The Fateful Lightning (43 page)

Sherman expected something like this, well-dressed civilians coming in droves, asking all manner of favors. But he didn’t expect much generosity. “What do you sense, Major? We should get a look at the place?”

“Cannot hurt, sir. He’s not what I expected here, none of that syrupy Southern gentleman nonsense.”

From behind Hitchcock, a voice, heavy British accent. “I say, you’d be General Sherman, then?”

The man’s head protruded above Hitchcock’s shoulder, the man wearing a monocle, a silk cravat around his neck. He raised a silver-tipped cane, as though attracting Sherman’s attention, and Sherman saw a smile, thought, All right. Fine. Now’s as good a time as any. He looked at Slocum.

“General Slocum, you may resume organizing the city as far as the encampments of your men. I expect Howard’s doing the same. General Geary, you will assume your new authority immediately. Establish an office as quickly as possible, and let that mayor fellow know what we’re doing. He gets out of line, remind him who has the bayonets.”

The two generals stood, Hitchcock making way for them, both men eyeing the Englishman as they passed him. The man stepped fully in the doorway, made a crisp bow, removed the monocle, said, “Now, then, sir, if I may suggest, I have a potential headquarters for you that befits your station, far more than this drab old hotel.”

Sherman was intrigued, heard no hostility in the man, his demeanor pleasant, as generous as his words seemed to be. “What do you do around here, sir?”

“Charles Green, at your service, sir. I dabble somewhat in the banking trade, though, I must admit, there hasn’t been a great deal of commerce in this place, not for a while. Your damnable blockade…”
He paused. “Forgive me, sir. One must adapt to one’s circumstance. I’m a bit slow on that point.”

“Blockade slow things down around here?”

“Oh, quite, sir. The trade with Mother England has been squeezed rather severely, I’m afraid. Perfectly understandable, of course.”

Sherman couldn’t help a smile. “And perfectly dreadful, as well.”

Green tapped the cane gently to his head, a salute. “Admittedly, yes. However, I am no enemy of yours, and bear no great loyalty to anyone other than my queen. If you will accept my invitation, sir, I assure you of satisfaction. Plenty of room for your staff, and whatever business you have. My home is open to you, sir.”

The man’s cheerfulness was infectious, and Sherman saw a smile on Hitchcock’s face, Dayton there as well. “All right, gentlemen. Let’s go have a look.”

GREEN HOUSE, SAVANNAH—DECEMBER 22, 1864

The mansion had far more grandeur than Sherman had expected, and the wide eyes from his staff added to his own observation. He had never been comfortable with abundant pomp, but the mansion was spectacularly decorated, including tropical plants set around in enormous clay pots. Sherman studied the man’s collection of artwork, various paintings and portraits, suspected there was considerable value, but he wouldn’t ask that, wouldn’t give the man any reason to fear him. But the furniture made the man’s case, Sherman sitting down on a chair that seemed to swallow him in comfort. He saw the self-satisfaction on Green’s face, thought, He’s a businessman, no doubt about that. He has something to offer, and he creates his own demand.

“Tell me, Mr. Green, what exactly do you expect in return?”

“Sir? Sorry, I’m not following.”

“You’re a horse trader. What do you get in return for all this graciousness?”

Green nodded toward him now, another salute with the cane. “Very good, sir. I happen to be in possession of a substantial amount
of the cotton stored hereabouts. I have the papers to prove that, I assure you. I was hoping perhaps your army could be convinced to permit me to make delivery to my customers. There are contracts in place, after all.”

“Customers in England.”

“Well, yes, certainly. No one here is a
buyer
, sir.”

“I accept the offer of your home as my headquarters. We shall be as courteous as possible, and avoid any damage to your furnishings. As for the cotton, well, we can talk about that at another time.”

H
e stood in his new room, a grandly appointed bedroom, looked out the window, the waterfront, the lingering columns of smoke from the rebel gunboats. He was drinking tea, an odd luxury, not something that usually tempted him, but it was his host who had insisted, describing his offering as something far more rare than coffee, something imported from India. Whether it suited Sherman’s taste didn’t seem to matter as much as the pampering Sherman had finally allowed himself to enjoy.

He studied the waterfront, his hand resting on the rich silk on the back of another outrageously comfortable chair. A nap would be most useful right now, he thought. He eyed the rugs beneath his boots, thick and lush, thought, I could sleep right here. I get into that bed, I might not get out again.

There was a soft knock on the door, and he knew from the timidity, it was Hitchcock.

“What is it, Major?”

The door opened slightly, Hitchcock peering in. “Very sorry, sir. There is a gentleman here you must see.”

Sherman was annoyed, but Hitchcock knew better than to bother him with some local complaint. “Who is he?”

Sherman heard the deep bass voice coming from behind Hitchcock with the volume of the self-important.

“He’s in there? Very good, yes. Thank you, Major. I’ll handle this now.”

Sherman moved toward the door, saw resignation on Hitchcock’s face, unusual, and he pulled the door back, saw the man’s impressive
suit, a gold watch chain, a shine on expensive shoes. “What the hell do you want?”

Sherman’s annoyance seemed to catch the man by surprise, and he backed up a step, cleared his throat.

“My apologies for disturbing your idyll, sir.”

“My what?”

“Apparently I have come at an unfortunate time. But I cannot wait, sir. There is serious business here.”

“Who the hell are you?”

Hitchcock seemed eager to step between them, as though protecting the man from what Hitchcock knew of Sherman’s wrath. “Sir, this gentleman came in from Ossabaw Bay, courtesy of Admiral Dahlgren.”

