Newt Gingrich - Grant Comes East

"I think we've lost control of the city. Maybe if you boys had won at Gettysburg and Union Mills, it might never of happened, or it wouldn't be so bad. But between that, the casualty lists, and the draft, the city just exploded. Except for some areas around City Hall, the financial district, and where a lot of militia were posted in the wealthier neighborhoods, the city is in anarchy."

Dan drained his glass and poured a second one.

Even within the darkened confines of Delmonico's, the air was heavy with the stench of smoke from the dozens of fires raging out of control across the city. An exhausted fire crew, walking behind their hook-and-ladder wagon, limped past the doorway, several of the men bandaged, one nursing a bloody arm in a sling. One could hear a steady rumble echoing, and it quickened Dan's blood; it was the sound of men shouting, so similar to the sound of a battle from a mile or two away. An explosion thundered, loud enough that many of the men in the square stood up, pointing to the north, and Dan could see a glimpse of a fireball soaring into the early-morning sky.

"I could have won it at Gettysburg and we wouldn't now be dealing with that mess out there," Dan announced. Tweed said nothing, intent on his opening course of smoked oysters, pausing between bites to drain his glass of champagne. The governor, flanked by his two aides who actually had more the look of bodyguards, sat with hands folded across his lap.

"I'm telling you, I had Lee square in my sights that second morning at Gettysburg," Dan continued. "I knew he was beginning to flank us. Berdan, God rest him, confirmed it just before he died. They were strung out on that road for miles and I'd of cut through them like a whipsaw. Then we could have turned and destroyed each wing of his army.

"But no, damn him! Meade and all the others just stood there like wooden Indians. Damn West Point bastards. Same thing on the march down to Union Mills. I should have been allowed to move to the right flank as I told Meade, rather than march on Union Mills. But again, no! If I had, Fifth Corps would have been reinforced rather than annihilated. And that last bloody charge, my God, what idiocy, it was worse than Burnside at Fredericksburg."

"That's past and the White House and its patronage are still in the future," Tweed grumbled, looking up from his meal. "I'm worried about now," and he gestured toward the open door.

"We let this continue, we lose this city, the blame will come down square on Tammany when it's done. You know damn well the Republicans will blame us for it, say they were knifed in the back by these riots. They will seize any excuse to blame the Irish and the Democrats."

"That's why I'm here," Sickles said. "Somebody's got to restore order and if I do it we get the credit instead of the blame. I will be the man who saved the Union after our defeat at Union Mills."

"One more day and we'll have that rabble under control," Governor Seymour snapped back angrily.

Dan leaned back in his chair, raising a brandy snifter, and smiled.

"If you wish to give the order, Governor, I will withdraw my troops immediately," and he pointed to the square.

Worried looks were exchanged around the table between Seymour and Tweed, the silence of the moment disturbed by the distant echoes of shots, another fire engine racing past, the cries of those fleeing the anarchy out in the street.

"Let's not be hasty, Dan," Seymour replied.

Dan smiled.

"We have to be hasty, Governor, or we'll lose your damn city and with it the war. For or against it at this point, you don't want to be the one blamed."

"You actually think this goddamn war can be won?"

"Think it? I know it," Dan replied coldly.

"And you're the one to do it?"

"You're goddamn right I'm the one to do it"

"Lincoln will never let you take command, didn't you see Greeley's paper today? It's Grant now."

"A drunkard and yet another West Pointer," Dan announced, loud enough that his staff and the infantry guards at the door could hear.

"You honestly think he can do anything?"

"He did take Vicksburg," Tweed offered. "He's got powerful friends, Congressman Washburne for one."

Dan snorted derisively.

"Fighting against rabble out west is one thing. Let him try and tangle with Bobbie Lee. One fight and he'll be like all the others, running with his tail between his legs…." He paused for a moment, looking into his brandy glass, "or dead."

There was no response. Staring at the glass Dan felt a flicker of pain, the memory of that field at Union Mills, watching good men go in by the thousands, only to be cut down in their turn. If only they had listened, it all could have been avoided. The revelation that had just come out, that Lincoln had actually sent a dispatch advising Meade to use discretion, that he was not required to attack, was useful in his own campaign, but at the same time struck hard into that side of him that wished to see Union victory, to see an end to it all.

If only Meade had listened; his own advice had been a reflection of Lincoln's.

"I can end this war," Dan whispered, as if to himself, taking a sip of brandy and setting it back down.

He looked back up at Tweed and the others.

"I've watched the professionals mismanage this for two long years. They don't understand volunteers. I do, for I am one of them."

"But you are not in command," Tweed replied.

"I can be."

"How?"

"I want Meade to be taken care of by the Committee on the Conduct of the War."

"Good God, man, Meade is dead. Leave it rest," Seymour gasped.

"No. His memory still lingers. John Sedgwick is angling for that job, blaming me for his failure. Get your people in Congress to take down Meade before the committee and Sedgwick is hung with the blame as well."

"You forget about Grant," Tweed said. "Remember, he commands the armies."

"He's new, just a day at it. If the word comes from the White House that I now command the Army of the Potomac, he'll accept it He can't put his own people in yet"

"What Army of the Potomac?" Seymour asked sadly.

"It's still out there," Dan said heatedly. "Most of my corps is still intact. That's going to be the heart of it. I want that appointment confirmed before Grant gets east. I also want sufficient reinforcements assigned to me, the troops coming up from Charleston, Burnside's Ninth Corps; I can bring the number back up to sixty thousand in a fortnight and have the army ready to fight within the month. Then I'll cross the Susquehanna and drive Lee back into Virginia before Grant can even stir. If the rains hold I might even be able to pin Lee against the Potomac and annihilate him."

Seymour and Tweed looked at him with disbelief.

Dan smiled.

"Damn all of you. Think beyond this city for a moment. I take command of the army, defeat Lee, and all opens up. Lincoln and his cronies will be blamed for all that happened before. Even if the war drags into the following year, come next spring I take the Democratic nomination for president, and then, gentlemen, I give you the White House. Think of all that Tammany could do if we moved our headquarters there."

More than one nodded.

"If," Tweed said meditatively. "That's a very big if."

"It starts here, this morning," Dan said sharply. Draining the rest of his brandy he stood up, took the bottle that was on the table, corked it and then tossed it to one of his staff.

"Gentlemen, I'm putting this riot down and I want your people the hell out of the way."

Dan could see that he had them cornered. It was beyond their control and they knew it

"What are you going to do?" Tweed asked.

"What should have been done two days ago. I have a brigade forming up right now. I'm deploying them across the width of the island; we will seal every north-south avenue. Then sweep north."