1862

Chapter Ten

General Winfield Scott sat on a small wooden stool that was perched precariously in the mud and watched as President Abraham Lincoln lifted the rifle to his shoulder and aimed downrange.

Lincoln fired, cocked the lever, and fired again. He repeated this a number of times until he was satisfied. There were powder stains and a slight burn on the side of his face, but his grin was wide.

“I don't think I was a threat to anything smaller than a barn:” he said genially, “but a line of riflemen would have known that I was about from the noise if nothing else.”

With that, he handed the rifle to a young naval officer who took it away. They were at the rifle range located at the Navy Yard a short distance from the White House. Lincoln liked to go there and relax. Target shooting and fiddling with new weapons were equal sources of pleasure and this effort involved both.

“That was a Henry repeating rifle,” Lincoln said, “and a damned fine weapon. Breech-loading and a fifteen-shot magazine in the stock. After you fire, the lever pushes a new bullet in until they are all gone. I've suggested we order several thousand for the army, perhaps more. General Meigs says the problem is not in getting the rifles, but in making the ammunition in sufficient quantity. After all, I just fired in less than one minute what a rifleman with an ordinary rifle would shoot in about fifteen.”

Scott knew all this but remained silent. There had been a number of attempts to develop breech-loading and repeating rifles, and the Henry, developed and patented in 1860, was the one that showed the most promise to date. And the problem of ammunition was real. Northern munitions industries could not provide enough bullets if large numbers of Union soldiers were equipped with the rapid-firing weapons.

“General McClellan has resigned, you know,” Lincoln continued. “The Young Napoleon has taken his hurt pride and his political ambitions elsewhere, and I wish him well. He will be preaching for a negotiated end to the war and for him to be the president that does the negotiating. His departure leaves me with a large void in the position of commanding general. Whom do you recommend I appoint to fill it, General Scott?”

“In the absence of anyone more qualified, I recommend that you continue in the position yourself,” said Scott.

This had been a sore point with General McClellan, who had held both titles: commanding general of the Army of the Potomac, and commanding general of all the Union armies. During the descent into Virginia, Lincoln had thought it too much for one man, in particular since McClellan had to concentrate on what was happening in the field before him. Lincoln, therefore, had assumed overall control of the Union armies, which had mightily annoyed McClellan.

“You do not wish your command back, General?”

Scott shook his head vehemently, causing the flesh of his jowls to shake and the little stool to wiggle dangerously. “No, sir, I do not. As I have said repeatedly, I am indeed too old for the daily rigors of the position. I simply despised Secretary Cameron and his duplicitous way of replacing me. I am not a stupid man, sir. I had already begun to realize that the task was beyond me.'^:

“Cameron's departure is not lamented,” Lincoln said.

“Therefore, sir, if you are indeed offering the command to me and not merely being polite, I shall be like Caesar and decline.”

“And forever watch your back for McClellan appearing as Brutus,” Lincoln said with a smile. It was evident that he was relieved that Scott did not want his old command back.

Lincoln wiped some of the powder from his face with a handkerchief. “General Scott, there are those who feel I made a botch of it by not releasing McDowell's corps to reinforce McClellan in Virginia as he had requested.”

Scott shrugged. “But what could you have done? Sumner was retreating towards Washington with what he thought was a giant army on his tail; thus, you had to retain McDowell to defend the capital. Besides, aren't you convinced that McClellan would still have lost even with McDowell's men? After all, he never did send in Burnside's corps. I believe you could have sent Mac every soldier on earth and he still would have asked for more, and then still fallen back in fear that he was outnumbered.”

Lincoln nodded. “I do not have the skills for the detail work, General Scott, or the time. How can I be both president and commanding general?”

“Then bring in someone like Halleck from the west. He is a persnickety old man, petty, vain, and jealous, but he does understand the army. His men call him Old Brains, and, while it is not always a compliment, it is an accurate reflection of both his monumental intellect and ego. Just don't give in to his ideas unless you are totally convinced he is right.”

“Then why not make him commanding general in his own right?” Lincoln asked.

“Because although he is magnificent as a military theoretician and as an administrator, he fails as a field commander. He lacks courage and is timid and plodding. I'm afraid he would make McClellan look good. No, sir, it must be you controlling him, and most certainly not the other way around.”

