As he rode North with his staff among the long columns of blue troops, a courier rode up to him with a letter. Meade stiffened when he saw the wax seal — it was from the president and the handwritten scrawl on the envelope also indicated it was for his eyes only.
Meade pulled off to the side of the road, getting out of the cloud of dust that traveled with every marching army. With trembling fingers, he broke the seal and opened the letter inside. It was short and to the point:
General Meade,
The army is yours. Your goal is Lee and his army. In Virginia, we attacked and were always thrown back. In Pennsylvania, turn the tables. Let him attack. Throw him back. 1. Lincoln.
Lincoln could see the rows and rows of tents of newly arrived troops camped within view in Washington. A far cry from the city he had been forced to sneak into three years previously.
Lincoln knew he had earned the White House almost by default. He’d been nominated by the Illinois Republican state convention as their choice for president in 1860. During the national convention in Chicago, he earned the nomination by maintaining a very careful position between proslavery and antislavery platforms, which doomed his major competitors. The platform he adopted was one that tried to please both North and South, saying that slavery should not be expanded but should not be abolished where it already existed.
Like most compromises, it pleased none of the extremists on either side.
Fortunately for Lincoln, and the Republicans. The Democrats made the mistake of holding their convention in Charleston, South Carolina. The Northern and Southern · delegations were at odds from the very beginning. Stephen Douglas was eventually nominated, which so incensed the Southern delegates that they stormed out and decided to hold their Own convention, at which they nominated their own candidate, effectively crippling the party’s effectiveness.
Lincoln easily won the electoral votes, but had only 40 percent of the popular vote, not exactly the strongest mandate for a leader. He also failed to win a single electoral vote from any Southern state.
The victory was bittersweet for Lincoln and the country, as the Southern militants had been threatening to secede from the Union if Lincoln was elected. In December 1860, even before he could take office, South Carolina seceded. It was followed shortly afterward by Mississippi, Florida, Alabama, Georgia, Louisiana, and Texas. These rogue states formed the Confederate States of America. The lame-duck president, Buchanan, did nothing to stop the secessionist movement, and Lincoln remained silent on the issue, seeing no point in saying anything until he had the power to back it up. He also hoped. Against what Mary predicted. That Union sentiment might reassert itself in the South and the lost states would come back into the fold voluntarily.
When he headed to Washington to assume office, there Were threats of assassination, so he was spirited into the city under the cover of darkness, something the opposition ridiculed once it was found out.
He’d tried. Lincoln thought as he looked out at the soldiers camped in the capital. His inaugural address had been aimed specifically at the South, to try to allay their fears and reconcile. He’d flat out said he felt the federal tears and reconcile. He’d that out said he felt the federal government had no right to interfere with the institution of slavery where it already existed. However, he’d also thrown down the gauntlet, saying he also believed a state did not have the right to secede from the Union. However, he’d ended the speech by saying that the government would not assail the South. He hoped with this speech to at least keep the wavering states of Virginia. North Carolina, Tennessee and Arkansas in the Union.
The South, of course, took matters into its own hands in the place where the Democratic Party had failed to bring forth a strong enough candidate to challenge Lincoln.
Fort Sumter was fired on, the war was begun, and the Fort Sumter was fired on, the war was begun, and the Confederacy.
Pundits in 1861 had said the war would last no more · than ninety days and end with Union victory. Mary had disagreed, and Lincoln had privately had his own doubts. Over two years later, Mary’s prediction and his doubts had been confirmed. The war had gone more horribly than anyone on either side could have predicted.
And if Mary were to be believed again. it was going to get worse before it got better. How many of those boys out there. Lincoln wondered. Would not see the end of the year?
It was a dark thought, something he was prone to, and he went to the couch and lay down on it, his long legs sticking past the edge, and descended into a pitch black pit of depression.
“The Zulus are more dangerous than you think. You must deploy spies far from your front and flanks.”
General Lord Chelmsford looked up from the splendid meal laid out on the Twenty-fourth Regimental china with irritation. The man who had just uttered this warning was splattered with mud and wore an amalgamation of uniforms-a British cavalryman’s riding pants, a leather coat similar to what the militia wore, and a black hat with a single feather tucked in the brim. There was no indication of rank or even unit. A damn militiaman, one of the local Boers, Chelmsford guessed. He found the locals boring and unsophisticated.
The army was still less than five miles from the Buffalo River despite having crossed it several days earlier. The track was in bad shape, and Chelmsford had sent his engineers forward to improve it to a state where the artillery could traverse it. The forward elements had already fought a brief engagement with the Zulus, routing them out of a kraal that overlooked the track. The position had been taken easily, and a large quantity of sheep and cattle had been captured, several of which had been slaughtered to provide the meal Chelmsford was about to partake of. The feeble resistance put up by the Zulus at the kraal had not done much to impress Chelmsford with their martial capabilities.
“And you are, sir?” Chelmsford demanded.
The Twenty-fourth’s adjutant hastened to make the belated introduction. “This is Mr. Uys, General. He is a scout in the Boer militia and has much experience fighting the Zulu.”
“And do you have much experience leading a column of British regulars?” Chelmsford demanded of Uys.
Even under his deep tan, Uys flushed in anger.
“If your people had done a better job with the Zulu, my people would not have to be here now,” Chelmsford added as his steward brought out a covered dish.
Uys nodded, as if he knew something the general did not. “Good day to you, sir.” He turned on his heel and exited the tent without another word.
As Chelmsford went back to his meal, Uys paused outside the flap and looked about. Chelmsford’s tent was pitched on a small knoll, where the artillery, still hitched to their oxen, should have been deployed. Peering to the north and east, Uys could see a high escarpment — Isandlwana Hill — several miles away. He stiffened. He could swear there was someone up there, highlighted by the almost horizontal rays of the setting sun that came from behind him.
Shakan saw the militiaman leaving the large tent. She felt his gaze touch her even at this distance. The man turned and went to his horse, galloping to the southwest and the Transvaal. Shakan knew he would not return. She was standing on the edge of the Nqutu Plateau to the north of where the British were.
She was worried. The British were moving slowly. Too slowly. She did not know the exact day the battle was to be joined, but she sensed it needed to be soon. She had had the voice in her head all her life, sometimes louder, sometimes just the tiniest of whispers that she could choose to ignore if she wished.