Stars and Stripes Forever

A MOMENTOUS OCCASION

“I may have had worse days, John, though I really can’t remember when.”

The President sat in his battered armchair looking fixedly at the telegram that Nicolay had handed him. He was gaunt and losing weight, so much so that his shabby black suit hung loosely, wrinkled. Since Willie’s death he was scarcely eating, barely sleeping. His dark skin was now sallow, his eyes surrounded by black rings. This new war was going very badly. A horsefly hummed angrily about the room, battering itself again and again into the glass of the half-open window. In the room just off of Lincoln’s office the newly installed telegraph clattered away as another message was received.

“Bad news reaches me much faster now that we have that infernal machine so close and handy,” Lincoln said. “Has the Secretary of War seen this?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well he will be over here soon enough I imagine. Those poor boys at Plattsburgh. A terrible sacrifice.”

“They slowed the British down, Mr. President.”

“But not for long. Port Henry is taken and in flames and no word from General Halleck yet.”

“His last report said that he was forming a line of defense at Fort Ticonderoga.”

“Are we doomed to keep on repeating history? As I remember it, didn’t we run from the British there as well?”

“It was a strategic retreat that, rather unfortunately, began on the Fourth of July.”

“I pray that Halleck does not repeat that particular maneuver.”

“Grant’s divisions may have joined them by now. That’s a goodly force in the field when you put them together.”

“Well they are not together yet. The British are chewing us up piecemeal. And what about that mysterious telegram from General Sherman? Any elucidation?”

“None that we can find out. Some telegraph lines are down and I am told that we are trying to reroute our communications. All that we have is a garbled message, something about southwards movement, and some sort of reference to General Beauregard.”

“Keep trying, I don’t like mysteries. Not in wartime — not at any time. And cancel those visitations for today. I cannot face the job-seekers who are a pestilential menace to my health.”

“There’s quite a crowd of them. Some of them have been waiting since dawn.”

“I feel no sympathy. Inform them that matters of state must take priority, at least this once.”

“Will you make a single exception, sir? There is an English gentleman here who has just arrived aboard a French ship. He has letters of recommendation from some of the most eminent men in France.”

“English you say? A mystery and a most intriguing one. What is his name?”

“A Mr. Mill, John Stuart Mill. In his note that accompanied the introductions he writes that he has information that will aid in this war for American freedom.”

“If he is an English spy, why then Fox will certainly want to see him.”

“I doubt if he is a spy. The introductions refer to him as a natural philosopher of great merit.”

The chair creaked as Lincoln leaned back and brought his long legs up before him. “I’ll see him. In these days of desperation we must clutch at any straw. Perhaps the distraction will help me forget our disasters for awhile. Are there any clues as to what his information is that will aid our war?”

“I am afraid not. A bit of a mystery.”

“Well — let us solve this mystery. Show the gentleman in.”

Mill was a middle-aged man, balding and smooth-skinned, neatly dressed and most affable. He introduced himself, bowed slightly as he shook the President’s hand. Then he placed the two books he carried on the desk and sat down, after first carefully tucking his coattails beneath him.

“Mr. Lincoln,” he said in a solemn yet excited voice. “I have been an admirer of the American experiment for many years. I have followed your election practices and the operation of the lower house and the Senate, the judiciary and the police. While not perfect by any means, I nevertheless feel that in many ways yours is the only free country in the world — the only democratic one. I believe the world has seen enough of kings and tyrants and must find its way onto the road to democracy. With your noble cause under attack from my own country, a tragedy not of my doing but one that I must still apologize for. But this tragedy has goaded me into unexpected action — which is why I am here. I thought that when my dear wife died and my daughter and I retired to France, that I would write my books and bide my time until I could join her. But that is not to be. Necessity has drawn me from the quiet of my study and back to the world scene. I am here, if you will permit me, to aid your infant democracy and, and again, with your permission, help to guide it on the path to a prosperous future.”

The President nodded in agreement. “Like you I feel that the American experiment is the last, best hope of Earth. You do indeed sound like a man inspired, Mr. Mill. But without intending any insult I am afraid at this time we need men that can fight more than those who can think. But, please elucidate and tell me how you will go about doing that.”

Mill leaned forward and tapped the two books with his finger. “If you search carefully you will find the answer to that question in here, my Principles of Political Economy. They are yours, a small gift.”

“You are very kind.” Lincoln pulled the books across the desk and opened the first volume, smiling at the pages of dense type. “I have always been a great reader in natural philosophy. I greatly admire the theories of Francis Wayland whose work you surely know. Mr. Wayland believes that Labor is the source from which human wants are mainly supplied, labor before capital, capital exists as fruit of labor. But I digress. I look forward to studying your books. The pressures of this war permitting.”

