How Few Remain Part 40

"She's right, Father," Lewis said.

"She generally is," Dougla.s.s answered. He headed for the stairway.

Under flag of truce, General Thomas Jackson approached the line where his men had halted the Army of Ohio's push into Louisville. His guards looked jumpy, even though no guns had barked for several days. "Do you really trust the d.a.m.nyankees, sir?" one of them asked.

"They fought honorably," Jackson answered. "If I was not afraid to come up here while the fighting raged, why should I fear doing so with the cease-fire in place?"

"I don't like it," the guard said, stubborn still. His eyes flicked now here, now there. "Lordy, they made a h.e.l.l of a mess out of this here place, didn't they?" He paused a moment in thought. "'Course, we helped, I reckon."

A call came from within the U.S. lines: "That you, General Jackson?"

"Yes, it is I," Jackson replied. To his ear, the U.S. accent was sharp and harsh and unpleasant.

"Come ahead, General," the Yankee said. "General Willc.o.x is here waiting for you."

"Come I shall," Jackson said. He picked his way over broken bricks and charred boards. Here in the center of Louisville, nothing but rubble remained. The only walls to be seen were those U.S. and C.S. soldiers had erected from bits of that rubble. None of the graceful architecture that had made Louisville such a pleasant place before the war survived.

And President Longstreet, Jackson thought, is willing to let the United States off without a half-dime's indemnity is willing to let the United States off without a half-dime's indemnity. His mouth tightened. Christian charity was all very well, but what point to charity toward those who deserved it not?

A couple of men in blue uniforms showed themselves. They stood up a little warily; for a long time, showing any part of your body was an invitation to a sharpshooter to drive a hole through it. One of them said, "If you'd been here a few days ago, Stonewall-"

"No doubt my men would say the same to you, young fellow," Jackson answered. He wasn't so severe as he might have been; that was soldier's banter from the Yankee, not out-and-out hatred.

A trim young captain in tunic and trousers far too clean and neat for him to have served at the front line came up out of a trench and nodded. "I'm Oliver Richardson, General Jackson-General Willc.o.x's adjutant. If you'll be so good as to come with me, sir ..."

When Jackson saw Willc.o.x, he stabbed out a forefinger at him. "I remember you, sir!" he exclaimed. "Unless I'm much mistaken, you were in the West Point cla.s.s of the year following mine-cla.s.s of '47, are you not?"

"That's it, sure enough," Orlando Willc.o.x answered. "And I went into the Artillery, just as you did." He let out a rheumy chuckle. "We were all on the same side once, we old-timers. Another few years, sir, and no men in your country or mine who served with one another before the War of Secession will be left."

"You're right, General," Jackson said. "We are now separate, and grow more separate every day-despite, I might add, the ill-advised efforts of the United States to exert a nonexistent influence upon our peaceful domestic affairs." Remembering the cease-fire, he held up a hand. "But let that go. It is behind us, G.o.d grant forever. Your men here fought most valiantly. You have every reason to be proud of them."

"The same holds of yours," Willc.o.x said.

He paused, perhaps waiting for Jackson to praise his generalship so he could again return the compliment. Jackson had not so much diplomacy in him. "To business," he said. "I am charged by President Longstreet to inquire of you when you intend to abandon these lines and withdraw all forces of the Army of the Ohio from the soil of the Confederate States."

"I cannot answer that at the present time, General Jackson," Willc.o.x replied. "I have as yet been given no orders on the subject. Absent such orders, what choice have I but to hold the men in place?"

"Sir, I mean no disrespect to you or to your government, but this is not entirely satisfactory." If that wasn't an understatement, Jackson had never uttered one. "The United States requested the present cease-fire, presumably because you felt yourselves to be at a disadvantage. This being so, I must tell you that we shall not indefinitely tolerate your occupying territory that has belonged to our nation since the close of the War of Secession."

"Come with me, General," Orlando Willc.o.x said, and began to walk away from the gathered men of both sides. When his adjutant started to come, too, he waved the young captain back.

Taking that as a hint, Jackson also motioned for the soldiers who had accompanied him inside the U.S. lines to hold their places. He followed the commander of the Army of the Ohio till they were out of earshot of their subordinates. Willc.o.x stopped then, his boots scrunching on broken bricks. Jackson halted beside him. Quietly, the Confederate general-in-chief asked, "How now, sir?"