Again Lincoln nodded. “And what will you do while I am commanding? I presume you would still like a part to play in these proceedings.”

“Sir, I would like to presume to advise you from time to time.”

Lincoln smiled. “And what would your advice be today?”

“Is it still your purpose to preserve the Union at all costs?”

Lincoln's expression hardened. “At all costs and if it takes an eternity.”

“Very well sir. then think on this. Could we have defeated the Confederacy if Britain had not intervened?”

“Indeed. It would have taken time, but it could have been done. Would have been done,” he corrected himself. “Your Anaconda Plan was coming to fruition. The South would have been strangled.”

“Now, sir, can we defeat the Confederacy with Britain in the war?” Lincoln paused and shook his head sadly. “I wonder.”

“In my opinion, sir, we cannot. Great Britain can and will sustain the South until we tire of the war. Britain's goal is a divided United States that will never be an economic or military threat to her. Therefore, the way to defeat the South and preserve the Union is to first defeat Great Britain.”

Nathan Hunter, who with John Hay had been standing well behind the two men, stiffened at what he was hearing. This was the first opportunity the old man had had to discuss his thoughts with anyone other than Nathan.

“How?” Lincoln asked simply. “If a fractured United States is Britain's goal, then we shall truly be at war forever, for I shall never negotiate on that basis. We cannot attack England, and her ships have driven our commerce from the seas. We can sustain ourselves while England sustains the South, and that is the road to a long, bloody, and eternal stalemate. I fear that the Hundred Years War will seem like nothing more than a blink to future historians when they compare it to this one.”

“Sir, we have a large army, a very large army,” said Scott. “Despite what Pinkerton and McClellan fear, I believe we greatly outnumber both the Confederacy and England when it comes to ground forces currently in and available to come to North America. Therefore, I propose the following: that we go on the defensive against Lee with Pope commanding the Army of the Potomac. I propose that William Rosecrans or George Thomas command in the west in Halleck's stead, while McDowell takes a corps to California to reassure those people who feel abandoned by us. En route, McDowell can overawe both the Mormans and the Indians.”

Both the Mormons and the Indians had been restive as the war in the east distracted the federal government from its control over them. The Mormons had once tried to form a republic, and the Indians wanted autonomy in Minnesota and westward. Unfortunately, neither could be permitted to occur.

“McDowell could attack northward from California and seal off Puget Sound,” Scott continued. “I understand it is a magnificent natural harbor that will be important in the future.” The land north of the current border with England had previously been a bone of contention with those who felt that America's rights extended well northward. Such a move against Britain would be popular.

Fremont had made it to California with a few hundred recruits he'd acquired in Colorado, but had failed miserably in an attempt to force his way northwards. Worse, his Colorado militia. commanded by a man named Chivington, were little more than desperadoes. There had been anguished telegrams from the governor of California asking for help to bring order to the chaos Fremont had unleashed. California had a militia force of more than fifteen thousand, but it seemed paralyzed by events.

Scott's eyes were gleaming as he continued. “With the unlucky McDowell out west, Meade can command the Washington garrison. As we will be on the defensive, there should be no problems that Meade can't handle.”

Scott took a deep breath. What he was about to suggest was the focal point of his plan. “Lastly, an army should be formed and tasked with the invasion of Canada. Mr. President, Canada is Britain's Achilles' heel. It is virtually impossible for her to defend, and we have the forces at hand to attack. If we wreak havoc in Canada, England will squeal. Just as they flaunt our weaknesses to us, we will show them our strengths.”

Lincoln eyed him thoughtfully. “In two previous wars, we have tried to take Canada and failed.”

“And recall, sir, that I was there in 1812 for the last one. We attacked with few numbers and less skill, and we almost pulled it off. However, we did not fail totally. We chased the British well across Ontario when we finally got ourselves an army and figured out how to use it.”

