The new regiments he had distributed into hardened brigades, and he hoped that something would rub off on them. He had less than twenty batteries of artillery, many of them just three or four guns, but the crews were die pick of the old Army of the Potomac, consolidated out of many of the old artillery reserve units. Of cavalry he was very short as well. Stoneman could barely put five thousand sabers into the field.
All day long courier boats had scurried in from Washington. He had tried to intercept the dispatches destined for Grant, but they had been carried by men from Grant's headquarters who couldn't be swayed to reveal the contents.
But the news was clear enough and he didn't need to read the dispatches and secrets of Grant He had so conveniently set up a telegraph station and announced it was open to whomever needed it on 'Vital business of the public interest' that reporters from the New York papers and the Associated Press were hurrying back to use it.
Thus he knew a heavy bombardment had been going on for nearly two days; the rebels were firing off artillery ammunition with abandon, shelling the Washington fortification line along a seven-mile front. A dozen shots from the heavy guns had been dropped into the edge of the city. There was a report that one shell had burst on the Capitol grounds itself, killing a horse.
Some reported an air of panic, especially among the colored of the city, who were desperate to get out, but passage on boats was forbidden except for military purposes.
One report stated Lincoln had been wounded when he had gone up to watch the bombardment of Stevens, and that had created a true panic, only to be negated when the next dispatch boat anchored, the reporters on board dismissing the claim.
All were convinced though that Lee was preparing an all-out assault, one that would strike perhaps within the day.
Next there was the news of Wade Hampton. That had been confirmed when in a delightful display of arrogance Hampton personally sent a dispatch to the
Hampton had actually created a wonderful situation for the Army of the Potomac. Dispatches and orders between Harrisburg and Washington now had to be routed through New York and it was causing delays, confusion.
It was wonderful. And Sickles was determined to take advantage of it
'General Sickles, the dispatch from the War Department is here.'
Dan looked up; the sentry had opened the tent flap. A young captain, one of his own staff, entered and saluted, handing a sealed dispatch from Stanton. It was a private arrangement the two had agreed to the week before, and all day he had been anxiously awaiting what he hoped would be orders.
Dan motioned for the man to wait and opened the envelope, recognizing Stanton's bold handwriting. He scanned the letter, then reread it again carefully, smiling.
'How were things when you left?' Dan asked.
'Sir, everyone's on edge. There was a report of an attack column being seen forming up along the Blandenburg road. Word is the rebels will attack this evening.'
Dan nodded, studying the dispatch. It was a copy; the original was already on its way to Grant, but he would not receive it until some time tomorrow. It was an appeal to Grant from Stanton to consider releasing additional reinforcements for Washington, but far more important, it was a request to authorize the Army of the Potomac to make a reconnaissance in force on Baltimore, by land, sea, or both, to ascertain if Baltimore could be retaken, and, if possible, to do so and from there to threaten Lee's rear. In addition there was a second note, in Stanton's hand, directed to Sickles. The wording of it was important and he studied it carefully.
It was precisely the excuse he had been looking for, an idea that had been well placed with several congressmen and senators across the last week and Stanton, as to be expected, snapped at the bait
He dismissed the staff officer and settled back in his chair, pouring another drink, then lighting a cigar.
Yes, there was an opportunity here that could come perhaps only once in a lifetime. It was fraught with peril, but then again, what opportunity did not also pose a risk? He could steal the march and have the bulk of his forces across the river before Grant was even aware of what he was doing. He could, as well, then delay the recall, which he knew would come, doing so by the time-honored tradition of 'lost' dispatches, misinterpretations, and claims that communications had been cut If cornered, he had this letter, direct from Stanton, as his defense, but by then he would already be into Baltimore, and at that point not even Grant would dare to venture a recall. Instead the general from the West would have to march to his support or appear to be the one playing politics, risking the Army of the Potomac out of a fit of pique that he had not achieved what this army of the East phoenix-like, had done on its own.
Lee would not take this lying down. If already in the city of Washington, he would most likely try and hold that position, then turn with part of his force to engage. The numbers then would be almost even, forty-five to fifty thousand on each side. Lee would have to leave at least one of his three corps behind, most likely Beauregard's, to occupy the city. Then it would be an open stand-up fight.
And if ever he had confidence in his boys, it was now. They had tasted the most bitter of defeats. The cowards, the shirkers, had all deserted, and though many a valiant lad and many a good senior officer had fallen in the last campaign, the core that was left was as tough as steel, wanting nothing more than revenge, to restore their honored name.
With that victory his own place would be assured. Grant would be forced to treat him as a co-commander, and that upstart so unfamiliar with the finer nuances of politics, would soon be left in the dust and it would become clear to the public that he, Sickles, had won this war.
He savored that thought. The chance to prove his own mettle was here at last. The life of a ward heeler, of a mere congressman, of the snickers behind his back over that ridiculous Key affair, would be finished forever. Most important the 1864 campaign for president loomed ahead.
There was, as well, within his soul, a still loftier ambition. His love of his country could not be questioned by any who truly knew him, though his vision of what that country was, and should be, might differ greatly from those of the ones born to wealth and position. He had clawed his way up, and he knew that nowhere else in this world could one such as he have reached the heights he now occupied. This country had to be saved, its brawling energy, its factories and urban power, and all that derived from that power, expanded to encompass the Western world. Too many good comrades had died for that end. He wanted their deaths to be worth something.
As he contemplated his brandy, tears came to his eyes, for despite his public bluster and bravado, he was at heart a sentimentalist, so typical of his age. The sight of the flag, shot, torn, fluttering in the wind, could still move him to tears. For his army, his Army of the Potomac, he felt a love deeper than any he had ever known. They were his boys, his men. He loved them with a passion, and they knew it, returning his love. They knew him first as a brigade commander, then division, corps, and now finally army, never afraid to stand on the volley line, a fighting general who had all but begged across two years to be unleashed and bring victory.
He drained the rest of his goblet and poured out the remainder of the bottle.
Faces drifted before him, so many comrades gone, men of the old Excelsior Brigade, his first command, bled out in the Peninsula, at Antietam, Fredericksburg, Union Mills. Without hesitation they had gone forward on every field, always following the colors, the flag, always the flag going forward, God bless them.
He remembered a flag bearer from the city, the scum of the gutter before the war, ennobled by it in the end. It was at Chancellorsville, that ghastly, obscene debacle that he could have so easily reversed into a Union victory of historic proportions. They were retreating, and a flag bearer staggered to his side, looked up, and gasped, 'Sir, I just want you to know, the flag never touched the ground.'
