presence of black waiters at Willard's — all the white regulars had enlisted — and they accepted the presence of maimed veterans wandering everywhere.
At the start of the war, everyone had agreed that Washington was a Southern city. Only a few months ago, however, Richard Wallach, brother of the owner of the Star, had been elected mayor. Wallach was an Unconditional Union Democrat, who wanted the war prosecuted fully to the end, unlike those in the peace wing of his party. Copperheads, some called the peace Democrats; poisonous snakes.
Emancipation had come to the District last April. Stanley and Isabel were in the forefront of those promoting it, although at one of the rare and difficult suppers arranged by the two Hazard wives to maintain a pretense of family harmony, Isabel had stated that emancipation would turn the city into 'a hell on earth for the white race.' It hadn't exactly worked that way. Almost daily, white soldiers fell on some black contraband and beat or maimed him or her, without subsequent punishment. Negroes weren't permitted to ride the new street railway cars shuttling along Pennsylvania Avenue between the Capitol and the State Department. Isabel deplored such bigoted behavior when paying court to her radical friends.
In the demoralized army, change was certain. Encamped on the Rappahannock, Burnside kept planning winter advances against all advice. He was wild to redeem his failure at Fredericksburg.
On more than one occasion, George had heard senior officers say Burnside had lost his mind.
Fighting Joe Hooker was most frequently mentioned as Burnside's replacement. Whoever took command faced a monumental job of reorganizing the army and restoring pride and discipline. Some regiments refused to march past the Executive Mansion, but would go out of their way to reach McClellan's residence on H Street, where they would cheer as they went by or sing a popular song praising the general. There were some blacks in the army now. Like the contrabands, they were beaten frequently, and were paid three dollars less per month for the same duty than their white counterparts.
In the executive branch, change was likewise a virtual certainty in this new year. The congressional elections had gone badly for the Republicans, and the melancholy President held office in an atmosphere of mounting disfavor. Lincoln was blamed for all the military defeats and called everything from a 'country cretin' to a 'fawning Negrophile.'
So change was in the air — needed, unwanted, immutable. Sometimes, as in the Presbyterian church, just imagining possible futures made George's head ache.
When they reached home, Constance looked in on the sleeping children, then prepared hot cocoa for George. As she waited for water to boil, she reread her father's letter. It had arrived yesterday.
Patrick Flynn had reached California in the autumn. He found a land of sunny somnolence, remote from the war. In '61 there had been rumors of revolt and a Pacific Confederacy, but those had died out. Flynn reported that his new legal practice in Los Angeles brought him virtually no money, but he was happy. How he survived, he didn't say, but his daughter's fears about his safety were eased.
She carried the cocoa to George in the library. She was tired but he, wearing just his uniform trousers with braces and his shirt with sleeves rolled to the elbows, looked exhausted. He had turned the gas up full and spread sheets of paper in front of the inkstand. Some bore writing; some were blank.
She set the cocoa down. 'Will you be long?'
'As long as it takes to finish this. I must show it to Senator Sherman tomorrow — that is, today — at the President's reception.'
'Must we go? Those affairs are horrid. So many people, it's impossible to move.'
'I know, but Sherman expects me. He's promised me an introduction to Senator Wilson of Massachusetts. Wilson's chairman of the Military Affairs Committee. An ally we very badly need.'
'How soon will the appropriations bill be introduced?'
'In the House, within two weeks. The real fight comes in the Senate. We don't have much time.'
Bending over him where he had sunk into a chair, she touched his hair tenderly. 'You're a remarkable zealot for a man who never liked soldiering.'
'I still don't like it, but I love West Point, though I didn't know it till long after I graduated.'
She kissed his brow. 'Come to bed as soon as you can.'
He nodded absently. He never saw her leave.
He inked his pen and resumed work on the article he had agreed to write for the
He would make enemies with those last three words. He didn't give a damn. The battle had been joined, and a powerful cabal meant to bury the Academy permanently this year. Led by Wade, the cabal included Lyman Trumbull of Illinois and James Lane of Kansas. Senator Lane was so confident, he was boasting of West Point's demise all over Washington.
Sipping cold cocoa, George wrote on, shivering as the house cooled, yawning against fatigue, firing verbal cannonades in the small war whose outcome he deemed almost as vital to the nation as that of the larger one. He wrote on into the new morning of the new year, until he fell asleep on top of his manuscript around five, a strand of his hair lying across the nib of his discarded pen and getting inky.
'Yes, I'm happy to say she'll be joining me soon,' Orry told the President. In his right hand he held a punch cup, but he had declined a plate. Dexterous as he had become, he still could not eat and drink at the same time. 'It's entirely possible that she's on her way right now.'
The President's appearance disturbed Orry. He was paler than ever, haggard, with the tight, slightly hunched posture of a man in pain. Much more than neuralgia bedeviled Jefferson Davis these days. His cotton embargo was a failure despite a shortage in British mills. Diplomatic recognition in Europe was no longer even a remote hope. Critics sniped at him for continuing to support the unpopular Bragg in the West and for causing shortages at home. In Richmond, coffee had been almost completely replaced by vile concoctions of okra or sweet potatoes or watermelon seeds sweetened with sorghum. Messages were starting to appear, slashed in paint on city walls: STOP THE WAR. UNION AGAIN!
This New Year's afternoon, officers, men in civilian clothes, and many women packed the official residence on Clay Street in the distinguished old Court End neighborhood. Davis strove to fix his entire attention on each guest, if only briefly. Despite his tribulations, his smile and manner were full of warmth:
'Good news indeed, Colonel. You hoped to have her in Richmond long before this, I recall.'
'She was to join me early last year, but the plantation was struck with a series of misfortunes.' He mentioned his mother's seizure but not the increasing problem of runaways. Davis inquired about Clarissa. Orry said she had regained most of her physical faculties.
Then Davis asked: 'How are you getting on with Mr. Seddon?'
'Fine, sir. I'm aware of his outstanding reputation as a lawyer here in Richmond.'
That was all Orry would say. James Seddon of Goochland County had replaced General Gustavus Smith as Secretary of War. Smith had served a total of four days after Randolph resigned in November to accept a commission. Orry disliked the gaunt Seddon's somber disposition and strong secessionist views. Seddon and his wife were here somewhere. He changed the subject.
'Permit me a question in another area, Mr. President. The enemy is arming black troops. Do you feel we might benefit by taking the same course?'
'Do you?'
'Yes, possibly.'
Davis's mouth straightened to a tight line. 'The idea is pernicious, Colonel. As Mr. Cobb of Georgia observed, if nigras will make good soldiers, our entire theory of slavery is wrong. Excuse me.'
And off he went to another guest. Orry felt irritated with Davis; it was a harmful weakness, that inability to