Lincoln turned and looked off into the distance. Encouraged by the silence, Scott continued. “Sir, like you and Mr. Seward, I have spoken with Ambassador Adams, and he feels that the British public's support of the war is loud but fragile. It basically comes from three sources: one, the British aristocracy who fear American democracy as a leveller and a threat to their established order; two, the merchants who have been hurt by our blockade of the South; and three, the laborers who are unemployed by the blockade. These are offset by those who, like Florence Nightingale, are appalled at the thought of another war of any kind after the debacle in the Crimea, and those who are deeply disturbed by England's association with a slave nation. Lastly, there are those who believe that the destinies of England and the United States are intertwined, and that any differences should be negotiated, not battled over. That last group strongly feels that any debt concerning the stopping of theTrent was cancelled out by the sinking of theSt. Lawrence,

“Mr. Lincoln, as long as England appears victorious, the voices of opposition will continue to be muted. Should we begin to be victorious against English forces, then they will begin to be heard. I beg you, sir, consider an attack on Canada.”

“And who would you have command that invasion?” Lincoln asked.

Scott smiled. “Grant.”

Abraham Lincoln gestured for Nathan to come closer. “It is my understanding that you served with General Grant. Is it true?”

“Yes, sir, briefly. He and I were both stationed at Fort Humboldt, which is north of San Francisco.”

The professional officer corps of the American army prior to the war had been exceptionally small. Many had attended the academy together, while most of the rest had met while serving in the various, but small, army garrisons. As a result, almost every officer who'd served prior to the war either knew or knew of almost every other officer of sufficient rank.

Nor was the world of coincidence limited to the officers of the North and South. Lincoln had served with Jefferson Davis in the Black Hawk War, although neither recalled meeting the other, and Lincoln had served as an attorney representing a railroad in which McClellan had been a vice president.

“And Grant is a drunkard, is he not?” Lincoln asked harshly.

Nathan was a little taken aback by the accusation. “No, sir, I do not believe he is.”

“Then what is he?”

“Sir, I don't know what he is now, but back then he was a lonely and confused man. He was deeply devoted to his wife and child and was terribly lost without them. Humboldt was a miserable place where boredom was constant and desertion rife. Grant drank because he was lonely. I understand that when he's with his family or busy, he doesn't drink, at least not to excess.”

“How did you come to know this?” Lincoln asked.

Nathan managed a small smile. “He told me. I was bored, too. I drank with him on occasion.”

“Yet he was threatened with court-martial and resigned. Are you implying that the charge was not justified?”

“Of course it was justified, sir,” Nathan responded. “He was drunk on duty. Only thing was, so was I. The commandant decided to make an example of Grant, whom he didn't like. I offered to testify on Grant's behalf, but Grant told me not to bother. He was going to resign and go back to Ohio with his family.”

“Which he did and made a total mess of everything he touched as a civilian,” injected Scott. “He was appointed a colonel of volunteers by the governor of Ohio for the simple reason that the governor didn't have anyone else to appoint. From then on, we've seen a rejuvenation of the man.”

Lincoln nodded thoughtfully. “And he does fight. Halleck doesn't like him,” he said to Scott. “He's said so in his reports.” Scott chuckled. “Grant has proven himself better in the field than Halleck. Old Brains is jealous of other people's success.”

Lincoln paused, deep in thought. Finally he made his decision. “General, there is much merit in what you have said regarding England's role and her vulnerability. However, I must deal with a nation and a Congress that sees the real enemy as the Confederacy, and the heart of that enemy is its capital of Richmond. Sadly, we live in a political world and I must confront political realities. I've had to make many compromises and I will make more. For instance, I have appointed political mediocrities to military command in order to keep the remaining states satisfied and in line with my program of conquest of the South. To make what appears to be a digression in the war effort would be met with resounding and unmovable resistance. No, until and if the British give us a reason to change our focus and shift our priorities, we will not do anything significant regarding Canada.

“As regards the rest of it, General, I shall do what you suggest. Halleck will be transferred here to function as my administrator, and you shall be my adviser as regards the war. We shall send a column westward under McDowell, and I agree that Meade shall command here in Washington. But Canada? Not yet.”

“And what about General Grant?” Nathan asked with a boldness that surprised him.

