“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?”