several reporters racing up, notebooks out, shouting questions. A provost guard was waiting, however, rounding the reporters up, pressing them back against the wall of the War Office. The press howled, especially when a captain of the guard shouted a reminder that the city was still under martial law and they were to keep quiet about whom they saw, under penalty of arrest.

Lincoln set off at a brisk pace, crossing the street, heading back to the White House, a mounted guard detail forming a circle around them, but moving at a discreet distance, allowing the three to talk without being heard.

"Well, that was interesting," Elihu offered.

"Stanton wanted to chain you to that building," Lincoln said, shaking his head. "He wanted you where he could watch you and control you. You would think that we all would have learned by now."

"I smell Halleck in this," Elihu replied angrily.

"All of them are jealous," Lincoln said, shaking his head. "Grant, I'm afraid there are some here who are not pleased by your promotion."

"I'm sorry if that is the case."

"Don't be. It's not a time to be sorry about stepping on toes. Especially big toes sticking out from under the safety of their desks."

"Yes, sir."

"I think I'm going to like working with you, Grant," Lincoln replied. "You're from the West, as I am; we see things differently. None of this flummery and posturing. I'm sick to death of it, while good boys are dying. Why everyone needs so dang much gold braid to play dress up for what is after all the business of killing is beyond me."

Grant spared a glance down at his own soiled tunic and trousers. He had been a bit embarrassed while riding through the city. He was glad now his dress uniform had been left behind.

"Smoke, if you feel like it, Grant; I know it bothers our poor secretary with his lung sickness, but it's fine by me. When we meet Mrs. Lincoln, however, I'll ask you to refrain."

"Yes, sir."

He reached into his breast pocket, pulled out the last of his cigars, and paused for a second to strike a match on the side of his boot. He puffed it to life and nodded his thanks.

"That's Grant. I know it!"

The streets were beginning to fill with early-morning traffic. Several companies, in columns of fours, were marching by in the other direction, and a cheer went up for Lincoln and Grant.

Grant did not acknowledge it; it was something he hated and it was clearly evident these men had never served under his command. Lincoln tipped his hat, nodded, and pressed on.

The last wisps of morning fog were breaking up, the sun hot and low on the eastern horizon, casting long shadows.

They approached the front entrance to the White House. The troops who were camped on the ground were getting rousted out, the word of who was approaching obviously having raced ahead. Orders were shouted, men falling into ranks, forming twin lines across the front lawn and snapping to attention. Lincoln stopped and put a hand on Grant's shoulder, causing him to turn.

"A few comments and questions before we go in," Lincoln said softly.

"Anything, sir."

"You are to be in sole command, General. We have lacked that for too long. To be frank, I felt that General McClellan saw the armies as nothing more than his personal escort I made mistakes as well then; I was patient when I should have interfered and I interfered when I should have stepped back. I think any president would be tempted to do so, but I've learned my lessons. I think as well I should have been far more forceful in finding a general that would fight, then letting him go do his business. You are my expert at battle, so unless there is a profound issue that cannot be avoided by me, I will stand back and let you see to your business."

Grant could not reply to that. The reality was simply too startling. But three short weeks ago he was handling a siege on the Mississippi, all that he commanded almost within direct view at any given moment. Now every soldier as far afield as Texas or the Indian Territories was under his command

And yet it did not overwhelm him. He thought of the many cold, rainy nights, sitting alone with Sherman, talking of how the war should be fought, how if allowed to do so they could bring the bloodletting to an end. The price, up front, would be cruel, and yet in the end it would spare all of the nation endless years of half measures and unrelenting agony. This president had just given him that power.

"The secretary is not happy with your appointment. Frankly, it was done without serious consultation with him. Some claim it was the spur of the moment, the night I learned of the destruction of the Army of the Potomac. Maybe so, but I will tell you, Grant, that the thought had been building for some time."

"I appreciate that confidence, sir, I hope I can live up to it."

"All right, then. To speak bluntly and no whispers on the aside. I know about your problem with drinking."

Grant flushed and lowered his head.

"I know as well that you have kept it under control in spite of the vicious rumors launched by your enemies, including some back in that very office we just left.

'I'll only say this once and the matter will never be spoken of again. Until this war is finished, not another drop, sir. If you shall fail in that pledge, your enemies and mine will howl for your head and I doubt if even I will be able to save it. I have placed a confidence in you and I expect it to be observed."

Grant looked back up into his eyes and saw there was no recrimination. The gaze was almost fatherly as Lincoln reached out and squeezed his shoulder.

"You have my word of honor on that, sir," Grant replied humbly.

"Good. Nothing more will be said on that," and Lincoln smiled.

"Now, establish your headquarters where you will. If Harrisburg is your choice, so be it"

"And General Sickles, sir?" Lincoln sighed.

"My hand was forced on that point. He might be a thorn in your side, the last of the old guard of McClellan's time, but then again, he seems to have conducted himself well in division and corps command. And like it or not, he was right about the second day at Gettysburg. If he had been allowed to advance, the same request he had made at Chancellorsville, all might be different now."

Lincoln smiled.

"Perhaps we would not even be meeting like this if he had been listened to. Some philosophers muse on the idea that history can take many paths, and perhaps that is true. It might very well have been the case at Gettysburg. So General Sickles now has his chance, but he is to answer to you."

"And if I find it necessary to relieve him?"

Lincoln sighed and looked away.

"Grant, you are the supreme military commander, but in this one case I will have to ask for your forebearance. Can I ask you to trust me on this score? The ramifications would, unfortunately, go far beyond the military issues and affect our entire war effort. I hope you understand."

He could not refuse the request as Lincoln had just made it, as if he was a neighbor asking for a favor.

"Yes, sir. Whatever you wish."

"Fine then. Are you hungry?"

Grant smiled and nodded his head.

"Yes, sir, to tell the truth I'm starving."

"We have an excellent cook. Perhaps some flapjacks with maple syrup, a good slice of fried ham, and some coffee?"

"I'd be delighted."

"We'll talk more later, when we are alone. But let's relax for the moment. I just met this remarkable fellow I'd like you to meet Hope you don't mind that he's colored."

"Of course not, sir."

"Been learning a lot of history from him these last few days; he's known every president since Madison. Has some delightful insights."

'It would be a pleasure to meet him."

"Good then. Elihu, I know you're looking for a meal as well at taxpayers' expense."

"Thank you, Mr. President."

Lincoln started to lead the way again, but then stopped and it seemed as if a visible weight had suddenly come back down upon his shoulders. He looked back at Grant, eyes again dark, careworn.

"May I ask a question, General Grant?"

"Yes, sir, anything."

"Can we win? Can we end this madness before it destroys us all, North and South?"

The intensity of the question, the look in Lincoln's eyes struck him. Rarely given to sentiment, he found his own voice choking for a moment, and he was unable to speak. It was as if a mystical bond was, at that moment, forged between them. As if in whatever way possible, he had to lift some of the infinite burden off this man's shoulders, and even as that thought formed he felt the weight, the awesome responsibility of knowing that the republic, its very survival, its fate over the next hundred years, rested on him as well.

He slowly nodded his head, looking straight into Lincoln's eyes.

"Yes, sir, we can win."