Baltimore

1.30

Mr. Secretary, you realize the difficult position you are placing the Baltimore and Ohio in with this request?"

Judah Benjamin, secretary of state for the Confederate government, smiled at James Garrett, superintendent of the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad, but the smile hid an evergrowing frustration. "Sir, we are simply talking business," Judah replied warmly, putting on his best negotiating smile, "a business deal for which the B and O will be fully compensated."

"I could take a strictly business approach to this, Mr. Secretary, and ask how my company will be compensated. Are you prepared to pay up front for our services? Contracts with the federal government are paid for in cash, and on time. I am in no position to accept payment in Confederate money, which both you and I know has no real value."

"I understand your concern, sir. My salary is paid with that same money."

Garrett did not smile at the joke.

"Sir, I'll personally sign a promissory note, payable in gold upon the ending of hostilities."

"And suppose you lose?"

"Given our current position, the successes of the previous months, I think that unlikely," Judah replied.

Garrett was silent and Judah could almost read his thoughts. If Garrett agreed to contract with the Confederate army for troop and supply movements and the North then wins, he could very well find himself out of a job at the very least, perhaps even in jail if Lincoln was feeling vindictive. If the South should win, cooperation now would bring advantages after the war, but even then payment might take years, and the North could very well turn around and seize Baltimore and Ohio property outside of the Confederacy.

"I know you are in a difficult position, Mr. Garrett," Judah said smoothly. "I don't envy you at this moment."

"And if I don't cooperate?" Garrett asked coolly.

"Sir, I am afraid we will have to seize your line. There will be no payment, and after our victory the Confederate government might not be in a position to look favorably upon your property and the ownership by stockholders outside of the Confederacy."

"That does sound like a threat," Garrett replied sharply.

"It is not intended to be," Judah lied. "It is just a simple reality."

"If you do seize the line, realize that many of my workers will not cooperate. You'll have to man the lines with your own personnel."

"I know that, and we can do it."

Judah did not add that at this very moment one of Longstreet's officers was already down in the railyard negotiating with the workers there. He had suggested to Lee that the two meetings take place at the same time. Garrett was a known Union man, and it was best to be ready to move quickly if he refused to cooperate.

It was now Garrett's turn to smile.

"You don't have the logistical know-how," he replied, voice even and soft. "You don't have an organization like the United States Military Railroad, nor a man like Haupt or Dodge to run it for you. Is there a single man with your army now who can organize and run scores of trains, perhaps a hundred or more, as you've requested? I don't think so."

"That is why I am appealing to you," Judah said, still forcing his diplomatic smile.

"I think I will have to convene a meeting of the board of directors for this," Garrett announced.

Judah sighed. Garrett was taking the standard dodge. He will not make a decision either way and therefore will come out clean. If the South wins, he can claim his hands were tied by his board, fire a few of them, and come out of it position intact. If the North wins, he can claim to have made a heroic stand.

"And how long will convening this board meeting take?" Judah asked.

'To get a quorum? A week or two, and it will mean obtaining passes of transit through your lines for our members who are now in Northern territory."

"We don't have weeks," Judah said, an edge of anger to his voice now. "We need the line starting today."

"Then, sir, I am afraid I cannot help you at this moment," Garrett said, folding his hands across his waist.

"Then, sir, I must inform you that by the authority I hold in the government of the Confederate States of America, I am seizing control of your line for the duration, and compensation will not be offered."

"Be my guest," Garrett said calmly. "And I wish you luck with it."

Ten Miles South of Carlisle, Pennsylvania, on the Cumberland Pike August 23, 1863 6:30 P.M.

It was impossible to conceal who he was. The word had raced down the column hours ahead of his approach, and cheer upon cheer greeted him as he rode along the side of the road. His escort, a troop of cavalry, guided him around side paths, through cuts in the fence, and across fields to try to disrupt, as little as possible, the flow of the march moving at flood tide down the Cumberland Pike.

Passing an Illinois regiment, he got a resounding cheer. All semblance of marching discipline broke down as the men swarmed off the road to the fence flanking the pike, calling out his name.

He did not want to slow their advance, but at the sight of the Illinois state flag the emotion he felt was too much to ignore, especially when he recognized a captain in the ranks. He had once been a boy hanging around the law offices, running errands for a few pennies, then grown, gone off to school, and now to war.

Lincoln trotted over, reined in, leaned over the fence, and extended his hand.

"Robert Boers, isn't it?" "Yes, sir!"

"How are your folks?" "Just fine, sir." "And you?"

"Delighted to see you, Mr. President," the captain cried excitedly, the men of his company pressing in close, extending hands as well.

Lincoln couldn't resist. He dismounted and climbed onto the top rail of the fence and sat down, grateful when one of the men offered up his canteen. "Hot day, isn't it, boys?"

"Sure is sir," a sergeant cried, "but we'll make it a dang sight hotter for Bobbie Lee before long."

A resounding cheer went up with that, and Lincoln couldn't help but grin.

As he gazed out at their upturned faces, a smile creased his lined features. For the moment he would not think of all that was still to come, what these boys would have to face in the days ahead.

They were a tough-looking group. These were not the baby-faced recruits that he used to see on the drill fields back in the winter of 1861. These men had endured two hard years of campaigning in some of the worst climes in America. They reminded him of the line from Shakespeare in their appearance, having a "lean and hungry look," and in those hardened eyes and bronzed features he saw men of war and yet, down deep, neighbors, friends, still quintessentially American. They were professionals at what they did now, but given their druthers, all of them, to a man, would rather be back home tending their fields, working in their shops, perhaps getting some more schooling, perhaps trekking farther west to find new land to break to the plow and grow crops on, to raise a family on.

Several shouted out names of their kin he might know, one said he was born in New Salem and remembered him as postmaster, another proclaimed Lincoln had won a suit for his daddy and then, laughing, said his daddy had yet to pay the bill.

"Well, son, tell your dad the debt is canceled and you did the canceling for him." More laughter.

He looked back toward the road. A brigade commander was watching, indulgent but also obviously impatient at the delay that had stopped the column.

"Boys, you gotta get back on the march now. That general back there, usually he's got to salute me, but on this day I think I better salute him and follow what he wants."

Lincoln offered a friendly salute and the general, grinning, returned it. Officers herded the men back onto the pike, shouting for double time, for them to pick up and fall back in with the next regiment in line, which was now several hundred yards down the road.