Mill raised his hand and smiled. “The war comes first, Mr. President. Put them aside for a quieter time. You will find that I and Francis Wayland are in agreement in many things. If you permit me, I can sum up my feelings and my theories most easily for you. Firstly, I have always supported your stance in this war since I recognize it as a struggle against slavery. But as an Englishman I have stood aside from this conflict feeling that I have no personal involvement. Now I feel that attitude has been wrong. I no longer can be a silent spectator. The invasion of your country by mine was a singularly wicked act and cannot be forgiven.”

“You will find none here to argue with that, I assure you.”

There was a quick knock on the door, then John Hay appeared holding a telegram and gravely concerned.

“Could I speak to you about… a highly sensitive matter, Mr. President.”

“I will wait outside,” Mill said, rising to his feet. “May we continue this conversation?”

“Of course.”

Hay waited until the door had closed before he passed over the telegram. “I don’t know what this is all about, sir, but if it is true it sounds a good deal better than the news from New York State.”

Lincoln took the message and read aloud. “ ‘A group of Confederate officers crossed our lines under cease-fire agreement at Yorktown. They are now proceeding under escort to Washington. Leading them is General Robert E. Lee.’ ”

The President lowered the paper and Hay realized that he had never seen such a look of complete amazement upon his features before. Lincoln was ever the courtroom lawyer, the railroad lawyer who kept his emotions to himself. People saw the expression on his face that he wanted them to see. But not this time.

“Do you have the slightest inkling or fragment of information as to what this is all about? No, I thought that you didn’t, and if the expression on your face is anything to go by you are as baffled as I am. Telegraph back to whoever sent this and ask for amplification. And you had better call the Cabinet together for an emergency meeting. This is… extraordinary. I’ll finish my conversation with Mr. Mill. Come and get me when the Cabinet has assembled.”

There was no making sense of the telegram. What was happening? And what about the mysterious communication from General Sherman? Was there a connection? So deep in thought was he that he was unaware that Mill had returned until a polite cough drew his attention.

Reseated, Mill got quickly to the point. “I have been thinking about your parting words to me as I left. About needing men who could fight, not men who could think…”

“I apologize if what I said disturbed you, since no insult was intended.”

“Indeed no, sir, quite the opposite if truth be known. But you do need men who think, to plot the course into a successful future. I mind you of another Englishman, and indeed another philosopher. Thomas Paine, who wrote and theorized and argued the case for your American Revolution. He knew that the reason men fight wars is as important as the fighting itself. It is said that small men bring about progress by standing on the shoulders of giants. Paine and your founding fathers were indeed giants, and perhaps by standing on their shoulders this country can bring about a Second American Revolution that will build a new kind of future. This war cannot last forever, but America must last, survive and grow. Yours must be the guiding hand that sees to that survival. The place of the Negroes in your society is now an ambivalent one. This must be changed. And I know the way to do it…”

Lincoln was listening so intently that he was startled when his secretary knocked discreetly on the door.

“Mr. Mill. It is imperative that I attend a singularly important Cabinet meeting now. But you must return and amplify your suggestions. I heartily agree with your attitudes, and have the hope that perhaps you may be of great aid to me in solving some of my most difficult political problems.”

The Cabinet meeting was a brief one.

“Without some more information,” Chase said, “we have no way of making a decision on the matter.”

“Perhaps they bring surrender terms?” Seward said hopefully.

“Hardly that,” Lincoln told him. “We have no reason to believe that they want to end this war, not in so sudden and uncharacteristic a manner. When you consider the occasion you must realize that they are better placed at this moment than they have been since the war began. Why, they can just sit back and let the British fight their war for them. Then strike when they think we are at our weakest. Surrender is the least possible reason for this meeting. We must discover their intentions. We will meet with them, and I suggest that we have our military advisers there as well — since their mission consists only of military officers, or so I have been informed.”

It had been deemed that the Cabinet Room would be too small for this meeting, not with the senior officers from the army and navy attending as well. They assembled in the newly decorated Blue Room, where Mary Lincoln had tea served to them while they waited. Hay stepped up quietly to the President’s side.

“The only additional information we could get is that General Lee insisted on talking to you in person.”

“Well he has my ear, he certainly does.”

It was dusk before the cavalrymen and the carriages rattled up to the front entrance of the White House. The waiting military men stood, almost at attention, while the cabinet members who had been seated rose to their feet. The doors opened and General Robert E. Lee, Commander-in-Chief of the Confederate Army, strode into the room. An erect military figure, gray-bearded and grim of expression; over six feet in height, almost as tall as the President. He was followed by a small group of gray-clad and somber officers. Lee took off his hat and stepped forward to face Abraham Lincoln.

“Mr. President, I bring you a message from Mr. Jefferson Davis, the President of the Confederacy.”

