He said this with such a humility that Sharpe was taken aback. Anyone else would have said it with a righteous flourish. Lincoln had said it as if the very idea was a precious marvel that one could only revere. The man dangling his slipper had assumed a glow that Sharpe had only seen in an El Greco saint in the Prado in Madrid.
The room was silent for a long moment before Lincoln leaned over and said, “Now tell us, Colonel, how Jeff Davis has his fingers all over this.”
Sharpe picked up his narrative. “Davis himself unwittingly provoked George’s escape. Morgan relied on George to act as his clerk, to do much of his paperwork and file his papers. In turn, Morgan’s adjutant depended upon George and was happy to pass paper to him. Carelessly, he passed the deciphered message to George. That is not as strange as it may seem. The chivalry are uniformly careless around their body servants and speak of the most secret matters around them. They are like the furniture to them. I have it on good authority that even Lee discounts them as useful sources of intelligence for us because of their simple natures. My experience is that they are often astute observers.
“Why, it was the contraband Charlie Wright, an officer’s body servant, who came into our lines and gave us the information that two of Lee’s corps were passing through Culpeper Court House into the Shenandoah Valley for the invasion of Pennsylvania last June. He had an almost encyclopedic knowledge of a good part of the Army of Northern Virginia, one in which Mr. Babcock could not find a single error. It was on this intelligence that General Hooker began to move the Army of the Potomac north to counter Lee. We actually crossed the Potomac before Lee did. Charlie Wright’s warning may well have been the deciding factor in our ability to meet Lee at Gettysburg rather than to our disadvantage on the outskirts of Baltimore or Washington.
“It was Davis’s deciphered telegram that made George realize what was at stake. His memory was quite good, and he told us that the object of Morgan’s raid was to raise the Copperheads in the Northwest and assist them in the overthrow of the state governments and the destruction of the authority of the federal government. Furthermore, Morgan was to liberate the prisoner of war camps within reach, especially the six thousand men held in the camp at Indianapolis and the eight thousand in Chicago. The Copperheads were to assist in this and bring sufficient arms to completely equip them. Morgan would have had the equivalent of several rebel infantry divisions at his disposal along with thousands of Copperheads in the heart to the Northwest. The message also stated that the strategic goal was more than overthrowing the authority of the government but to bring the Northwest-at least Illinois, Indiana, and Ohio-into the Confederacy.”
“Thank God, the rebels failed miserably,” Stanton said. “We have Morgan locked up tight as a tick.”
“Morgan is not the end of this, Edwin.” Seward added, “As I understand it, Morgan’s men behaved so badly that the damned disloyal fuse did not light. I can tell you, from the political end of this business, the Copperheads are in no way discouraged. They are biding their time. We nearly had an open revolt when that son-of-a-bitch Vallandingham was convicted of treason. I would not discount the rebels and Copperheads trying this again.”
Dana commented, “Morgan’s capture did not prevent them raiding an arms warehouse on the second and murdering the guards. We lost five thousand new Springfield rifles. That would be almost enough to equip all the prisoners in the Indianapolis camp.”
“Well, Sharpe,” Stanton added with a rare smile, “if Colonel Carrington’s man, Stidger, wasn’t doing such a splendid job for us, your Sergeant Cline would seem to be the perfect man to spy upon the Copperheads. And he’s a Hoosier, too, if I remember, 3rd Indiana Cavalry.”
Sharpe’s Excelsior College pride promoted him to throw in, “Actually, sir, he’s New York born and raised and has only recently made his home in Indiana.”
“It seems you New Yorkers are a thick lot,” Lincoln winked at Seward. “Why Seward here just recently hosted a dinner for the star of the New York stage, Edwin Booth. Have you seen him perform?”
“Many times in the city, sir. My wife adores him.”
“He was here at Ford’s Theater doing his Shylock in “‘The Merchant of Venice.’” Lincoln’s voice had gone sad and soft. “A good performance, but I’d a thousand times rather read it at home if it were not for Booth’s playing.”
Stanton spoke. “The President often goes to the theater and without any bodyguard at all. They let him quietly in the back.” Then assuming his official frown, he said, “Mr. President, I must again beg you to be not so careless of your personal safety. There are many who would do you harm.”
“Oh, Stanton, the fact is, I am a great coward. I have moral courage enough, I think, but I am such a coward physically that if I were to shoulder a gun and go into action, I am dead sure that I should turn and run at the first fire. I know I should.”
There was an awkward silence.
Lincoln smiled and said, “That reminds me.”
An hour later, as Sharpe and the others were leaving the White House, Stanton took him by the arm. “Colonel, I want you to stay in Washington for a few days; I think we haven’t heard the end of this.” Turning to Dana, he said, “Charlie, wire Meade to tell him we have kept him here on my orders.” Without waiting for a reply, he rushed off.
Dana said to Sharpe, “You should be able to find a room at the Willard. Washington empties out in August, even in wartime. This vile summer heat drives out all but the most hardy. Can I give you a ride? It’s not far, but no one should have to walk in this heat.”
Sharpe replied, “Well, my wife certainly would agree. At her insistence I took a house for the family here in Washington, but she fled to the Hudson Valley in June. I’m afraid I will have it all to myself. At least I don’t have to go far; it’s right here on Lafayette Square.” Sharpe pointed to it just beyond the rearing bronze equestrian statue of Andrew Jackson in the middle of the square. He was about to take his leave when he noticed two men walking up the path to the main door. One was a spare cavalry captain and the other a short, stocky, white-haired civilian. Dana smiled as they approached. On closer examination, Sharpe could tell the white-haired man was young, not old.
As they came up Dana said, “Charles, Andy, how the hell are you?” Turning to Sharpe he said, “Let me introduce you to two friends.” He nodded to the captain who saluted Sharpe. “Capt. Charles Francis Adams, Jr., 5th Massachusetts Cavalry.” Adams bore the natural self-possession of a man who knew who he was. Dana did not have to explain that he was the son and grandson of presidents. He only referred to it obliquely. “Charles’s father is our ambassador in London and a very busy man, as we have been saying, trying to get our British friends from building more commerce raiders for the rebels.”
The white-haired man broke in and said in a brogue so thick it could have been spread with a trowel, “British friends, indeed. Our only British friends are those who work for a living. And it is a thankless job in that royalty-ridden island, it is.”
Dana laughed. “I don’t want you to think that this sour-faced Yankee is all work and no play. He is quite the politician, though luckily not a very good one.” He winked at Charles, who forced a smile. “Charles was Seward’s campaign manager for the presidency, which is why Mr. Seward is now Secretary of State.
“And this,” he said, taking the white-haired man by the arm, “is Andy Carnegie or, as he is affectionately known, ‘that little white-haired Scotch devil.’”
Dana affectionately clapped a hand on Carnegie’s shoulder. “Andy here single-handedly opened the rail line between Baltimore and Washington in early ’61 as it looked like Maryland would secede along with the rest of the South. He organized the train that brought Ben Butler and his troops to Washington in time to save the city. Rode on the cow catcher, he did, to see that the tracks and telegraph were not broken up. See that scar on his cheek. He got it by trying to free some wires that had been sabotaged. They sprang back and sliced him good. Why, he is so modest, I must be the one to tell you he was the first man to bleed for his country.”