Lincoln smiled and it appeared to Nathan that it was the same smile that a cat would give a cornered canary. “General Scott trusts you, and it is likely that General Grant will as well. Therefore, I would like you to go to Grant with a private message. Simply put, he is to hold himself ready to invade Canada and to prepare for it. However, he is not to move until I give him the specific go-ahead. Any thoughts of Canada must be secret. He should tell his staff that he is planning a thrust down the Mississippi, which he doubtless is anyway. Will you do that for me?”

Nathan felt his heart racing. “I am honored, sir.”

Hannibal Watson and his band had garnered a number of weapons. Along with knives, axes, and something called a machete, they had a couple of muskets and ammunition, which they'd taken from the Farnums'.

What they didn't have was the knowledge to use them. Two things were forbidden to slaves more than any other. One was literacy, since knowledge is power, and the second was how to kill using a rifle.

Hannibal had seen white people load and fire guns, and he thought he understood the basics. Prudently, he decided to experiment with very small charges of powder. Even so, he was shocked by the thunder and power of the resulting explosion. But mainly it was the power that enthralled him.

By trial and error, and with no serious accidents, they figured out how to fire their guns with killing effect. But now their numbers had grown to a dozen, and they needed more weapons to defend their newfound freedom. It was then that Hannibal came up with the idea of attacking their stalkers.

They had no idea whether the armed men in and around the woods in which they hid were after them in particular or runaway slaves in general. Hannibal thought it likely that there were many bands like his made up of other Negroes seeking freedom up north. As a result, slave catching had become a lucrative business. Any Negro man or woman who could not account for himself or herself in a proper or polite manner was considered a runaway.

For the slave catcher, times were good.

Three white men squatted by the campfire in the woodland clearing. Although dressed in rags, they were armed with rifles and pistols and had large knives in their belts. Slung by their saddles were chains to shackle captured runaways, and whips to beat them into submission. The three had been drinking heavily when Hannibal signalled for Bessie to make her entrance.

Nervously, almost shyly, Bessie shed herself of her clothing. Then she rolled in the dirt and mussed her hair to make herself disheveled and filthy. She smiled tentatively at Hannibal and staggered in the direction of the campfire, moaning loudly.

The three men heard the sounds and lurched to their feet just as Bessie emerged naked into the firelight. Even though she had lost weight during their flight, she was still a large woman and her pendulous breasts swayed as she lurched forward. She looked in sudden alarm at the three men, screamed, and ran back into the dark and the surrounding woods. Hannibal chuckled grimly. She hadn't had to pretend to be terrified. That scream was real.

“Goddamn!” yelled one of the slave catchers. “A free one.” They grabbed their rifles and stumbled after her. Within a few yards, they had stretched out and were no longer a group of three. Bessie could still be seen, stumbling and crying out, a few yards ahead. They made no move to shoot her. As Hannibal'd figured, they wanted her alive. Even if she wasn't worth much money, their shouts made it obvious that Bessie was going to be raped.

Finally, she disappeared into a stand of bushes. The first two slave catchers paused, wondering where she'd emerge. When they stopped, both concealed muskets fired and bullets struck them, knocking them to the ground. With a howl, others in Hannibal's band hurled themselves on the two men. The third slave catcher ran up just in time to be inundated by a sea of angry black humanity waving knives and axes.

Hannibal watched with grim satisfaction as the three slave catchers were chopped to bloody pieces while Bessie regained her clothing. He was not happy with the fact that neither Negro rifleman had killed his target. One catcher had been shot in the leg and the other in the shoulder. No matter, he decided, the catchers were just meat now. and marksmanship would surely improve with practice and experience. Until now, only he had actually killed anyone, but now all of his band had participated in it. Better, they now had three more rifles, and three pistols. They were becoming a force to be reckoned with. They were free. They would stay free.

Or they would kill and die trying.

Rebecca offered tea, which Nathan accepted politely. Tea was not his favorite hot drink. Given a choice, he would have preferred coffee or even hot chocolate.

They were in Rebecca's cousin's overly ornate sitting room. It was the first time he'd been to her Washington home and he was curious as to how she lived, even though it wasn't her house. There was a sense of prosperity in the dwelling, but not great wealth. It was obvious that Rebecca was very comfortable in it.

They were alone in the sitting room but, to maintain propriety, they sat on chairs facing each other. The door to the hallway was also open. The others in the house respected their privacy while giving them no room for mischief.

