General Sickles. That was his old corps and he had his pride in that corps. Well, sir, I understand that pride. His men took terrible losses yesterday, but ultimately they did drive one of our best divisions from the field. Sickles will be spoiling for a new fight this morning.'
Lee nodded in agreement.
'Everything is set?'
'Yes, sir. We will engage just after dawn, then retreat as you planned.'
Lee smiled, blowing again on the rim of his cup. Yes, Longstreet was right. It was a chess match, and Sickles would move aggressively forward, especially if he thought he saw the queen moving off the field. His passions would be up after yesterday's losses and the momentary glimpse of what he thought was victory. Lee understood that feeling; it had almost seized him as well more than once.
'Fine then, General. It's after four in the morning. Daylight will be upon us soon. God watch over you. I am going to join Beauregard on the left and I will see you at sundown when we close on Sickles's army.'
Gen. Dan Sickles stepped out of his tent, stretching, looking out across the plains south of Gunpowder River. The smoke from a thousand circling camps hung low in the early-morning mist, men gathered about the fires, cooking breakfasts, orders ringing in the still air, companies beginning to form up.
All of it filled him with a deep pleasure, a love for all that this had given him. The smell of fatback frying, the wood smoke, the rich heavy air of an August morning, the shadowy glimpses of companies forming lines, companies forming into regiments, and regiments into brigades, all these were sources of satisfaction.
Men were beginning to load up, rolling up blanket rolls and slinging them on, buttoning uniform jackets. A group of men from one of his New York regiments were gathered in a circle, on their knees, heads bowed as a priest offered absolution and then communion. Nearby another group, Baptists probably, were standing with heads bowed as one of them read a Psalm.
Here and there a drum sounded, a few notes of a bugle; a flag was uncased and held up, officers rode back and forth shouting orders and encouragements. All of it sent a chill down his spine. A few years back he couldn't have dreamed that there would be such a moment in his life, and.he thanked God that it had been given to him. He loved this army more than his own ambitions. His pride in it was unbounded, and today he would do his all to see them served rightly, to give unto them the victory they had thirsted for across two bitter years, a victory they so richly deserved. Once achieved, nothing could ever take that away from them, no general out of the West, no president in the White House. No one could ever steal away again the honor of the Army of the Potomac.
Yesterday, in that final charge, he had sensed the moment when Warren had swept forward, thought that perhaps here was the moment when they would see the Army of Northern Virginia break at last, flee the field, the glorious banner, the Stars and Stripes, sweeping the field of all who dared to oppose it. It had been so close, except for that final shock, the cunning trap at the edge of the cornfield. He had to admit it was masterful, a grudging nod to old foes, most likely Long-street.
But that would not happen today.
All three corps were deploying now. His battered Third on the left, the Fifth to the right, again the Sixth in the second line. They would advance as one. If Lee wished a stand-up fight like yesterday, he would give it to him, but he doubted if Lee would stand. He knew the numbers. Lee could no longer afford such losses; he would give back, retreat, most likely falling back on the defenses of Baltimore. If they could but trigger the beginning of a rout, get Lee dislodged, just for once, and on the run, they could bowl him over and win the day, and in that winning of the day win the war.
And, thinking coldly, he knew it had to be today. Parker was still with him, still waving his orders. If he did not press the engagement at dawn, claiming he was forced into the fight, he would have to fall back as ordered. If he refused a direct order while not caught in the heat of battle, even his staunchest advocates would no longer be able to defend him. And once he pulled back, he knew Grant would replace him. He had to press it today; this was his one and only chance, and he smiled at the thought of it This was just the kind of gambit he reveled in.
An orderly came up, leading his mount Already, in the predawn light, the skirmish lines were coming to life after their night of informal truce. The battle had begun.
‘Good morning, Jim, how are you today?'
Lincoln walked into the kitchen, and at the sight of him the servants began to scurry. James Bartlett who obviously had been asleep, head resting on a table, looked up, startled, and came to his feet Lincoln smiled.
'Sorry, Mr. President, must have dozed off,' James said a bit nervously, and Lincoln smiled again.
'Wish I could doze off like that It's been a long night' 'Sir, would you like some breakfast?' James asked. 'What do we have?'
'I could get you a nice slab of smoked ham, sir, a couple of eggs, freshly ground coffee.' 'That sounds good, Jim.'
The servant looked over at the kitchen staff, who did not need to be told. Within seconds the ham was being sliced, eggs cracked into a frying pan. Lincoln sat down at the servants' kitchen table and motioned for Jim to sit as well. The man looked at him, a bit surprised.
'I'd like some company for breakfast Jim, join me.'
'Sir?'
'You must be hungry, too, after a long night. Make that an order for two breakfasts and join me.' 'Yes, Mr. President'
The staff looked over at the two wide-eyed, saying nothing as more eggs went into the frying pan.
'Have you heard at all from your son and grandson?' Lincoln asked.
'Not a word in nearly two weeks, sir. I know they're drilling in Philadelphia; word is they are to become part of General Burnside's corps.'
'Not a word?'
'No, sir, the last letter was dated two weeks back. They're in good health and they say the men of their regiments are eager to get into the fight'
Lincoln smiled. His letter to Jim's son was a secret; word would come back soon enough, and he could imagine the man's delight, this man who had known every president since Jefferson. It was not in any way whatsoever a calculated move, though he knew that everything a president did, from where he walked to whom he smiled at, was reported and commented on remorselessly. If a letter from a president to a colored soldier should become news, then so be it. It would show his own resolve on this matter and serve notice as to his intentions once this madness was finished.
They were coming down now, in this crisis, to a question of numbers, and the men of his breakfast companion's race might very well be the final weight that tipped the scales.
After the horror of the draft riots, he had carefully and quietly rescinded the draft in most places. Besides, Grant and others reported that the draftee troops coming in were worse than useless, an actual burden on the army, the bulk of them deserting, many of them, besmirching the honor of their uniforms by thievery, desertion, cowardice. The Vacant ranks must be filled, but in this country the tradition still was that it had to be volunteers. After the disasters of the spring and summer, draftees and bounty men were not the answer, and in fact would hinder this final effort.
It would have to be the men of color of this nation. The offer now was plain and clear. Not just emancipation, though he knew that if he was ever to honor the promise of the Declaration of Independence, full emancipation for all was a foregone conclusion. But what after that? There was a time when he had agreed to the idea of returning these men and women of Africa back to their homeland, filled with doubt that after the bitter legacy of slavery, and the way it polluted both sides, the two races could live side by side.
He knew now that was impossible. As he looked at Jim, who sat self-consciously across the table from him, as he looked into this man's eyes, he could see the divine spark, the core of humanity that made him an equal in every sense of the word. It was the quiet, humble courage of this man on the terrible day when it looked as if Washington might fall that had stiffened his own resolve. It was the look on the faces of the men of Colonel Shaw's regiment as they charged to the front, the pride in their faces when the following week he had received a delegation