Lincoln’s expression was under control now and he just nodded, lips pursed with silent attention as Lee went on. He did not recognize the legitimacy of Jefferson Davis’s title, but saw no reason to mention that now.

“If you would permit it, Mr. Lincoln, due to the confidential nature of my communication, I would like to be able to deliver it to you in private.”

There was a troubled murmur from the listening men and Lincoln held his hand up until the room was silent again.

“Gentlemen,” he said sternly. “I am going to honor this request. I am sure that the Commander-in-Chief of the Confederate armies is an honorable man and means me no physical harm.”

“That is indeed correct, Mr. Lincoln. And I will leave my sword with my staff as some indication of my good will.” He did just that, taking the scabbarded sword from its slings and passing it over to the nearest Southern officer.

The onlookers hesitated, but then stepped back when Lincoln turned toward the door. They opened a path and made way for the tall form of the President and the stern, upright figure of the general. The two men proceeded slowly from the room and up the grand staircase, if not arm in arm at least shoulder-to-shoulder. They passed the wide-eyed clerk at his desk and entered Lincoln’s office. Lincoln closed the door and spoke.

“If you would be so kind as to be seated, General Lee. I am sure that it has been a tiring journey.”

“Thank you, sir.”

If it had been tiring Lee did not show it. He took off his gray field hat and placed it on an end table, then sat upright on the first few inches of his chair as Lincoln dropped into his.

“Your message, if you please, General Lee.”

“Might I ask first, sir, if you have you had any word of the recent events in Biloxi, Mississippi?”

“None whatsoever.”

“If you will excuse me, Mr. Lincoln, I don’t mean to pry into your military matters, but this matter is most relevant to the Biloxi situation. In relation to this, excuse me for asking, but have you had a communication from your General Sherman?”

Lincoln pondered this one. Should he reveal Northern military matters to this most competent of Southern generals? Of course. This matter was infinitesimal compared to the presence of Lee in the White House. This was a time for honesty.

“A garbled and incomplete one that we could not understand. Do you know anything about that?”

“I do indeed, sir, and that is why I am here. Let me apprise you of the facts. As your country has been attacked by the British by land to the north, so has the Confederacy been invaded by sea from the south.”

“You what…?”

“A British invasion, Mr. Lincoln, sudden and severe and without any warning. It destroyed the battery and the defenses before Biloxi. Our men fought bravely but were outnumbered and many fell. Worse, sir, was the fact that the enemy pursued the soldiers into the town of Biloxi which they then burnt and destroyed. Not satisfied with wanton destruction these animals — I cannot describe creatures such as these as soldiers — also wreaked indescribable violation to the female population of that city.”

The President fought to conceal his bafflement at this new development. He could only listen.

“Do you know, for — what reason did they do this?”

“We do not know why they did this, but we do know that this was done. Without declaration of war they have invaded our land, killed and raped and looted. Before the city was burnt the defenders did manage to telegraph what was happening. President Davis contacted General Beauregard in northern Mississippi, his troops were the ones that were closest to the invasion. Beauregard was ordered south, to proceed at once to face the British invaders. It is my understanding that General Beauregard requested a cease-fire from General Sherman so he could do battle with what he refers to as ‘the natural enemy of both our countries.’ ”

“Then that was the message from Sherman. He must have granted the cease-fire.”

“He did, and he did even more Mr. Lincoln.” Lee hesitated for a moment, realizing the grave import of the words he spoke next. “He must have felt that this invasion was an invasion of our country, irrespective of North or South. For he did a very noble and courageous thing. Not only did he grant the cease-fire — but he took a regiment of his Northern troops south with Beauregard’s division. They went by train and succeeded in outflanking the invading troops. The final communication said that they had attacked and defeated the British. Battling in unison. Johnny Reb and Yankee troops — side by side.”

Lincoln’s thoughts raced, trying to take in all of the implications at once. General Sherman had made a bold decision and an even bolder move. He had done it on his own without consulting his superiors. Would he have agreed if Sherman had asked his permission? Or would he have hesitated to make such a drastic and possibly far-reaching decision? He just did not know. Perhaps it was no accident that the telegram was garbled. Once Sherman had decided to act he would certainly know that there could be no turning back. Well, that was all water under the bridge now. But what could be made of this epic decision and most important victory? It was too soon to decide; he needed to know more about the situation. Lincoln looked shrewdly at the Confederate general.

“I gather that this information is not the message from Mr. Davis — but facts that I had to know first, in order to assess the message that he has sent.”

“That is correct, sir. President Davis ordered me first to tell you about the conjoined battle against our British enemy, then to convey his heartfelt thanks for this greatly appreciated assistance. He formally asks if you would agree to a cease-fire on all fronts to begin as soon as is possible. When the ceasefire is operational it will enable President Davis and you to meet and discuss the portent of all that has happened.”

