Haupt drained the rest of his Madeira and looked out the window. The shadows were gone now, replaced by a deepening twilight. Already the air drifting in through the open window was cooler, a welcomed relief from the hot, blistering day spent crossing the open farmlands of Indiana and Ohio.

"We should be passing through the station in Columbus in about ten minutes," Haupt announced.

Grant said nothing.

Elihu motioned for Haupt to have another glass, and the general, at first reluctant, surrendered and accepted the offer. Reaching into his own breast pocket, he produced a slightly bent cigar and looked at it.

"Have one of mine," Grant offered and Haupt smiled and thanked him.

They were passing the outer edge of the city, transitioning from open farmland to smaller fields of vegetables, a cluster of homes around a church, a blacksmith shop with sparks swirling up into the evening air, several boys, riding bareback astride a heavy plow horse, waving at the train as it passed.

No sign of war here, no burned-out villages, no rotting abandoned farms with bloated bodies lying in the fields-all was neat, orderly, filled with prosperity.

More homes now, streetlights, a large warehouse, a siding packed with cars loaded down with the freshly harvested wheat, civilians out for an evening stroll, the distant sound of a band, growing louder as a shudder from the brakes ran through the train, its bell ringing, whistle sounding.

Elihu leaned out the window for a second to look and ducked back in, grinning.

"Welcoming committee," he announced.

Grant shook his head and said nothing, looking over at Haupt.

"We're scheduled to keep right on rolling," Haupt said, "just slow to pick up dispatches."

Grant offered a smile of thanks. The last thing he wanted now was a waste of time shaking hands, offering some poor excuse for a speech, and then listening to the endless replies, with every city councilman ready to tell him how to win the war. Other generals, he knew, basked in this.

'Too much speechifying and not enough fighting," Sherman had grumbled to him once when they were caught at such an affair, and the memory of it made him grin, forgetting the headache for a moment.

Sherman was furious at being left behind, swearing up a storm right till the moment he had left. But Sherman knew better than anyone that the decision was the right one, and would throw himself into the task of Commander of the western theater with a mad passion to see it through and not let his friend down. It would have been fine to see Sherman by his side, commanding a corps, but far better to have him out west, commanding an army, cleaning up what was left of resistance along the Mississippi and then, when the time was right, heading east into Tennessee and Georgia.

Three- and four-story buildings now crowded in to either side of the tracks, a rail yard opening out to the right, filled with dozens of lattice-like boxcars. Half a dozen locomotives ready to pull trains were in the yard, several of them wreathed in smoke. Haupt pointed them out, mentioning quietly that they were most likely ladened with rations, pork, cattle, freshly made hardtack, ready to be shipped east In a nearby stockyard several hundred horses were waiting to be loaded.

What Lee would give for this one depot, he thought Just for those half dozen locomotives, the supplies, and an open track to move them on.

A mix of smells wafted in, of the barnyard and steam, oil, wood, and coal smoke.

The whistle of their train sounded again, louder, the engineer playing it, easing it in and out so that it almost seemed to carry a tune, counterpointing the swelling noise of the band.

Haupt stood up, buttoning his uniform jacket, went to the rear of the car, paused, and looked back at Grant

"Sir, I suspect there's a crowd of well-wishers out there. Do you want to greet them?"

Grant looked at Elihu and shook his head.

"In spite of the press reports that give my location by the minute, this move is supposed to be secret," he announced.

Elihu grinned and said nothing, pouring another glass of Madeira for himself. He hesitated, then poured half a glass for Grant

"It'll help with the headache, General."

Grant took the glass and downed it in two gulps. It was sticky, far too sweet, but he welcomed it and nodded his thanks.

The train drifted into the station, its platform and the grounds around it packed with a band, dignitaries-several wearing ridiculous red, white, and blue sashes-a line of troops at attention, and, spilling to either side, a crowd of several hundred or more.

He looked back and saw Haupt leaning off the side of the back platform, reaching out to grab a satchel handed up by the stationmaster, and then waving.

The engineer of their train, seeing Haupt's signal, blasted his whistle again; there was a lurch as he poured in steam, and the train edged forward, rapidly picking up speed.

Grant, sitting in the shadows of the car, did not even give an acknowledgment as they sped up, pulling out of the station, the sound of the band receding, the music falling apart as musicians lost their beat in the confusion. Several of the well-wishers ran alongside the train, waving valiantly. Catching sight of several boys racing to keep up, Grant finally waved back. The boys shouted exuberantly.

Rattling and swaying, the car passed over a switch, more stockyards in the shadows, sidings packed with westbound trains waiting for the express to pass. Turning into a curve, the station was lost to view.

It never ceased to amaze him how so many, even now, thought war was a celebration, a party, a time for speeches and bands. They should have been at Chapultepec, Shiloh, or in the stinking trenches before Vicksburg. That would have disabused them soon enough.

Haupt sat down again at the table and pulled open the small canvas bag snatched from the stationmaster. Twenty or more telegrams, simply marked "Grant" on the envelopes, spilled out.

Grant sighed as he looked at the stack of papers and gazed over at Parker, who had slept through the entire commotion. It was just about time to wake him up.

There was also a copy of the Columbus Gazette and Haupt opened it up.

"Sir, look at this," Haupt said. Grant looked down at the paper but the car was dark. Elihu struck another match, stood up, and lit a coal oil lamp, which flared to life, golden shadows bobbing and weaving as the train raced on.

"Lee Sighted at Washington," a headline in the upper-left corner announced.

"Panic in Capital," a second headline declared in the center of the paper.

Grant picked the paper up and scanned it. The report was from Port Deposit, a ferry crossing on the north bank of the Susquehanna in Maryland, dated five in the afternoon. It was the nearest telegraph station to Washington in operation. Most likely the dispatch had been run up from Washington by a fast courier boat.

"It states, that General Lee, escorted by Jeb Stuart and numerous staff, was sighted in front of Fort Stevens this morning," Grant said, looking back up at Elihu as he put the paper down.

"So he's there," Elihu replied after a moment's pause. "Of course he's there. That's what he has to do." He looked away for a moment. 'That's what I would do."

He continued to look out the window, headache forgotten for the moment.

"The president said he'd stay in the city no matter what," Elihu said.

"He has no other choice now. I just wish I had someone in command there other than Heintzelman."

Neither Haupt nor Elihu replied.

The headache did seem to be fading. Whether it was the glass of Madeira or the newspaper, he wasn't sure.

"It's right where I want him now," Grant said softly.

"Who, sir?" Haupt asked.

"Why, Lee, of course."

In Front of Fort Stevens, D.C.