"How now?" Willc.o.x said, also in a low voice but with unmistakable anger. "How now? I shall tell you how now, General. Getting any orders out of Washington City-excuse me, out of Philadelphia; I spoke from force of habit-is a miracle comparable to that which our Savior worked with the loaves and fishes. Getting orders in a timely fashion would be a miracle comparable to the Resurrection. I say would be would be rather than rather than is is, for I have seen no timely orders."

"This is not as it should be," Jackson said, and tried to decide whether that was a bigger understatement than the one he'd made a moment before.

"Some such conception had already formed in my mind, yes," Willc.o.x said. Jackson did not remember any sardonic streak in him, but they'd had little to do with each other for more than thirty years, and nothing to do with each other for more than twenty. Maybe Willc.o.x had changed. Maybe, on the other hand, he'd just been tried beyond endurance.

"What am I to tell my president, then?" Jackson asked. "He will suspect your government of having asked for this cease-fire so you could strengthen your position here, not as a prelude to abandoning it." Longstreet would certainly suspect that. Longstreet and suspicion were made for each other.

General Willc.o.x spread his hands. "This is not the case. The cease-fire requested was on all fronts, against all enemies. What point to making such a request for the purpose of fortifying one relatively small position from which, you must be able to see as well as I, we have no prospect for large or rapid advance?"

"That is so," Jackson admitted. But then he felt he had to qualify his words: "I say it is so in my own person, you understand. How the president will view the matter when I report to him remains to be seen."

"Of course, General." Willc.o.x's laughter was bitter. "The responsibility for war and peace and, in the broad sense, for the conduct of the war lies with the civilian branches of government. Who, though, who takes the blame when their plans go awry? Do they blame themselves? Have you ever seen them blame themselves?"

Jackson did not answer. In the main, he agreed with Willc.o.x. Most professional soldiers, in the USA and CSA both, would have agreed with Willc.o.x. But not all the blunders in the U.S. campaign in Kentucky lay with the civilians. Willc.o.x could not have more plainly advertised what he purposed doing had he telegraphed Jackson ahead of time, and his flanking attack had been woefully late.

Willc.o.x went on, "I do not desire any more fighting here. Not a man in my command wants any more fighting here. If, however, we are ordered to resume the struggle"-he spread his hands again-"we shall do so. What is the soldier's lot but to obey?"

"What do you judge President Blaine's likely response would be to an ultimatum demanding withdrawal from Louisville on pain of renewed war?" Jackson asked.

"I cannot answer that question," Willc.o.x said. It was the proper response, but disappointed Jackson all the same; he had hoped Willc.o.x's anger might lead him into a revealing indiscretion. The commander of the Army of the Ohio went on, "The only one who knows Blaine's mind for certain is Blaine, and, by all we've seen, he is none too sure of it, either."

That was indiscreet. It might have been revealing, had recent events not shown it to be a simple statement of fact. Jackson said, "President Longstreet is not pleased that you remain here, and will grow less pleased by the day."

"I wish I could tell you more," Willc.o.x answered. "I am, however, not a free agent, any more than you are, sir. Probably less than you are, for I doubt the ap.r.o.n strings holding you to your government are as tight as the ones I am compelled to wear."

"I doubt that-but then, I would, wouldn't I?" Jackson said. He and Willc.o.x looked at each other with wry sympathy. Soldiers from one side often had more in common with soldiers from the other than with the civilians who told them what to do. "You have no better word to give me, General? Nothing I can send to Richmond to help ensure that we remain untroubled here?"

"If I had it, I would gladly give it: I a.s.sure you of that," Willc.o.x said. "But I cannot give what I do not have."

"Very well." Jackson's nod was almost a bow. "I thank you for your time, sir, and I thank you for your courtesy. Please do take it as given that, should you at any time desire to visit me at my headquarters, you shall have no difficulty in pa.s.sing through the lines and you will be most welcome there."

"You are very kind, sir." Willc.o.x did bow. After further protestations of mutual esteem, the two men parted. Jackson made his way back into Confederate-held territory. He got aboard his horse there; entering the U.S. lines mounted might have made him seem like a man who judged himself a conqueror, and so he had refrained (even if he did so judge himself).

