A resounding cheer went up with that, and Lincoln couldn't help but grin.
As he gazed out at their upturned faces, a smile creased his lined features. For the moment he would not think of all that was still to come, what these boys would have to face in the days ahead.
They were a tough-looking group. These were not the baby-faced recruits that he used to see on the drill fields back in the winter of 1861. These men had endured two hard years of campaigning in some of the worst climes in America. They reminded him of the line from Shakespeare in their appearance, having a 'lean and hungry look,' and in those hardened eyes and bronzed features he saw men of war and yet, down deep, neighbors, friends, still quintessentially American. They were professionals at what they did now, but given their druthers, all of them, to a man, would rather be back home tending their fields, working in their shops, perhaps getting some more schooling, perhaps trekking farther west to find new land to break to the plow and grow crops on, to raise a family on.
Several shouted out names of their kin he might know, one said he was born in New Salem and remembered him as postmaster, another proclaimed Lincoln had won a suit for his daddy and then, laughing, said his daddy had yet to pay the bill.
'Well, son, tell your dad the debt is canceled and you did the canceling for him.' More laughter.
He looked back toward the road. A brigade commander was watching, indulgent but also obviously impatient at the delay that had stopped the column.
'Boys, you gotta get back on the march now. That general back there, usually he's got to salute me, but on this day I think I better salute him and follow what he wants.'
Lincoln offered a friendly salute and the general, grinning, returned it. Officers herded the men back onto the pike, shouting for double time, for them to pick up and fall back in with the next regiment in line, which was now several hundred yards down the road.
' 'Bye, Abe, God bless ya, Abe!'
The years had fallen away from them for a moment: They were boys off on an adventure, acting as if they had just met a favorite schoolmaster, who now had to shoo them along back to their work, the work of killing.
The brigade commander nodded his thanks, then, a bit shyly, rode up to Lincoln and formally saluted and extended his hand.
'Sir, it's a mighty big surprise to see you up here in Pennsylvania. Rumors have been coming down the line for hours that you were on the road behind us.'
'Just thought I'd come up for a little look around,' Lincoln said, again smiling.
'How did you get here, sir?'
'Well, General, let's just call that our military secret for now. But between us I rode over on one of Thaddeus Lowe's balloons.'
The general looked at him for a few seconds, almost believing him, and then, shaking his head, broke into laughter.
'I'll remember that one, sir, you had me going for a second.'
'Glad I can still do it at times.'
'God bless you, sir. I better get moving. I think you'll find General Grant coming back shortly. Word came down the line from headquarters that if you were seen to have you escorted in. I think he's right in front of us.'
'Then I think I'll wait right here,' Lincoln said. 'It's been a long day of travel. I'd like to sit for a spell.'
The general saluted again and rode off.
Lincoln passed the word to the commander of his escort regiment for the boys to take a break and dismount. The colonel detailed men off to line the road to keep the men back and moving.
To Abe's delight, a sergeant came up grinning and shyly offered him an apple. It was still a bit green, but he didn't care. Taking out his paring knife he opened it up and studiously began to peel the fruit, doing it with skill, one continual loop of reddish-green skin coiling down from the apple as he turned it in his hand.
Another regiment came by, boys from Ohio whom he had passed at a near gallop minutes before. They broke into 'Three cheers for Old Abe!' as they marched by. He looked up and nodded, smiling, enjoying the moment.
Something inside him whispered that what he was doing now was exactly what he was supposed to be doing. He was president of the United States, and far too many took that office far too seriously. Not serious on the points that mattered, but rather in all the folderol, all the ceremonies, all the scraping and bowing, all the maneuvering and backslapping and backroom dealing.
These boys constituted the army created by his words, his dreams, his hopes. They were a part of him and he was a part of them. Being president for them at this moment meant he was to sit on a rail, peel an apple, cut it into slices, and munch them slowly to savor the tart flavor-and be seen as president doing it.
It was not so long ago I used to do just this. Sit atop a fence or lean on it, chatting with a constituent, or when riding the circuit, to stop at a farm for a drink of water, ask for directions, talk of weather and wind, summer heats and winter storms, find out who was dying and who was being born.
He ran his free hand along the fence rail and smiled inwardly. Just such a rail had helped him win the presidency, at the moment when loyalists carried it onto the convention floor in Chicago, claiming it was a rail Old Abe had split with his very own hands as a youth.
How I used to hate that work, he thought. Backbreaking labor for a few bits a day. A friend had once said if you were a failure at everything else, or too lazy for anything else, there was always schoolteaching or law. Schoolteaching was out, what with the few months of education he had ever received, so law it had been.
And yet, at times, he longed for moments like this, to sit on a fence, smell the honeysuckle and late summer flowers, the scent of ripening corn, and feel the warm, gentle breeze.
He was lost in such thoughts for a few moments until another regiment approached, more Ohio boys, who shouted with joy at the sight of him, taking off their caps and waving as they passed.
Someone had told him that, at Fredericksburg, Lee had said, 'It is well that war is so terrible, or we should grow too fond of it.'
At this moment he found he was fond of it, in fact, inwardly thrilled by the sight of it, if but for a moment he could suppress all that was implied behind this ceaseless parade marching by.
Where he had stopped was atop a low rise, just a gentle elevation of a few dozen feet that the pike came up and over, straight as an arrow. Looking either way he could see for miles, the road choked with men, artillery, wagons, all flowing ever southwestward. The steady tramp of the men echoed, almost timed to the beating of his heart.
They looked like tough campaigners. He always felt that the boys of the Army of the Potomac were too burdened down. Those darn foolish French caps, the kepis which did a man little good; a broad-brimmed felt hat was far better and to his mind looked far more American in spirit. These western troops carried blanket rolls slung over shoulders, rifles slung as well, though as the regiments passed him, officers called for the men to come to port arms in salute. The sound of marching, the rattle of canteens and tin cups, the shouts, the clatter of hooves on the macadam pavement, all blended together into what could almost be music for his soul.
'Sir, I think the general is coming,' a lieutenant from his escort cried, pointing south.
Lincoln turned his gaze against the setting sun and shaded his eyes and sure enough, he could see a flag standing out in the evening breeze, moving along the side of the road.
The lieutenant drew out his field glasses and focused them. 'That's him all right, sir. It's General Grant.'
Someone was riding ahead-the inexhaustible Ely Parker, his mount lathered.
Lincoln nodded his thanks and then had a moment's quandary. I can sit here, as informal as can be, or I can fall back into the role once more. Given the gravity of the moment, he decided on the latter and stepped down from the fence, folding up his pocket knife.
Parker saluted. 'The general is right behind me, sir.'
'I can see that, Ely. Now why don't you just relax? You've done an admirable job getting me here and finding General Grant.'
Ely sighed and leaned forward in the saddle, uncorking a canteen and took a long drink.
Grant leapt a low fence, rather than go around to an open gate, in a beautiful display of horsemanship. He came on at a near gallop, headquarters flag flying behind him. He reined in, snapping off a salute, Lincoln looked up, unable to hide a smile at what could only be taken as surprise on Grant's face.
'Mr. President, I hope this does not sound impertinent, but may I ask just what it is you are doing here?'
'Just thought I'd come up this way and see how you and the boys were doing.'
