'Good then.'
Lincoln studied him carefully. The look in his eyes, the flat crease of his lips-he wondered what Edwin might say later to Seward. But at least he had wrung out of him this concession of the moment Though he did not voice it, nor would he voice it to anyone, he had reached a decision about
Stanton: Either he fully supported the campaign to come, or he was out of a job, no matter what political heat that might generate.
The windowpanes rattled yet again from the bombardment, and neither man spoke.
The coup had gone flawlessly. A dozen of his troopers, posing as farmers driving cattle, accompanied by several patriotic young women of Baltimore dressed in homespun and acting like frightened young wives, had come to the southwest bank of the river in mid-afternoon. They had signaled the ferryman on the opposite shore, who had, at first, refused to cross over. One of the men had then swum the river, and, gaining the northern bank, had offered the man five dollars in gold to help save their cattle from the 'damn rebels.' The man had complied and, once on the southern bank, was confronted by a dozen grinning troopers with revolvers.
The first dozen went across, seized a second ferryboat, and by dusk an entire regiment was across the river, fanning out, setting up a cordon. A third ferry had been seized as well, which even now was bringing over a battery of horse artillery.
Wade Hampton, standing on the north bank of the Susquehanna River, was filled with pride. His boys had pulled it off without a shot being fired. Even now, the town of Lancaster, but a dozen miles away, was unaware of what would come sweeping down upon them by dawn, a full brigade of Confederate cavalry, hell-bent on raiding, disrupting, and sowing panic.
The campaign was on again, and after the bucolic three weeks in Baltimore he was eager for the fight His orders from General Lee personally had been clear and concise.
They were no longer in need of supplies, Maryland had yielded up her bounty to them, and the lean, hungry Army of Northern 'Virginia was a thing of the past. His job, first and foremost, was intelligence, to ascertain what exactly Grant was up to in the Harrisburg area. Was it merely a marshaling area, or was it to be a platform for him to try and sweep down the Cumberland Valley, and perhaps march on into Virginia? Next task for him would be their old adversary, the Army of the Potomac. It was time to rattle them yet again, a task he looked forward to with pleasure. Finding the location of the powerful Nineteenth Corps was high on the priority list as well. If they were with Grant, that would indicate much as to the possible Union actions. If not, it would mean they could support a renewed thrust by the Army of the Potomac. Though there was the chance now, with Lee marching toward Washington, that the Yankees, always in panic over their capital, would ship that corps down there by water to reinforce the defenses of Washington. Finally, Lee had emphasized his role of disruption, to cut telegraph lines, to spread rumors, and to work to isolate Sickles from Grant.
Of course, though he had not discussed it too much with Lee, now was the chance to win some glory as well. Lancaster would be in their pockets tomorrow morning. A day's hard ride could even take them to Reading and what a treat it would be to cut the major junction of so many rail lines, in effect all but isolating Grant from the Eastern seaboard. It would be a whirlwind of chaos for the Yankees, exceeding anything Jeb had done the year before in the Peninsula. To think even about venturing into the outskirts of Philadelphia was not beyond reach, tearing up tracks and burning bridges as they advanced. His boys would certainly enjoy the ride in such a rich countryside, and enjoy even more the chance to wreck some locomotives along the way.
The ferryboat down below on the river docked, and twenty more of his troopers got off, leading their horses, whooping and hollering as they mounted and galloped up the slope.
It was a grand day to be in the cavalry and Wade soaked up the moment with joy. The campaign had begun.
Emperor Napoleon III studied the dispatch carefully, sitting alone. There would be time later to sit with advisors, his wife, and confidants to discuss all that it implied. The dispatch had arrived from the coast only the hour before; advance word of its coming via the semaphore link to Le Havre had kept him awake in anticipation.
News had come at the start of the month about Lincoln's defeat and the shattering of his army. The newspapers, as usual, had overblown the details but he could surmise that though nothing could ever rival his uncle's victory at Auster-litz, still it was a worthy victory for the Southern cause.
But this news now, of the fall of the Union's third largest city, the secession of yet another state, that was news indeed. Could it finally signal that the Yankee cause was unraveling?
He sipped from his glass of wine, reading the dispatch yet again, the evaluation of the Confederate army, the appraisal of President Davis and of this General Lee. Yes, he would have made a worthy marshal of the empire. He had breeding, strength, audacity, and luck.
He knew what his own generals and admirals would say. That there was too much risk. That Mexico was proving harder than first anticipated, that other countries in Europe might take advantage of the situation if France committed more resources to the Americas.
Did that ever stop his uncle? The name of Bonaparte was not made through caution.
He could see it clearly. Here was a chance to forever establish French dominance. Help the South, let them win, and that contemptible American nation divides and in short order divides yet again into internal squabblings. Within a generation, a new empire of his own creation would flourish, as that of the old empire should have flourished fifty years ago.
As for the Yankees' much vaunted ironclads, they had yet to meet a true ship of Europe.
Perhaps even Spain could be Coaxed into the coalition. Cuba could offer a fine port to help sweep the arrogant blockade from the coast of Florida and perhaps even as far as South Carolina.
He smiled as he contemplated all that was possible. A new coalition, Catholic Austria and Spain, with France in the lead, reversing all the misfortunes that had befallen the world since 1815. For the slaveholding South he cared not a whit; they were just a means to an end, a humbling of England, a realignment of the balance of power. His fleets, operating out of Vera Cruz, Brownsville, Havana, would re-establish the glory that should be France's. The other European powers, except for England, would see the rightness of this as well. Russia, which had sent its pathetic fleet to New York City the winter before, would stand back, not wishing to risk yet another humiliation like the one he had dealt it in the Crimea. Those tradesmen across the Channel, so intent on their profits, would not stir.
Yes, he would commit to this. It was time.
General Lee looked around at the gathering of officers. They were camped in nearly the same spot that had been his headquarters the month before. Yet the feeling was different now. The men were rested, the weather fair, though promising an intense heat by later in the day.
Longstreet had just ridden in; Beauregard and Hood were already present. Stuart was fifty miles to the north, deployed toward the Susquehanna. He had privately given Jeb his orders the night before, the cavalier grinning as he rode off. Lee smiled as Longstreet rode up and dismounted. 'Good marching weather,' Pete said, coming under the awning and taking a cup of coffee. 'Roads are good, weather's fine, the men know something is up.' 'It's hard to keep it hidden at times,' Lee replied. He looked around at the gathering and began. 'We're not going to attack this city again,' he announced. Beauregard stirred in his seat but held back from comment.
