As they dropped down off Capitol Hill, the fog thickened again. Riding in the middle of the street, they could barely see the buildings flanking either side. A drunk sitting on the curb was being soundly dressed down by a policeman who was hoisting him to his feet. A few ladies of the evening, or in this case the early morning, loitered under a streetlamp, looking over hopefully as they passed, but offering no comments.
They passed by the bright lights of the Willard, a small crowd gathered outside, mostly officers, but none looked over at his passage. He was glad of that, otherwise the rumor would explode like wildfire. With his private's sack coat, collar pulled up against the morning damp, he was barely distinguishable, except for the three stars on each shoulder.
Directly ahead was the War Department, Elihu leading the way. In the fog he caught a glimpse of the White House, troops deployed on the front lawn. The sky was brightening, shifting from indigo to a sullen gray.
They reined in before the dark somber mass of the War Department building. The sentries out front, in spite of the hour, were well turned out, uniforms smart, brass polished and reflecting the glow of the streetlights.
As he swung down off his mount, several orderlies came out of the doorway and at the sight of him slowed, stiffening to attention.
'General Grant?' one of them asked.
He returned the salute and nodded.
'Sir, the secretary of war is in his office; he told me to escort you in the moment you arrived.'
Haupt dismounted with him, but Elihu stayed on his horse.
'Think I'll wander over to the White House,' Elihu announced.
In spite of the hour, Grant knew that Elihu would rouse the president, and he was grateful. Stanton had no real love for him, and at this crucial first meeting it would be good to have Lincoln present.
Grant followed the orderly into the building after telling one of the sentries to find a way to return the horses back to the cavalrymen at the naval yard.
The corridors were brightly lit with gaslight, the floor beneath his feet sticky with tobacco juice, cluttered with scraps of paper, and even what appeared to be splotches of blood. Even at five in the morning it was bustling with activity, staff officers running back and forth; a lieutenant with his arm in a sling-the blood on the floor obviously from the leaking wound in his elbow-leaned against a wall, pale-faced, not even noticing as Grant walked past him. In his good hand he was clutching a roll of papers.
They went up the stairs, turned down another corridor, the air a bit stuffy and damp, and without fanfare were ushered into the outer office of the secretary of war.
A well-dressed colonel, sitting behind a desk, stood up as Grant and Haupt came in.
'Good morning, General, we were expecting you,' the colonel announced in a soft, silky voice. 'The secretary is asleep but I have orders to wake him the moment you arrive. Please make yourself comfortable.'
The colonel slipped through a doorway, barely opening it, and the etched glass panes of the inner office, which had been dark, now glowed from a light within.
There was muffled conversation. Grant settled back in the leather-bound seat and looked over at Haupt, who was obviously exhausted.
They didn't wait long. The doorway opened, the colonel beckoning for them to enter.
Stanton was up, hair rumpled, feet in carpet slippers, an unmade daybed in the corner, with blankets kicked back. He wheezed slightly as he came up and shook Grant's hand.
'You made good time, sir.'.
'General Haupt is to be thanked for that. We had an express with track cleared all the way from Harrisburg to Perryville.'
Stanton beckoned to a couple of seats across from his desk as he settled down. The colonel reappeared bearing a silver tray with a pot of coffee and one of tea. He poured the tea for Stanton and coffee for Grant and Haupt, then withdrew.
Stanton opened a desk drawer and pulled out a pocket flask.
'Would you care for a bracer in that, General?' he asked.
Grant, features expressionless, shook his head. Stanton put the flask back in the desk.
'Give me a minute to wake up, General,' he said, and leaning back in his chair, Stanton noisily sipped on his cup of tea, draining it, then refilling it.
Grant waited patiently.
'Did you hear what happened here the last two days?' Stanton asked.
'Just the telegrams you sent up to me and the usual newspaper reports.'
'We bloodied them. Two divisions, Perrin and Pettigrew, were all but destroyed. It was a major defeat for Lee and his men.'
'That's what I heard.'
'We have some reports that Jefferson Davis is in their camp.'
'I heard that as well, sir.'
'If he's there, I think that means he will renew the attack.' Grant said nothing, making no comment about Stanton's observation.
'We are getting stronger pretty fast,' Stanton continued. 'All of Strong's brigade is up from Charleston. Two more brigades are slated to arrive today, along with some additional units out of Philadelphia and several ninety-day regiments that were mustering in New Jersey. I hope the rebels do try it again.'
'I don't think they will,' Grant ventured.
'Why?'
'If Lee failed in his first assault, and did so with the casualties you are reporting, I cannot see him trying the exact same attack again. One attempt against a fortified position might be justified, but a second one on the heels of a failed attack would be folly. And Lee is not given to folly.'
'Are you certain of that?'
'No one can ever be certain in war, but it's what I would do and I think Lee is a professional who avoids self- destructive mistakes.'
'Suppose Davis orders another attack? He obviously came north to be here and gloat over their final victory. I cannot see him turning away from us now. The political repercussions would be significant.'
'I think, sir, that General Lee would resist any such order. In spite of their victories of the last month they cannot afford any more serious losses. If he takes Washington but drains his army's manpower, it will be an even worse defeat in the end.'
'And you are certain of that?'
Again Grant shook his head, knowing right here at the start that Stanton was trying to force him into a commitment to his own vision of what would come next.
'And again, sir, nothing is certain in war.'
Stanton coughed noisily and then looked over sharply at the cigar in Grant's hand.
There was an ashtray at the comer of the desk and he put it out.
'I would assume, sir, to review the plans of the forthcoming campaign.'
'Yes, General. Since your appointment to field command of all armies, I have not the slightest inkling of what your intentions are.'
'Sir, I thought it best not to entrust such delicate information to either the telegraph or dispatches. I was going to prepare a full report for you once I was in Harrisburg.'
'Why Harrisburg?'
'Sir, I plan to make that the base of my operations.' Stanton coughed again and then poured another cup of tea. 'You did not get my approval for making that your headquarters.'
'I know that, sir.'
Haupt stirred uncomfortably by Grant's side and Stanton looked over at him. 'What is it, Haupt?'
'Sir, Harrisburg is an ideal location to constitute a new field army. Its rail connections are some of the best in the North. It offers easy access not only to upstate New York and New England, but to the Midwest as well. We will have to run literally thousands of trains in the next month in order to create this force, and I suggested Harrisburg almost immediately as the place to marshal. Besides, though not a field commander, I think it evident that by organizing at Harrisburg, we maintain a potent position to strike into the rear of Lee's lines of communication, thus