Lincoln sat back and sighed a deep sigh — not realizing until that moment that he had inadvertently been holding his breath. When the import of the words sank home he was possessed of a feeling of elation, stronger than any he had ever experienced before. He could not sit still but sprang to his feet and paced the room. Turned and seized the lapels of his jacket to conceal the trembling of his hands, fought to keep his voice firm when he spoke.

“General Lee — I cannot begin to impart to you the strong emotions that possess me at this moment, the newly-kindled hope that, at least to some degree, the killing and slaughter of this terrible war may stop. I have said countless times, in public and in private, that I would do anything, go anywhere, take whatever action was needed to stop this war. You must convey the word to Mr. Davis that the truce is to begin at once, as soon as all of our armed forces have been informed.”

“The President suggested that the truce begin at midnight tonight, since our troops must be notified as well.”

“Agreed, General, heartily agreed. Then — to equally practical matters. Did Mr. Davis have any suggestion as to where our meeting might take place?”

General Ulysses S. Grant hated any delay, no matter how short. But the locomotive’s water tank was almost empty and they needed to take on coal as well. The cars rattled over the switch points into the siding on the southern outskirts of Ticonderoga, New York. The city itself was obscured by an immense pall of smoke; gunfire rumbled in the distance. Grant climbed down from the car just behind the engine and lit a cigar. He would have liked a drink of whiskey as well but he knew better.

“Send a runner up to the telegraph office in the station,” he told an aide. “There may be another message from General Halleck. You can let the troops down for a stretch — but tell them that they can’t stray more than fifty yards from the train.”

It had been a half a day since there had been word about the invasion and the enemy to the north. After defeating the Plattsburgh defenders the British Army had moved south into the Hudson Valley. They had paused just long enough to burn Port Henry then had continued their advance south. Halleck had telegraphed that his militia and volunteer regiments were going to make a stand at Fort Ticonderoga. That was the last that they had heard. Two more trains, filled with troops from the west, were an hour behind this first one — and hopefully more to come. Grant knew that he had to get these reinforcements to Halleck without delay.

A train whistle moaned up the line to the north and in a moment an engine chuffed into view. An engine with a single boxcar attached. It slowed as it approached the troop train and Grant saw the uniform of an army officer in the cab. As the engine braked and squealed to a stop the officer swung down to the ground. Clumsily because his bandaged right arm was in a sling. As the wounded man hurried toward the group of officers Grant could see, through the open door of the boxcar, that it was filled with wounded soldiers. The bandaged lieutenant stopped in front of Grant and half-saluted with his left hand.

“General…” he said, then stopped. He was filthy and bloodstained, his eyes were wild, his hand shaking slightly. Grant spoke quietly, kindly.

“What is your outfit, Lieutenant?”

“14th New York, sir.”

“You were with General Halleck’s forces?” The wounded man nodded dumbly. “I want you to tell me about the battle.”

Some of the fear left the man’s eyes and he pulled himself up. “Yes, sir. We took up defensive positions centered on Fort Ticonderoga. Scouts said that the enemy were coming on in force. They hit us just after we had dug in. I got a ball through the arm right off. First there was the cannon, a real barrage. After that they came at us in lines, firing as they attacked. Too many of them, too many. Don’t know how long we held out, didn’t see it myself. He told me, Major Green, told me to get the wounded into the train. He died. Then everything seemed to fall apart at once, soldiers running, redbacks chasing and killing…” He swayed, then regained control. “We loaded some wounded, no time, the trainmen only hooked up the one car. They broke us, the major said, soldiers running in all directions. I saw them.” He closed his eyes, almost fell. Grant’s aide reached out and steadied him. His eyes opened and he spoke, whispering, scarcely aware of the group of officers before him.

“Major Green told me. The general, General Halleck. He saw him die in the attack… then the major died too.”

“Board the men,” Grant ordered. “If there is no doctor with the wounded in that boxcar, see that one is found for them. With medical supplies. Let’s go.”

Grant was already staring at the map when the others boarded. He looked around at his officers, then tapped the map with a thick finger.

“Here,” he said. “Here is where we make the stand — and stop them. Stopped them there once before. Saratoga. Good defensive country. But we are going to have to block them and hold them with just what we have. Reinforcements will be on the way, but we don’t know when they will arrive.” He puffed furiously on the cigar.

“We hold, do you understand that? We are falling back now because we have no choice. But this is the last time. We will make a stand. After that we do not give way and we do not retreat. The only way they are going to advance is over our dead bodies.”

The whistle sounded and they swayed as the train clanked into motion and began to pick up speed.

In reverse. Back down the track. Grant hated this, hated to retreat but had no choice.

But this was going to be the last time.