Lincoln understood, to an extent, the desire of these men not to lose their sons. His and Mary’s firstborn, Edward, had died in 1850 at the age of four. Willie had died. These deaths had caused Mary much grief, and there had been times in public where she’d grown hysterical.
Washington had never been a good place for Mary. They’d first come here in 1846 when he was elected to Congress. They’d come with high expectations, which had been quickly dashed by the reality of the situation. Lincoln had thought he could make his mark quickly, only to find that he was one of many unknown freshmen congressman and the inner sanctums of power were closed to him. The social life Mary had been looking forward to was as equally distant and closed.
He served one term, before heading back home. He’d been offered the governorship of the new Oregon territory but he’d turned it down to return to practice law, having seen his first foray into politics on a national level end discouragingly.
It took the passage of the Kansas-Nebraska Act to energize him in 1854. This act had created the territories of Kansas and Nebraska and said that each territory could be admitted as states with or without slavery, as dictated by the people of the state at the time of admission. Lincoln felt this went against what had previously been determined and would spread slavery, something he was strongly opposed to. This led him into direct conflict with the author of the Kansas-Nebraska Act, Stephen Douglas. And their famous series of debates that brought Lincoln into national prominence.
For Douglas, slavery had been a political issue. For compatible with democracy. Although as he had campaigned, Lincoln had kept himself distant from the strong abolitionist views, preferring to work within the system to solve this festering problem. That approach, obviously, had not worked.
“Do you hear anything else?” Lincoln asked his wife as they turned up the drive to the White House.
Mary nodded. “Meade.”
Lincoln was confused. Was she referring to beer? His wife drank rarely, and he was always fearful when she did as it upset her delicate disposition.
“The general,” Mary said, sensing his confusion. “Fifth Corps commander, He’s the one.”
It was hot and humid, not good marching weather, but Lee’s men had covered man)miles so far in this war, and the fact that they were moving North served to give their step an extra spring.
Jubal Early’s division, part of Ewell’s corps, was in the lead and made forty-five miles in two days, surprising the Union garrison at Winchester. A. P. Hill’s corps was still in the vicinity of Fredericksburg, which meant Lee’s army was stretched over one hundred miles, not exactly sound tactics as he had been taught at West Point.
Lee was not unaware of the danger, but he felt his position to be reasonably secure. He had a screen of cavalry to his east, between him and Hooker’s troops, and he had the cover of the Rappahannock and the Blue Ridge mountains also on his flanks. Lee’s spies told him that Hooker was finally reacting, albeit several days too late, doing as expected, and pulling back North, as the Union commander was uncertain of Lee’s objective. Given that Lee himself was a bit uncertain about his specific objectives, he could understand Hooker’s uncertainty. Hooker was reacting, which meant lee could maintain the initiative.
Winchester fell quickly, and the Union forces that didn’t surrender fell back in disarray toward Harpers Ferry on the Potomac. It became almost a race between the retreating Union forces and the front edge of Lee’s army for the crossing.
Meanwhile Lee’s cavalry under Jeb Stuart fought · pitched battles with Union forces along the eastern flank. Crossing the Potomac certainly raised the morale of the troops, but it troubled Lee that he was losing touch with Hooker’s army. He had enough respect for the Union Army to know that he needed to fix his enemy’s position before venturing too much farther North.
On June 24, Lee called Jeb Stuart to his headquarters, even as his advance troops entered Chambersburg in Pennsylvania, sending the countryside into a panic. Still feeling the effects of his recent illness, Lee was quick with his orders to Stuart.
Too quick as events would show. On the evening of the 24th, Stuart rode off with the majority of the Southern Cavalry to the East. Lee would not see him again until it was too late.
Feeling he still had several days’ lead on Hooker, Lee ordered his subordinate units to spread out to forage the bountiful countryside. A secondary goal of this attack was to resupply his army, and IDS men took the orders to heart.
“Everyone knows lee is in Pennsylvania, it seems, except Hooker.”
Secretary of War Stanton had nothing to say to Lincoln’s statement. The president held up a copy of a newspaper, whose headline screamed of plundering Confederate troops. “I am sick of editors being more informed than my commanding general.”
Stanton cleared his throat.
“Yes?” Lincoln folded the newspaper and placed it in front of him as he waited for his secretary of war.
“Hooker is — ahh — ”
“Say it,” Lincoln ordered.
Stanton glanced at the telegram in his hands. “Displeased that General Halleck refuses to send him more reinforcements. He threatens to resign his position unless I order Halleck to do as he requests.”
Lincoln rubbed his temples. “Take his resignation. Effective right now.”
“Yes, sir,” Stanton said.
Everyone waited as Lincoln continued to rub his temples as if trying to push out bad thoughts. “General Meade, the Fifth Corps commander, is from Pennsylvania, is he not?”
“Yes, sir,” Stanton said.
“Your opinion of him?” Lincoln asked Stanton.
“Solid. He did a good job at Antietam and Fredericksburg. His men held their own.”
“Which is more than we can say about most others,” Lincoln said.
“Yes, sir. But he is not the senior corps commander.”
“Let’s see how he is at defending his own state’s soil,” Lincoln said as he scratched out the order putting Meade in command on a piece of parchment.
Hard marching had taken a toll on the Army of Virginia in · a way most would not think of. That is those who were not infantry would think of.
Shoes.
More than half the army lacked them. And those who were shod had worn the leather on their soles down to paper thin, making every footfall on a stone or pebble a painful experience.
Early’s division of Ewell’s corp force-marched to Gettysburg, a sleepy little town mostly known for its Lutheran seminary on a ridge nearby. They arrived on June 24, even as General Meade was being roused by an aide with Lincoln’s order putting him in charge of the Army of the Potomac.
Reaching Gettysburg, Early demanded ten thousand dollars worth of goods from the town’s inhabitants, but most had fled, and those who were still there had hidden their wealth. As they passed through the town, Early did notice something of interest, though. A shoe factory.
Early scribbled out a note to A. P. Hill, telling him of the fact, before marching on to occupy York.
The few remaining citizens of Gettysburg were thankful the Confederates had passed through and life got back to normal. There was movement all around the town, but no soldiers from either side in it. Gettysburg seemed to be free of the COIl11ng storm. Calm settled over the inhabitants. Just like the calm at the eye of a hurricane.