Nathan thought it amusing that there was so much concern on her cousins' part for other people's virtue. When he hinted of the incongruity to Rebecca, she'd laughed heartily. After all, they were both formerly married and, presumably, far from being innocent children.

Rebecca wore a blue floral print dress that was very summery. The neckline exposed a hint of shoulder, and the sleeves were short and showed her slender arms. The overall effect was to make her look more vibrant than he'd seen before. She had virtually ceased wearing mourning clothes: and this dress was an announcement that she was done with them. That dismal time of her life was over, she'd told him. and she didn't care what convention said. Her marriage to the unlamented Thomas Devon was to be put aside.

The mildly daring cut of the gown also showed the scar on her neck. He took this as a further sign of her growing independence and freedom from the past. “So: Nathan: once again you are leaving me,” she said reprovingly.

Nathan put down his half-empty cup and reached for a cookie. They were sugar cookies and much better in his opinion than the tea. “Believe me: I'd rather stay here. The cookies are delicious. Did you make them?”

“I know that duty calls you. I also accept that you'd rather not tell me what you're up to and I respect that. And no, I didn't make the cookies. Everything I bake burns.”

“Thank you for telling me.”

“However,” she said with a widening smile, “let me see what I can surmise without compromising your precious oath of secrecy. First, you were seen yesterday with General Scott and President Lincoln. Then you suddenly decide you must leave Washington. I will surmise that it had something to do with that meeting.”

Nathan gulped. “How did you know about the meeting?”

Again she laughed. “Nathan, it was in the paper. I saw it in today'sNational Intelligencer. The next time you hold what you hope to be a clandestine meeting, don't hold it out of doors and where many hundreds of people are employed and probably watching through windows.”

“Point well taken,” Nathan admitted with a grin. “You're right, it does have to do with that meeting, but don't push me to admit more.”

“Again, you don't have to. I can't imagine anything that would concern Mr. Lincoln or General Scott in either New York, Boston, Philadelphia, or Pittsburgh. Therefore, that means you will be heading farther west and will consult with some of your old army friends, or even new army friends.”

“An interesting thought,” Nathan said. Her prescience was surprising and intriguing.

“Grant.” she said, feigning surprise. “You're going to see General Grant, and it has to do with a future campaign. And see, I didn't ask you a question, so you don't have to lie to me.”

“You're amazing.”

“Nathan, sometimes I have a habit of talking and thinking too much and that sometimes intimidates people. There are many who don't like inquisitive and intelligent women, and I like to think of myself as both. I sincerely hope you're not one of those men.”

“I don't think I'd be here if I was.”

Rebecca almost sighed with relief. “Tell me, was your lovely Amy intelligent?”

“Very,” he said softly. “She and I talked about matters great and small each day. She read incessantly, and I did as much reading as my duties would permit. Our talks were the high point of each day's existence. We could almost complete each others sentences.”

Rebecca almost ached in envy that such a relationship could exist. She leaned forward. “Nathan, this is highly impertinent of me, but, given your deep love for her, I must know something. Are you looking for another Amy? If you are, my dear friend, I am not she.”

This was a question that had haunted Nathan until he found he was able to resolve it. “No, Rebecca, I am not looking for another Amy. There can never be another Amy any more than a parent's second child can be identical to the first. Amy is gone and I shall always cherish the memory. Any woman who comes into my life will not be another Amy, nor will she be compared to her. If I were to come into your life, then I would not compare you to Amy any more than I would expect to be compared to your late husband.”

“You'd come out ahead very easily,” she said softly and reached over to take his hand. She had told him virtually all about her relationship with Tom, leaving out only the specifics of their sexual life. 'This time, when you're gone, please try harder to stay out of harm's way. I know there is no major fighting currently going on in the west, but you do seem to find trouble.”

“I shall stay as safe as I can. Besides, according to McClellan's and Pinkerton's calculations, there can't be any rebels to the west. They're all here in their millions.”

“Pinkerton,” she sniffed. “I believe he's still following me.”

“You're certain?” Nathan asked, his voice suddenly cold and hard. What on earth was McClellan's toady doing spying on his and Rebecca's private lives?