As he rode south, devastation gradually diminished. Single buildings and then whole blocks appeared, as if they were growing out of the rubble. His headquarters, being beyond the range of U.S. artillery, were set among unharmed trees and houses on the outskirts of town, and were quite pleasant. Taken as a whole, though, Louisville would be a long time recovering.

He wired Longstreet the results, or rather lack of results, of his meeting with General Willc.o.x. The answer came back within a few minutes: WILL ANOTHER BLOW AID IN SHIFTING THE YANKEES? IF SO, CAN YOU LAY IT ON? WILL ANOTHER BLOW AID IN SHIFTING THE YANKEES? IF SO, CAN YOU LAY IT ON?

I CAN, he replied by telegraph. WILLc.o.x JUDGES BLAINE DOES NOT KNOW HIS OWN MIND. A BLOW MAY RESTART THE WAR WILLc.o.x JUDGES BLAINE DOES NOT KNOW HIS OWN MIND. A BLOW MAY RESTART THE WAR.

He paced back and forth, awaiting the president's judgment. Longstreet was right; telegraphic conferences were not all they might be. After a while, the clicker brought the president's response. HAMMERING FULMINATE OF MERCURY UNWISE HAMMERING FULMINATE OF MERCURY UNWISE, Longstreet Said. WE CAN WAIT. WAITING HURTS USA WORSE WE CAN WAIT. WAITING HURTS USA WORSE.

ALL IN READINESS HERE AT NEED, Jackson wired.

I a.s.sUMED NOTHING LESS a.s.sUMED NOTHING LESS, Longstreet eventually answered. I RELY ON YOU. KEEP ME APPRISED OF YOUR SITUATION RELY ON YOU. KEEP ME APPRISED OF YOUR SITUATION.

That last wire made Jackson feel good. He knew Longstreet had sent it for no other reason than making him feel good. Knowing why Longstreet had sent it should have lessened the effect. Somehow, it didn't. Jackson took that to mean Longstreet was a formidable politician indeed.

He chuckled, which made the telegrapher waiting for his reply give him a startled look. "Never mind, son," Jackson told him. "It's nothing I didn't already know."

Alfred von Schlieffen's office in Philadelphia was neither so comfortable nor so quiet as the one he had enjoyed down in Washington. Nor did the German military attache have here the reference volumes he'd used there. That Philadelphia did not lie under Confederate guns was at the moment, in his view, less of an advantage than the other factors were annoyances.

He had-he hoped he had-the books he needed here. He looked from an account of Lee's advance up into Pennsylvania, the advance that had won the War of Secession for the CSA, to an atlas of the world. Tracing Lee's movements day by day, fight by fight, gave him a fresh appreciation not only of what Lee had accomplished but also of precisely how he had accomplished it.

Indirect approach, Schlieffen scribbled on a sheet of foolscap. He had been studying Lee's campaigns since he came to the United States; they were not so well known to the General Staff as they should have been. When he traced on the map the Army of Northern Virginia's movements, he saw strategic insight of the highest order. He had seen some of that all along. Now he saw more. He also saw, or thought he saw, how to apply that insight to his own country's situation. Up till now, he had been blind to that.

Had Beethoven had this inspired feeling, this dazzling burst of insight, when the theme for a symphony struck him? For his sake, Schlieffen hoped so. The German military attache felt like a G.o.d, noting the movements on the map as if he were looking down on a world he had just made and finding it good He underlined indirect approach indirect approach. Then he underlined the words again-for him, an almost unprecedented show of emotion. Lee's goal all along had been Washington, D.C., yet he'd never once moved on the capital of the United States. He'd swung up past it and then around behind it, smashing McClellan's army and ending up here in Philadelphia before Britain and France forced mediation on the USA But Washington had been the Schwerpunkt Schwerpunkt of the entire campaign. Not only had Lee taken advantage of the U S. government's urgent need to protect its capital, he had also used the great wheel around the city to gain the Confederacy the largest possible moral and political advantages of the entire campaign. Not only had Lee taken advantage of the U S. government's urgent need to protect its capital, he had also used the great wheel around the city to gain the Confederacy the largest possible moral and political advantages Schlieffen flipped pages in the atlas. Since it was printed in the USA, the states of the United States and Confederate States came before the nations of Europe, and were shown in more detail. Provincialism Provincialism, Schlieffen thought scornfully. But the maps he needed were there, even if toward the back of the book.

