“Nothing, Mr. President. We both know that the war could not be fought without a constant flow of weaponry and ammunition. We are better supplied than the enemy at all times and that must never change if we are to have victory.”
Lincoln nodded solemnly. “May it always be thus. Now I have been consulting with my Cabinet about this matter. Secretary of War Cameron speaks very highly of you. He feels you are ideally suited to head the Bureau of Ordnance. What do you think?”
“I know that I can do the work, sir. But before any appointment is approved I think you must know that General Ripley and I did not see eye-to-eye on a number of things. Most importantly we differed completely on at least one matter of some gravity. When I was his subordinate I was honor bound not to mention this. But I feel I must do so now. I do not speak in anger or envy. I feel that I was a good and loyal lieutenant to the general. While he was alive I never considered speaking aloud of our differences. But everything is changed now. If I am to occupy this position I must make the changes that I believe in.”
“I admire your honesty in coming forward with this. What was this major bone of contention?”
For long seconds the officer looked discomfited. Looking first at the floor, then out of the window. Then he sat even more erect and sterned himself to speak.
“The general was a firm believer in the virtues of standard muzzle-loading rifles. They are proven and reliable and with proper training can deliver a good rate of fire.”
“And you don’t agree with this?”
“Of course I agree, Mr. President. But we live in an age of progress. I see new inventions almost every day. I believe in examining all these inventions — but more strongly I also believe in the virtues of breech-loading rifles. We have put numberless samples to the test and frankly most of them were useless. They jam and explode, break down very often and are difficult to maintain. But there are two breech-loaders that we have examined and fired at length, two remarkable weapons that stand out from all the others. The Spencer rifle and the Sharps. I wished to order a good quantity of them, but General Ripley disagreed strongly. Therefore nothing was done.”
“Did he say why he disagreed?”
Ramsay hesitated to answer. When he did not speak Lincoln broke the silence. “I appreciate your loyalty to your superior officer. But by speaking honestly and frankly now you do him no harm — and you will be aiding the great effort that we are all so deeply involved in. If it helps I, as your Commander-in-Chief, can order you to tell me what you know.”
Ramsay responded with great difficulty. “That will not be needed, sir. It was a matter of, well, opinion. The general felt that using breech-loaders would encourage the soldiers to waste ammunition. I do not think it a waste because the role of a soldier is to fire at the enemy.”
“I agree, Ramsey, I do agree. You must arrange a demonstration of your wonderful rifles at the earliest opportunity. That will be your first order of business as our new Chief of Ordnance. Is there anything else that I should know about?”
“Well — it’s Colonel Berdan and his regiment of sharpshooters. You have heard of him?”
“A memorandum in my desk somewhere. Didn’t he use his own money to organize the regiment? With every man an expert shot.”
“He did indeed. But here, again, and I do not blame General Ripley for having firmly held values. But Berdan’s men have been lumbered with the Colt revolving rifle. The thing is like a revolver pistol with a long barrel. They misfire and, well, there is nothing really good that can be said about them. It was a bad second choice. What they want, what they need, is the Sharps breech-loading rifle. A precision instrument in a marksman’s hands.”
“See that it is done.”
The general saluted and left. Ramsay was a good man and would do an excellent job. Lincoln brushed away the unkind thought that General Ripley’s tragic accident might have been a work of God. An intervention by Him who ruled all, an intercession in this war. One man’s death to save countless others. But if the Supreme Being really were on his side he, for one, surely would not mind. Being President of the United States had endless burdens, not the least of which was this great war that had started as soon as he had been elected. Fighting and winning the war was the first priority and any aid — particularly that of the Almighty — would be greatly appreciated.
Sixty short miles away, in the city of Richmond, Virginia, the President of the Confederacy was weighted down by the same intractable problems and priorities as the President of the United States. But Jefferson Davis did not have the advantages of Lincoln’s strength and stamina. Always weak in the aftermath of severe pneumonia years earlier, his eyes ravaged by snow blindness. Each day was a battle to be fought against unending pain. But no one had ever heard a word of complaint from him. A gentleman does not humble himself before any man. Today an ear infection troubled his concentration and he fought to quell any visible reaction to the enduring pain.
The South was as ill as their President. It was a cold winter and supplies of everything were running low. And the list of the dead in battle mounted. But the Southerners tried not to notice, tried to keep their hopes and their morale high. There were songs and rallies and it seemed to help. But the blockade had bitten deep and there was a shortage of everything, everything except valor.
Davis had a new Secretary of War, whom he hoped would help him cope with the endless struggle to supply the fighting forces. Jefferson Davis tapped on the thick sheaf of paper that rested on the desk before him.
“Judah — do you know why I had you appointed to replace LeRoy Walker?”
Judah P. Benjamin took the question to be a rhetorical one so he simply smiled in response and waited patiently for the answer, his folded hands resting lightly on his ample waistline.
“LeRoy is an excellent man and a hard worker. But he made too many enemies in government. I think he had to spend more time fighting them than he did fighting the Yankees. Here.” Davis pushed the file across the desk. “Address yourself to these and see if the new Secretary of War can come up with some new answers. That’s why you have the job. You are a patient man, Judah, an elder statesman who has many friends. You can stop the bickering and see that everyone in harness pulls in the same direction. When you look at these reports you will see that we are short of everything — but mostly short of guns and powder. If we were not a rural nation we would be in a dreadful pickle. As it is almost every volunteer brings along his own gun when he joins up. But it is more than muskets that we need. We must find cannon — and gunpowder — if we are going to win this war.”
“It is my understanding, Mr. President, that a quantity of supplies was captured after the battle of Ball’s Bluff.”
“Indeed. It was a great victory and the bluebellies threw their guns away when they retreated. Our first victory since Bull Run. That helped — but not for long. There are also reports of Yankee foraging parties being captured, all good — but still not good enough. We can’t expect the North to be our sole source of supplies. The military front is very static for the moment and we must take advantage of this lull in the fighting. McClellan’s Yankee armies are being held at bay, but we can certainly look forward to some action there in the peninsula in the spring. But it is the naval blockade that is hurting us, hurting real bad. That is why we have been diverting all our resources to readying the ironclad Virginia for battle. When she sails our prayers go with her to break the blockade and sink the Northern fleet. When that happens we can bring in supplies by the boatload. Our cotton is eagerly sought in Britain and the funds from that will buy the gunpowder, cannon and supplies that we so desperately need.”