“Almost certain. I've seen what looks like him trying to disguise himself, and I've seen other men who appear to be following me. They're not in any way threatening, though. They're also not very good at what they're doing.” She laughed in an attempt to brighten the conversation, which had suddenly taken a darker turn.

“I'm glad they don't bother you.” But I still don't like it, Nathan thought. He decided he would do something about it.

The clock in the hallway chimed. It was time for him to leave. There was a train to catch. “I've got to go,” he said and rose.

Rebecca stood in front of him and pinned both his arms to his side. “Please do not do anything risky. This time, if you see something interesting, ride the other way. I mean it.”

“I'm sure you do.” He grinned. “And I mean it too.”

They both glanced at the doorway. No one seemed to be around. She slid into his arms and they embraced. They kissed, tentatively at first, and then with warmth. His tongue darted against her teeth and she stiffened.

“I'm sorry,” he said and pulled back. Damn, had he gone too far too fast? He had been just about to touch her breast. He and Amy had always embraced like that. It just seemed so natural to do it with Rebecca. Damn.

“lt^’ s all right,” she said gently. “You just surprised me a little.” A lot, she thought. She had never been kissed quite like that in her life. Nor had she felt the physical sensations that were affecting her body.

“This time I won't be so surprised.” She returned to his arms, kissed him eagerly, and dared his tongue to touch her. Nathan barely managed to keep his hand off her bosom.

Attila Flynn was pleased with the two men he'd recruited. In their early thirties, they'd been born in Ireland and, like him, had been driven away by the grinding poverty and the continuing starvation. They'd emigrated to what they'd hoped was a new life in the United States, only to see the United States fall into pieces.

Both men were experienced and senior sergeants in the Confederate army, in Patrick Cleburne's division. Neither man was a slave owner, although neither had any great love for the Negro. They were convinced that the darkies were sullen, lazy, and stupid brutes who had been created by God to serve at the bottom rungs of the economic and social ladders.

Attila was convinced that the two men, and many poor whites like them, were convinced that they might see upward-striving Negroes passing them on those ladders if the Union prevailed and the slaves were freed. The logic did not necessarily square with the feeling that Negroes were inherently stupid, but was based instead on emotion and fear. Slavery, in their opinion, was a good thing since it meant that poor whites weren't the most miserable creatures in the Confederacy.

However, the very thought that they were now fighting as allies of Great Britain enraged them and other transplanted Irishmen. The two sergeants hated England and felt that the Confederacy's alliance with Great Britain was a betrayal of the highest order, and one that made the Negro problem insignificant.

Like many Attila had interviewed, they asked him just what they could do to solve their dilemma. “Kill Englishmen,” he'd replied, to which they'd asked how. After all, they were deep in the Confederacy with nary an Englishman in sight. And even if there was one in sight, there'd likely be a ruckus if they went and shot one.

In most cases he simply told them to wait, that the opportunity for action would arise in short order. But these two were bright enough and well placed enough for the task Attila had in mind for them.

It didn't hurt that Braxton Bragg was now the commanding general of the Confederate Army of Mississippi. He had been appointed following the death of Albert Sidney Johnston at Shiloh and the subsequent illness of General Beauregard. Bragg was highly unpopular because of a snappish and irritable personality that caused him to take offense easily, and by what was perceived as an inability to act decisively.

It also didn't help that he was obviously the third choice to command the Army of the Mississippi, and changing its name to the Army of Tennessee wasn't going to affect that one bit.

What Bragg did have in his favor was his deep and abiding friendship with Jefferson Davis. This meant that pretty much anything Bragg decided Davis would agree with. This also meant that Bragg and the Confederacy were vulnerable as a result.

Attila nodded to the two men, who were as eager as hunting hounds to be unleashed. “Go now,” he said. “Go and tell your story. Just be convincing.”

The two laughed. They would be convincing all right. Hell, they were Irish, weren't they? They could lie all day long and never lose their breath. The tale they would tell, if it worked as planned, could lead to at least a partial unravelling of the Confederate army and give them a chance to fight the English. If it didn't work, then nothing had been lost. It was perfect. Nothing much ventured and very much to gain. Attila was pleased.