"Ach, gut," he muttered: the map of France also showed the Low Countries and a fair-sized chunk of the western part of the German Empire. In the Franco-Prussian War, the armies of Prussia and her lesser allies had moved straight into France and, after smashing French forces near the border, straight toward Paris. That coup would not be so easy to repeat in a new war; he had seen for himself how stubborn good artillery and good rifles could make a defense he muttered: the map of France also showed the Low Countries and a fair-sized chunk of the western part of the German Empire. In the Franco-Prussian War, the armies of Prussia and her lesser allies had moved straight into France and, after smashing French forces near the border, straight toward Paris. That coup would not be so easy to repeat in a new war; he had seen for himself how stubborn good artillery and good rifles could make a defense As if of itself, the index finger of his right hand moved in a wide arc, from Germany around behind Paris. He smiled and scribbled more notes. That sort of maneuver would make the French come out and fight in places they had never intended to defend and hadn't spent years fortifying. And what Frenchman, even in his wildest nightmares, could imagine Paris attacked from the rear?

The finger traced that arc again. Schlieffen noticed it ran through not only France but also through Luxembourg, Belgium, and perhaps Holland as well. In case of war between Germany and France, all three of the Low Countries were likely to be neutral. Would this maneuver be valuable enough to justify violating that neutrality and bringing opprobrium down on Germany's head?

Ja," Schlieffen said decisively. Whether the General Staff would agree with him, he did not know. He did know his colleagues back in Berlin had to see this notion, and had to see it soon. Even if they did not accept it, it would give them a new point of departure for their own thinking. Schlieffen said decisively. Whether the General Staff would agree with him, he did not know. He did know his colleagues back in Berlin had to see this notion, and had to see it soon. Even if they did not accept it, it would give them a new point of departure for their own thinking.

He was writing furiously, moving back and forth between the maps of France and Pennsylvania, when he noticed someone knocking on the door. The knocking was loud and insistent. He wondered how long it had been going on before he noticed it.

"How is a man to get any work done?" he muttered, and gave the door a resentful stare. When that failed to stop the knocking, he sighed, rose, and opened the door. Kurd von Schlozer stood in the hallway, looking less than happy himself. "Oh. Your Excellency. Excuse me," Schlieffen said. "How may I serve you?"

Seeing Schlieffen contrite, the German minister to the United States made his own frown vanish. "You must come with me to President Blaine's residence," he said. "Perhaps between the two of us, we can convince him not to resume this idiotic war."

"Must I?" Schlieffen asked, casting a longing glance back toward the maps and papers.

"You must," Schlozer said. Sighing again, Schlieffen obeyed.

While in Philadelphia, President Blaine resided at the Powel House, a three-story red brick building on Third Street, about halfway between Washington Square and the Delaware River. The reception hall was full of rich, ruddy mahogany. Schlieffen noticed it only peripherally. He paid closer attention to James G. Blaine, whom he had never before met.

Blaine was about fifty, with graying brown hair and beard, and would have been most handsome had his nose not borne some small resemblance to a potato. He gave an impression of strength and vigor. Married to good sense, those were valuable traits in a leader. A vigorous leader without good sense was liable to be more dangerous to his country than an indolent one similarly const.i.tuted.

"Minister Schlozer, Colonel Schlieffen-say your say." Blaine sounded abrupt, as if nothing the two Germans might say had any hope of changing his mind.

Kurd von Schlozer affected not to notice. "I thank you, Mr. President," he answered in English more fluent than Schlieffen's. "My attache and I are here to try to persuade you that, since you have wisely chosen peace, you would do your country a disservice if you allowed the talks between your representatives and those of your opponents to fail."

"I would do my country a worse disservice if I let my enemies ride roughshod over the United States," Blaine growled.

"But, Your Excellency, how by weapons can you keep them from doing this?" Schlieffen asked. "They have on every front defeated you."

"Not in Montana, by jingo!" Blaine exclaimed with savage pleasure.

