Newt Gingrich - Grant Comes East

"Why north?" Seymour asked. "The worst is in the southern wards, Five Points."

"Because that's where the money is, you idiot," Tweed interjected. "Save their backsides and we're heroes."

"My men are veterans," Dan continued, "and I'm cutting them loose. They're angry as hell after Union Mills, and I've told them this riot is provoked by rebel agents. At this point they will not stop and they will not be gentle."

No one spoke. The implication was clear.

July 17 1863 9.00am

The morning fog was burning off, revealing a slate-gray sky that promised yet more rain. Taking off his hat, General Lee wiped his brow with a handkerchief. The day was already humid, the air still, warm. Mounted skirmishers rode ahead, fanned out to either side across a front of several hundred yards. A company of cavalry rode behind him, ready to spring forward if there was the slightest indication of trouble. He could see that Jeb was being cautious. During the night mere had been several probes by Union cavalry coming out of the city. There was always the chance that a unit could have slipped around the loose cordon of gray-clad troopers.

Cresting a low ridge he could see the forward line, horses tied, men sitting around smoking fires, springing to attention as word leapt ahead of his approach. Orders had been given that there was to be no fanfare, no recognition, but it was hard to contain the troopers that came down to the road, grins lighting their faces, young boys, old men, trim officers snapping to attention at his approach.

"You sleeping in the White House tonight, General, sir?" a wag shouted and a subdued cheer went up. Lee extended a calming hand as he rode past.

"The boys are eager," Jeb offered.

He could see that Most of them had fresh mounts taken in Pennsylvania; they'd been living off good rations for over a month. They had seen victory and in spite of the painful marching in the rainy fields, they were in high spirits, ready for anything. He knew that if he but whispered a few words, ordering them to form up and charge the fortifications, they would do so without hesitation.

Pressing on, he rode down into a tree-clad hollow, the muddy stream, which for most of the year was most likely nothing more than a brook that a boy could leap, now swollen, dark, coming nearly to Traveler's chest as they plunged across.

Several dozen troopers were at work, fashioning a rough-hewn bridge across the stream out of two logs and heavy planks torn from the side of a nearby barn. An ambulance lay on its side downstream, obviously flipped over when its driver had attempted to ford the torrent.

Traveler, slipping, gained the opposite side of the stream and with a quick jump took the muddy slope. The skirmishers, moving ahead, had slowed and Jeb nodded.

"We're there," he announced.

Lee nodded and without comment pressed on. Walter fell in by his side, as did Hood and Hotchkiss, the rest of the staff staying back under the canopy of trees.

"We're inside the District of Columbia now," Hotchkiss announced with a hint of ceremony in his voice.

That close, Lee thought and there was a memory of his home, of Arlington. Not ten miles away now, ten long miles and then it is oven How many hundreds of miles have we marched from Richmond, to Manassas, to Sharpsburg, Fredericksburg, Chancellorsville, Gettysburg, and Union Mills, and now to here? All of that, to gain this moment, at this place. One final lunge and it ends it. This one final lunge.

A couple of the scouts ahead stopped, turned, and came cantering back, the rest of the line slowing to a walk then reining in.

A messenger came up, saluting.

"It's ahead, sir, you'll see their line in a minute. Sir, it's rather close."

Lee smiled at the boy's caution. The message was clear, he'd prefer it if the general would stop now.

"I need to see," Lee said softly. "Lead the way, Captain."

The captain saluted and turned his mount, Lee following, with Taylor, Hotchkiss, and Hood following behind.

He could already see the vague outlines of the fortifications, an unnatural straight line, horizontal, cut like a razor's edge a quarter mile away. Gradually it came into clearer view as he reached the forward skirmish line. Most of the men were dismounted, carbines raised, the troopers looking anxiously toward Lee at his approach.

"Sir, would you please dismount?" the captain asked. "They've got plenty of ammunition over there and they like using it."

As if to lend weight to the argument, there was a flash of light from a gun emplacement, followed a couple of seconds later by the whoosh of a shell passing overhead, to detonate a hundred yards behind them.

Lee nodded but did not get off Traveler, who barely flinched as another shell streaked past

The young captain positioned his mount between Lee and the fort

Lee smiled.

"Captain, you are blocking my view." The captain looked to Stuart who nodded, and the captain moved.

"Sir, if they realize who we are, it means they'll shift troops here," Stuart said.

Lee said nothing, but he knew Stuart was right and, dismounting, he moved down into a shallow ravine, walked up a few dozen paces, and uncased his field glasses.

Stuart and Hood were quickly by his side.

He scanned the fort It was a significant work, a dozen gun embrasures, what looked to be thirty-pounders, perhaps heavier. He caught glimpses of troops along the parapet, Union soldiers curious, looking over the earthen wall in his direction.

A dull thump echoed and he saw the sparks of a mortar shell lazily rising up, trailing smoke, fuse sputtering. It climbed, seemed to hover nearly overhead, then came plummeting down, striking a hundred yards behind him in a splash of mud, the fuse smothered and going out.

Hotchkiss knelt down by his side.

"Fort Stevens. It always has at least one battery of heavy guns, we're told thirty-pounders, rifled. Also a battery of eight-inch mortars as you can see. Garrisoned also with a regiment of infantry. You can't see them in this mist but the forts to either flank are within easy gunnery range, enfilading the approaches with at least one hundred-pound Parrott gun in each. Anyone attempting to cross this field will be hit by guns from at least three fortifications."

Lee nodded, stood up looking to the flanks, but the mist concealed the positions.

"The military road just behind the fortifications links all positions and is well maintained, macadamized in parts or corduroyed. They can easily shift significant reinforcements in and move them back and forth to counter any move. I would assume they are doing so now and will bring up additional troops from the center of the city."

Lee focused his field glasses back on Stevens, ignoring another mortar round as it struck fifty yards to the front, this one detonating with a flash just before striking the ground.

"Good gunners," Hood muttered, "cut the fuse right."

"Might I suggest we move," Jeb said, "they've bracketed you, sir."

That caught him. It wasn't "us," it was "you "

He nodded without comment, cased his field glasses, and walked into the hollow. Seconds later a third round whistled in, striking and detonating within yards of where they had been standing.

He looked over at Jeb and smiled.

"Excellent recommendation, General," Lee said.

"They've been firing away since last night, sir. They're garrison troops but well practiced, at least in gunnery." After mounting up they rode a few hundred yards farther on and, crossing the main road, the group reined in again. Lee raised his field glasses once more, scanning the fort, which was half-concealed in the fog.

Ramparts stood at least ten to fifteen feet high, a dry moat, most likely a muddy swamp now with all this rain, six lines of abatis, sharpened stakes ringing the position like a deadly necklace, earthworks running outward, connecting the position to the next fort to the east, a low blockhouse of logs and rough-hewn barriers blocking the road. It was formidable!