“The Southerners make good fighting men. But at times they are immune to simple logic. I know, for I have attempted to make them see reason. At one time I even attempted to warn them, the officers teaching in the academy, of their certain fate, of what the future positively held in store for them. I am afraid they did not listen for they are a most firm-minded lot.”
The President was puzzled. “You have me there, General. What was it you wanted to warn them about?”
“This was after the Southern states began to secede. It was a time of great concern. All of the instructors in the academy were serving officers in the United States Army. They were torn by loyalty to the government and loyalty to their states. I tried to reason with them. To tell them about the disastrous war that was certainly coming, Mr. President. I tried to tell them of their folly for I could see that our country would be drenched in blood if they persevered along this road to civil war. Drenched in their own blood. I could not convince them that the peaceful people of the North would fight if they had to. They would fight and they would win.”
“You speak with great conviction. You felt the fighting spirit of the North would eventually prevail against that of the South?”
“Not at all. The Southerner has always been military-minded, that is why so many of them have gone to West Point. Because of that they think themselves superior in many ways. But we are all Americans, North and South, and react to conflict in an identical manner. But it is not the fighting spirit that will win this war. In the end it is the machinery of warfare that will prevail. The South cannot build a locomotive or a railway car. Or anything else needed to fight a war and pursue it to final victory. They will win battles — they are very brave people — but they do not have the resources to win a war. When I told them this they smiled at me as though I were soft.”
Sherman paused for a moment looking out of the window with his cold, empty eyes. Looking across the dividing Potomac at the enemy land. Seeing events past — perhaps seeing events to come.
“After that I had no choice. The only course open to me was to leave the South and join the Union cause. Of course my words were rejected and quickly forgotten — and we were swept into this war. But I knew them as kind good friends. To this day I cannot think of them as rebels or traitors. They are fighting in defense of their country, their houses and families, against what they see as invaders.”
Lincoln was impressed; a fighting man who was a serious thinker as well. Too many of his generals were full of fight and very little else. And some of them didn’t even have that fighting spirit. General McClellan had spent five months doing absolutely nothing. Now he was in hospital with fever and the President had taken over his command. In the west Halleck appeared to be stalemated. Soldiers were dying but nothing seemed to be happening despite this. Only at sea was the blockade succeeding. Blockade runners were seized almost every day, supplies in the South running out. But this was a stalemate. The war could not be won by simply standing back and hoping the Rebels would starve themselves to death. If this General Sherman had a higher command he might be able to do something about that. Not right now, but he would keep him in mind.
“You will go far, General. Indeed I wish I had a dozen like you. If I did this war would be over by next spring. It is my understanding that it is your wish to take up a command under General Halleck?”
“It is. If the Commander-in-Chief is in agreement he wishes me to have a division under General Grant.”
“Then it is done! The order will be issued and I wish you every success.”
Nicolay, with true secretarial precision appeared at that moment, opened the door and ushered them out. Only when the door was closed did he speak.
“Mrs. Lincoln has asked that you see her in Willie’s room.”
Lincoln’s face was gray under his dark skin. “Any change?”
“I don’t know. That was all she said.”
Lincoln hurried out. Mary was standing by the door looking at the bed. She turned when he touched her arm.
“He is so cold,” she said.
One of Willie’s playmates was sitting by the great bed, solemnly upright. Willie’s eyes were shut.
“Has he spoken?” Lincoln asked the boy.
“No, sir, not today. But I am sure he knows that I am here, for he squeezes my hand.”
They pulled up chairs next to the boy and sat in silence. There was nothing that they could say, nothing that they could do. The doctor came and looked at the silent child, touched his forehead — then shook his head. This was more expressive than words could ever be.
It was a good hour before Lincoln returned to his desk. He dropped wearily into his armchair, turned at the sound of a voice.
“He has done it, Mr. Lincoln, Grant has done it again!”
The Secretary of War hurried into the room waving the dispatch like a battle flag. So excited was he that he did not notice the President’s drawn face, his expression of blank despair. Cameron turned to the map of the United States on the wall and tapped his finger on the state of Tennessee.
“Fort Donelson has fallen and it is indeed a mighty victory.” He read from the paper in his hand. “ ‘February 16th… the Confederate army has surrendered… fifteen thousand of them captured.’ And here is the best — proof that we have a mighty fighting general in Grant. When General Buckner asked Grant for terms, you know what Grant said?” He found the quote on the paper, raised his finger dramatically as he spoke.
“ ‘No terms except unconditional and immediate surrender can be accepted. I propose to move immediately upon your works’.” He was jubilant. “I do believe, if I have your permission, that we should promote Grant to Major General.”
Lincoln nodded slowly. Cameron turned back to the map.
“First the fall of Fort Henry, now Fort Donelson in turn, a catastrophe for the enemy. The Cumberland and the Tennessee, the two most important rivers in the southwest are in our hands. The state of Tennessee is now ours while Kentucky is wide open before us. The South can only despair. They are surrounded and under attack.” He addressed the map again, stabbing at it.
“Our armies are here in Virginia, near Washington, and here at Harper’s Ferry. On the Peninsula at Fort Monroe as well — ready to strike at Richmond and Norfolk. A ring of steel, that is what it is! Our men are at Port Royal aiming at Savannah and Charleston. Down on the Gulf Coast we are poised at the gates of Mobile and New Orleans. And here on the Mississippi, on the Cumberland and the Tennessee.”
Exhausted and elated he dropped into a chair. “And all along the rebel coast the blockade is now no longer just a nuisance to Johnny Reb but a fully developed danger. I will be surprised if the war lasts until the end of this year. Eighteen sixty-two will be our annus mimbilis, our year of victory.”
“I pray it will be so, Cameron. I pray that all the death and destruction will finally come to an end and that this beleaguered country will be one again. But a wounded beast will turn and rend — and the South has been well wounded. We must keep ever-watchful guard. And most important of all is the blockade. It must be maintained and strengthened. We must cut off all source of outside supplies. Without supplies and the military wherewithal the South cannot succeed in the field. In the end their armies will be defeated.”
Although the words were optimistic they were spoken in tones of leaden gloom. So sorrowing were they that Cameron for the first time noticed the President’s obvious distress.
“Sir — you are not ill?”
“No, I am not. But the one I love is. My son, little Willie, just twelve years old. Mortally ill the doctors say. The typhoid. They doubt he will live out the day.”
Stricken by the President’s pain and suffering, Cameron could not speak. He rose, head shaking with remorse, and slowly left the room.