"Oh, yes-the battle after the cease-fire," Schlieffen said. The U.S. press shouted that fight to the skies. Putting what the U.S. papers said together with what came from Canada and London by way of Berlin, the military attache gathered that the U.S. and British had tried to impale themselves on each other's guns, and the British had succeeded.

"That shows what we can do when we set our minds to it," Blaine declared.

"Yes, Your Excellency-but what of all the fights before the cease-fire? What of all the fights that made you for the cease-fire ask?" Schlieffen said.

Blaine looked as if he hated him. He probably did. Schlieffen bore the hatred of an American with indifference only slightly tinged by regret; it was not as if that could matter to him in any important way. The president of the United States said, "I did what I had to do to still public outcry. That having been accomplished, I am now obliged to seek the best possible peace for my country."

Schlieffen thought of Talleyrand, battling for France at the Congress of Vienna after Napoleon's overthrow-and gaining concessions, too, despite the weakness of his position. Then he thought again. Talleyrand was a gifted diplomat, something the Americans, despite their many abilities, had yet to produce.

"If only we were not so alone in the world," Blaine said querulously. "If only every nation's hand were not raised against us."

"That is not so," Kurd von Schlozer said. "Throughout this unfortunate time, Mr. President, the hand of Germany has been outstretched in friendship and in the search for peace."

"Sir, you are right about that, and I beg your pardon," Blaine replied. "Germany has done everything a good neighbor can do. But Germany, though she is a good neighbor, is not a near neighbor. All the nearest neighbors of the United States have joined together in oppressing us."

As you should have antic.i.p.ated, Schlieffen thought. As you should have prepared for As you should have prepared for. But that was water over the dam now. Aloud, he said, "Your Excellency, General Rosecrans and I have about this talked. Germany is not your near neighbor, no. But Germany is to France a near neighbor, a nearest neighbor. France is now your enemy. France has our enemy been, and is likely our enemy again to be. Two lands with the same enemy can find it good to be friends."

He watched Blaine. Slowly, the president of the United States nodded. "Rosecrans has mentioned these conversations to me," he said. "For all their history, the United States have steered clear of entangling foreign alliances." Rosecrans had used that phrase, too; it seemed deeply engrained in the minds of all U.S. leaders. Blaine might almost have been quoting Scripture.

"Your Excellency, the Confederate States have had foreign allies," Kurd von Schlozer said. "The United States have not. When you and they have quarreled, who has had the better of it?"

Blaine's mouth puckered. His cheeks tautened against the bone on which they lay. "I do take the point, Your Excellency." And then, instead of merely saying he took it, he looked to take it in truth. "When you fought the French, you beat them like a drum. The last time we beat anyone like a drum, it was the Mexicans: not much of a foe, and a long time ago."

"Perhaps, then, you will to Berlin send officers to learn our ways," Schlieffen said. "Perhaps also your minister to my country will speak with Chancellor Bismarck to see in what other ways we can work together to help us both."

"Perhaps we will," Blaine said. "Perhaps he can. It might be worth exploring, at any rate. If nothing comes of it, we are no worse off."

Schlieffen and Schlozer glanced at each other. Schlieffen knew fellow officers who were avid fishermen. They would go on at endless, boring length about the feel of a trout or a pike nibbling the hook as it decided whether to take the bait. There sat James G. Blaine, closely examining a wiggling worm.

"The enemy of my enemy is-or can be-my friend," Schlieffen murmured. Blaine nodded again. He might not bite here and now, but Schlieffen thought he would bite. Nothing else in the pool in which the United States swam looked like food, that was certain.

"May we now return to the matter of the cease-fire and the peace which is to come after it?" Schlozer said. Schlieffen wished the German minister had not been so direct; he was liable to make Blaine swim away.

And, sure enough, the president of the United States scowled. "The Confederates hold us in contempt," he said sullenly, "and the British aim to rob us of land they yielded by treaty forty years ago. How can I surrender part of my own home state to those arrogant robbers and pirates?"

"Your Excellency, I feel your pain," Schlozer said. "But, for now, what choice have you?"

"Even Prussia, for a time, yielded against Napoleon," Schlieffen added.

Blaine did not answer. After a couple of silent minutes, the two Germans rose and left the reception hall.

.XVIII.

