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.
