Newt Gingrich - Grant Comes East

As they marched, the Pennsylvania boys, most of them from farms and small villages, looked around wide-eyed at the towering four- and five-story buildings that lined the street, block after block. He could sense they were nervous. It was dark, except for the glare of the fires; panic was in the air, this was not like hunting rebs in the forest or standing on the volley line.

The column finally turned on to old familiar territory for Sickles-Union Square, Delmonico's at one corner. The Fifty-seventh Pennsylvania was already deployed out into company lines, the men standing at ease, looking about in wonder.

From every direction civilians were swarming toward them, frightened, crying, asking for shelter. Beleaguered policemen and a few state militia were trying to keep order, telling people to head for the ferries, to get out of the city.

Up around what he took to be Twentieth Street it sounded like a pitched battle was being fought, flashes of gunfire, buildings burning, a window shattering above him from a bullet.

His regiments continued to file into the square, the heavy tramp of their hobnailed boots echoing from the cobblestones, a reassuring sound to Dan, a sound of order, of discipline, of his army.

He edged across the square, there was still time before his meeting, and besides it was best to keep his "host" waiting for a few more minutes. On the far side of the square a commotion was erupting, and as he drew closer he could see an angry gathering, a bunch of toughs, brandishing sticks, clubs, cobblestones, taunting the troops.

They moved in and out like an undulating wave, pushing halfway across the street, some just drunk and shouting obscenities, others filled with some wild animal rage, shaking clubs, screaming at the soldiers to come on in and fight, then edging back, and some were just consumed by the madness that comes over a wild crowd, some of the participants laughing, dancing, shouting gibberish.

The men of the Fifty-seventh stood nervously, having formed a front of two companies at an angle just inside the park, bayonets fixed and lowered.

The mob started to grow, more pouring in from back alleys. Looking up, Sickles saw some leaning out of windows, looking down; he was not sure if they were rioters or just onlookers.

Dan rode up behind the two companies, a nervous major looking up at him.

"They just started coming in like this, sir," the major said, voice actually shaking. He couldn't remember the man's name but recognized him, a good soldier when the battle was in a field or woods, but this situation was unnerving him. He could sense it in the men as well.

A brick came sailing across the street, a soldier cursing, dropping his rifle, falling back from the line. A cheer went up from the mob.

"Are your men loaded?" Dan asked.

"Sir?"

"Primed and loaded?" "Yes, sir."

Dan waited. In his years working the wards of New York he knew these people on the other side, perhaps more than one had voted for him for Congress so long ago. He knew their tempers, their moods, their gutter leaders. With luck, one of those leaders would know whom he was facing and call his mob back. But if it was going to start for real, here was as good as any place.

The mob did not disperse, more bricks started to fly, the two companies backed up a dozen paces, and there was a momentary standoff. And then the moment came.

A drunk rioter staggered out, holding a battered American flag aloft, threw it to the ground, unbuttoned, and started to urinate on it, the mob roaring with delight

An angry cry went up from the Pennsylvania soldiers. Among them, even a captured rebel battle flag would have been treated with far more respect. It was a sacrilege to any who had followed the colors forward into battle. Dan stood in his stirrups.

"Boys, we've shed blood for that flag! Our brothers have died for that flag! Take aim!"

With a resolute will, a hundred rifles were brought to the shoulder and lowered.

The mob hesitated.

"Disperse now, you damn bastards!" Dan shouted.

Some of the mob turned and started to run; he gave them enough time to get off and away, but the rest actually stood there, taunting, some beginning to surge forward again.

"Fire!"

The volley swept the street comer. Dozens dropped. "Reload!"

There was a sharp, practiced precision to their work as they drew cartridges, reloaded, brought their weapons to the ready.

The street corner was cloaked in smoke, dozens were on the ground in front of them, the mob was gone. Dan turned to the major.

"If they come back, don't hesitate to shoot. Now get those wounded taken care of, find that flag and have someone clean it."

The major, a bit startled by what had just happened, could only salute.

"Remember, men," Dan shouted. "These are traitors and rebels, the same that we faced in Virginia. The difference is, at least our enemies in Virginia were soldiers like us, who fought with honor."

To his surprise a ragged cheer went up, as if his words had calmed their fears about what they had just seen and done.

He turned and rode back across the square. A bullet hummed by, striking and chipping the brick wall beside him. He looked across the square. It was impossible to see where it had come from.

Hell of a note, he thought, get shot by some drunk Irishman after surviving so many battles.

More troops were continuing to pour into the square; another volley thundered from where he had just been, he didn't bother to look back. Reaching Delmonico's, he reined in and dismounted, several staff waiting there anxiously for him.

"The governor and Mr. Tweed are inside," he was informed. "Sir, they say you're an hour late." Sickles grinned.

"Pass the word to the regimental commanders. I want a cordon around this square, — reinforced companies at each intersection deployed and ready to fight I want some of Berdan's sharpshooters to get into buildings and watch for bushwackers, one almost got me a minute ago, just make sure they don't start shooting each other in the confusion. I'll be out shortly."

Adjusting his sash and saber, Gen. Dan Sickles strode into Delmonico's, one of his favorite haunts since the early days when it had first opened farther downtown. The owner was nowhere in sight, and he chuckled, simply nodding to the maitre d', who even in all this madness was properly decked out in full formal evening wear, though the entire restaurant was deserted except for a small gathering in a darkened corner.

Dan approached, smiling, and "Boss" Tweed stood up, his ever-expanding girth making it difficult for him to get out from behind the table.

Tweed offered a perfunctory handshake as Dan looked around. Governor Seymour with a couple of his staffers half rose, nodded, and then sat back down.

Dan inwardly grinned. He knew Seymour did not want him here. Though the man was terrified, still he would want the credit if the situation was restored.

"The mayor, where is he?" Dan asked.

"How the hell should I know?" Tweed replied. "I guess either trapped down at City Hall, or hiding."

"I sent a telegram to meet me here."

"At three in the morning, Sickles?" Seymour grumbled. "Aren't we getting a little high-and-mighty? And besides, you are the one who is an hour late."

"It took time getting my men across the river and I won't have a spare moment once daylight comes.

"Just be glad that I'm here."

Dan smiled. No sense in getting important patrons upset.

"My apologies, gentlemen, we're all tired, thank you for meeting me."

"Besides, it's a good chance for a free meal."

A waiter brought over a bottle of brandy; Dan nodded. Once the bottle was open, he took it, poured his own glass, and sat down.

"The situation here?" Tweed shook his head.