The boy with the horses clattered off. Hannibal counted his “army.” He now had fifteen men and six women, and a couple of each were barely more than children. He wanted to weep but he couldn't show weakness. He was now sure that the only place he would see his beloved Abigail would be in heaven, and he wasn't at all certain he'd be going there when he died.

“Seems like old times,” Nathan said. He and John Hay were enjoying another informal lunch at Harvey's Restaurant on Pennsylvania Avenue. For this occasion, Nathan wore civilian clothes even though he was still a colonel. Hay had brought him a note from President Lincoln confirming him in that rank and further authorizing him to function either as a civilian or an officer at his discretion.

“I love clandestine meetings like this,” Hay grinned. “I get to eat like a hog and charge the cost of this meal to the government.” Nathan arched an eyebrow in amusement. “You mean there's money left? I thought Mrs. Lincoln had spent all of it.” Hay sighed. “She's trying her damndest, Nathan. Her absolute damndest.”

There were numerous rumors in Washington that the nervous and insecure Mary Todd Lincoln had tried to calm her fear that she didn't belong in the White House by grossly overspending the allowance provided for the Lincolns by Congress. The money was to cover the living expenses of the president and his family as well as the costs of running the White House. As a result of her profligacy, Lincoln was finding it necessary to pay bills out of his personal resources. Lincoln was far from poor, but he did not have the wealth to support both the operations of the White House and his wife's expenditures.

The result of all this was that the unnerved Mrs. Lincoln was even more insecure than ever.

“Fortunately,” Hay continued, “there are some other accounts the poor lady doesn't know about.”

“I hope you can keep it that way,” Nathan said. “Now, what does the president wish to know that is so important as to result in this meal? May I presume it's about Canada?”

“You may, or more precisely, it's about General Grant.”

“I never saw him take a single drink,” Nathan said, anticipating the question.

“Wonderful,” Hay said with such evident relief that Nathan was surprised.

“What had you heard that was different?”

“It appears that General Halleck is not General Grant's greatest supporter. He's hinted very broadly that General Grant was intoxicated on several occasions and that the battle of Dundas Street was really won by Sherman and Thomas. It's said that Grant sat and did nothing while the battle raged.”

Nathan shook his head. “John, did you ever shoot an arrow?”

“A couple of times,” Hay said, puzzled. “And with astonishing lack of skill. I'm not too certain I even hit the ground.”

“Skill doesn't matter for this example. Once you've aimed and let the arrow fly, what can you do about it?”

“Nothing. What's your point?”

“Simply this. Once the battle's planned and joined, it is up to subordinates to carry out their orders, and to anticipate and resolve problems in their areas. Thus, there truly is very little for a commander to do when the fighting starts except to remember that no battle ever goes as planned. Therefore, a general like Grant has to have faith in his subordinates to make the adjustments necessary once the fighting commences. The arrow has flown once the battle begins and there's no way it can be retrieved. All a commander can do is wait until and if his intervention is needed. In the Battle of Dundas, it wasn't needed. General Thomas held like he was supposed to, so did Baldy Smith. General Sherman's flanking movement went off pretty much on schedule. He met stronger resistance than he thought he would from the Canadians, but Sherman solved that problem himself. There was no reason to involve the army^’s commander in a decision that affected one corps. Same with Thomas and Smith when the Brits started to move out. They began to push them on their own initiative and both men simply kept Grant informed to the best of their own abilities.

“I don't want to say that the outcome was foreordained, John, but the British had very little chance of winning the battle. It was great skill and bravery on their part that prevented their annihilation, although it only delayed the inevitable.”

“It is a far different picture from the one Halleck painted,” Hay said.

Nathan laughed. “Methinks General Halleck is very jealous of Grant's abilities.”

“So I've heard.” Hay said sheepishly.

“I seem to recall General Scott saying that very same thing. Old Brains will never be half the fighting general that Grant is and it must gnaw at him. Halleck has an enormous ego. Unfortunately, it's far greater than his skills. I would strongly suggest that Mr. Lincoln not worry about General Grant. In my opinion, he is the perfect man for command in this new and modern kind of war. He understands it, which is more than I can say about poor General Cardigan.”

“So it was all right for Grant to do nothing during the battle?”

Nathan finished his mug of beer and wiped the foam off his lip. “Actually, he didn't sit and do nothing. He was quite busy.”

“Oh, really. That's good news. What was he doing?”

Nathan couldn't resist. “Actually, he was smoking cigars and whittling.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

BENJAMIN DISRAELI HAD been chosen by Palmerston to represent Great Britain's interests in discussions with the Confederate government. It was a mistake. Although brilliant intellectually, the fifty-eight-year-old novelist-turned-politician had proven to be too flamboyant in his clothing and speech for the conservative and nearly puritanical Jefferson Davis and his government to stomach.

Davis met briefly with Disraeli and, after determining that he didn't want a second meeting, left Disraeli to discuss Palmerston's concerns with Judah P. Benjamin, the secretary of state of the Confederacy. It was presumed that the two would hit it off because both were Jewish. This was both wrong and a mistake. As each had converted from Judaism to Christianity, they were both distrustful of the others motives for doing so. However, the major problem with any relationship between the two men was Disraeli's arrogance and, for Benjamin, the British emissary's wild dress and behavior.

“It only proves,” said Brigadier General Garnet Wolsey, “that our beloved prime minister is not omniscient.” Wolsey had arrived with Disraeli to augment the small military staff in Richmond. His presence brought it to a total of three officers: General Napier, Major Knollys, and himself.

Within days of the surrender at Hamilton, Wolsey had been exchanged for the officers of the American frigate St. Lawrence, sunk by the Royal Navy so many months before. Generals Gough and Campbell still awaited their turn, while the other officers and enlisted men languished in a prison camp near Sarnia.

“Not only didn't the two men see eye to eye as Jews,” Wolsey said to Napier and Knollys, “but Disraeli was overheard saying that Richmond is a stagnant sewer of a town, and that the people are all illiterate and unwashed savages.”

Napier chuckled. “I believe we all think that; however, we do not run around saying it where it can be heard.”

“Hear, hear,” said Knollys.

Wolsey winked at Napier. “Major Knollys finds Richmond quite charming ever since he bagged the lovely Miss DeLisle.”

Knollys was unabashed. “It makes many things palatable, General. Including, I might add, Miss DeLisle.”

Napier and Wolsey laughed. “But still, there will be an invasion northward,” said Napier. “Won't there?”

Wolsey had been functioning as Disraeli's military adviser during the abortive negotiations. What had finally been agreed on had not yet been transmitted to Lord Lyons or the rest of the British delegation.