The cab drew to a halt by the edge of the sidewalk. The Chicago street was so narrow, it still blocked traffic. Behind it, the fellow atop a four-horse wagon full of sacks of cement bellowed angrily. So did a man in a houndstooth sack suit whizzing past on an ordinary. The cab driver said, "That's sixty-five cents, pal. Pay up, so I can get the h.e.l.l out of here."

Abraham Lincoln gave him a half dollar and a quarter and descended without waiting for change. No sooner had his feet touched the ground than the cab rolled off, escaping the abuse that had been raining down on it.

This was a Chicago very different from the elegant, s.p.a.cious North Side neighborhood in which Robert lived. People packed the streets. Lincoln had the feeling that, were those streets three times wider, they would still have been packed. One shop built from cheap bricks stood jammed by another. All of them were gaudily painted, advertising the cloth or shoes or hats or cheese or dry goods or sausages or pocket watches or eyegla.s.ses sold within. Most had signs in the window proclaiming enormous savings if only the customer laid down his money now. FIRE SALE! GOING OUT OF BUSINESS! SHOP EARLY FOR CHRISTMAS! FIRE SALE! GOING OUT OF BUSINESS! SHOP EARLY FOR CHRISTMAS!

Capitalism at its rawest, Lincoln thought unhappily. The weather was raw, too, a wind with winter in it. Hannibal Hamlin, who, being from Maine, knew all about winter, had called a wind like this a lazy wind, because it blew right through you instead of bothering to go around. Lincoln pulled his overcoat tighter about him; he felt the cold more now than he had in his younger days. The wind blew through the coat, too.

He looked around. There, a couple of doors down, advertising itself like all its neighbors, stood the frowzy, soot-stained office of the Chicago Weekly Worker Chicago Weekly Worker. Lincoln hurried to the doorway and went inside. A blast of heat greeted him. Because the winters in Chicago were so ferocious, the means deployed against them were likewise powerful. He hastily unb.u.t.toned his coat. Sweat started on his forehead.

A bald man in an ap.r.o.n and a visor who was carrying a case of type looked up at the jangle of the bell over the door. "What do you wan-" he began, his English German-accented. Then he recognized who was visiting the newspaper, and came within an inch of dropping the case and scattering thousands of pieces of type all over the floor. "What do you want, Mr. Lincoln?" he managed on his second try. The type metal rattled in its squares, but did not escape.

"I would like to see Mr. Sorge, if you would be so kind," Lincoln answered, as politely as if he were addressing one of his son's clients rather than a typesetter who hadn't had a bath in several days. "I do understand correctly, do I not, that he heads the Chicago Socialist Alliance?"

"Yes, that is right," the man in the ap.r.o.n said. "Please, you wait here, uh-" He looked confused and angry at himself. He'd probably been about to say sir sir, and then caught himself because sir sir was not the sort of thing a Socialist was supposed to say. He set down the type case, grunted in relief at being rid of the weight, and hurried into a back room. was not the sort of thing a Socialist was supposed to say. He set down the type case, grunted in relief at being rid of the weight, and hurried into a back room.

A couple of printers and a fellow who, though he was surely a Socialist, too, looked like most of the other reporters Lincoln had seen over the years stopped what they were doing to gape at him. Then the typesetter came out of the back room with a lean man in his fifties, a fellow whose wary, hunted eyes said he'd made a lot of moves one step ahead of the police in the course of his lifetime.

"You are are Abraham Lincoln," he said in some surprise. "I wondered if Ludwig knew what he was talking about." Like the typesetter's, his speech had a guttural undertone to it. "And I, I am Friedrich Sorge. I have had to flee Germany. I have had to flee New York City-Democrats can be as fierce in their reactions as Prussian Abraham Lincoln," he said in some surprise. "I wondered if Ludwig knew what he was talking about." Like the typesetter's, his speech had a guttural undertone to it. "And I, I am Friedrich Sorge. I have had to flee Germany. I have had to flee New York City-Democrats can be as fierce in their reactions as Prussian Junkers Junkers. But I will not flee Chicago. 'Hier steh' ich, ich kann nicht anders.' " 'Hier steh' ich, ich kann nicht anders.' "

"I don't follow that," Lincoln said. "I'm sorry."