The man pushed past the major, extended a fat hand toward Sherman, and said, “General! Ah, such a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Long journey, as it were. But your aide is correct. Well, not exactly. Being carried by Admiral Dahlgren would be a singular honor in itself. I was transported on a packet upstream, the Ogeechee, I believe. Odd names in these parts. Indian, so they say. Sir, I am Agent A. G. Browne, here on behalf of the Department of the Treasury, Southern District. My department has determined that you have captured a considerable amount of valuable goods here. The government has determined to act on this with all haste. We’re talking about cannons, rice, buildings, and most important, a considerable amount of cotton. I have come to take possession.”

H
itchcock had verified the man’s credentials, and Sherman sat across from him at Green’s dining room table.

“You can’t have it.”

Browne made a grunting sound, said, “My authorization is quite in order, General.”

“I see your authorization. You can’t have it. Until we know just what the army’s needs are.”

“What kind of needs?”

“That’s my concern, Mr. Browne. We have just occupied this place, and must establish a base here. I have some sixty thousand men to
provision and feed, and we must see to the defense of this place, should the enemy determine to attack us. We have caused them a great deal of damage militarily and politically. They will not just walk away quietly.”

Browne seemed to shrink slightly, his bluster replaced now by uncertainty. “Do you believe the enemy is planning an attack?”

“I have to assume so. That’s why my men must be provided for, before the government takes what it wants. No one in Washington needs artillery right now. We do. No one up there is subsisting on rice. We are.”

Browne stroked his chin, pondering Sherman’s words. “I see. Well, that does sound somewhat logical. How long will it take for you to make those determinations?”

“Till those determinations are made. There’s a very nice hotel here, the Pulaski. I’d get yourself a room. As long as the enemy doesn’t start shelling the place, you’ll be comfortable.”

Sherman knew he had pushed that as far as he could, saw a slight grin on Dayton’s face. He scowled at Dayton, said, “Have a security escort accompany Mr. Browne to the hotel. Can’t be too careful. Snipers and all.”

Browne seemed suddenly anxious to leave, stood quickly, then stopped, a new thought entering his head. “Sir, I understand your concern. I do not wish to antagonize you. You are correct that your conquest of this place should be your first priority. To that end, sir, might I offer you a suggestion?”

“I’m listening.”

“All of Washington is in something of an uproar with concern for your well-being. The news out of Nashville was most beneficial to the mood of the capital. News of your success would do as much or more to boost spirits. Might I suggest that you pen a note to President Lincoln?” Browne looked to the side, a small Christmas tree at one end of the room, perched upon a small table. “That’s it, sir. Perhaps you could offer a celebratory note to him, something that would resonate well in the newspapers.”

“I don’t care much for ‘resonating,’ sir.”

“Oh, but this is perfect. Perhaps you could offer the president a gift. Say, the city of Savannah?”

H
e sat staring, his eyes not seeing beyond the pane of glass. The cigar was set to one side, the newspaper draped over his lap, and Sherman ignored both now, tried to see the image of the small face, the baby he had never seen. He had often imagined what the infant Charles might look like, if he had his father’s red hair, his mother’s softer gaze, the sad eyes. Behind him, Hitchcock’s voice came, very low.

“I am terribly sorry, sir. There was nothing in the mail. Certainly she will write you.”

Sherman nodded slowly, no words. He looked down at the newspaper again, said, “Where’d this come from?”

“Came in on a packet with the mail today, sir. We were shocked, certainly. I searched for a letter from your wife, but the postal authorities say that much of the mail for the command was sent in error to Nashville.”

Sherman ignored Hitchcock’s explanation, looked again at the paper. “He was barely six months old. I never saw him. Won’t ever know what he looked like. He might have smiled at me. Imagine that?”

Hitchcock backed away, and Sherman was suddenly afraid of that, a glimmer of panic at being alone. He turned in the chair.

“Major, if you please. Your company is welcome.”

“Of course, sir. Anything I can get you?”

Sherman stared at the paper for a long while, pointed to the side, one of the soft chairs. “Sit down, Major.” He couldn’t fight the emotions any longer, blinked through tears, and after a long moment, said, “I do not handle tragedy well. My own, or anyone else’s. It happens all around us, every day we face the enemy, every day someone falls ill. Most often that kind of pain is inflicted on someone else. But I am not immune. This is a horror no one can prepare for. There is no greater loss, you know. None. This is twice for me. I have lost two sons.” He paused. “When Willie died, I thought my world had ceased to matter, that nothing I could do would allow me to move past that. My career, even my marriage. But then the war came back, all of that duty, the damned rebels. They nearly captured me, someplace in
western Tennessee. That was a help to me, in some way I cannot explain. I don’t expect this to make sense to you, Major.”

“It’s all right, sir. I do not know how to respond to any of this. There are no useful words I can offer.”

“No, suppose not. But still we must try. I will write Ellen tonight. My brother John…I should write him as well. He will offer comfort the way a brother can. That is a valuable thing. A necessary thing.”

“I’ll get pen and paper, sir.”

“Later. Just sit.”

“Yes, sir. Sorry.”

“Ellen will accept Charles’s death as the Hand of God, the same way she got past Willie’s death. She has no other understanding. Her mother did that, gave her that marvelous gift.” He glanced toward Hitchcock. “I know you believe me to be thoroughly anti-Catholic. Perhaps I am. But I recognize the value of comfort, explanation, understanding. She will seek that, and no doubt she will find it. For me, it will be as before. I will gain more by doing my job. Rather pathetic, is it not?”

“No, sir. You are a hero. You are revered among the men. The entire country will salute what you’ve done here. Because you did your job.”

Sherman pictured Grant in his mind, tried to move past the image of Ellen and her tears, the misery of what his home would be, black draperies, black wreath on the door, black everything. The thought suddenly struck him hard. “It’s Christmas, for God’s sake. I should be there. If not for Grant’s confidence in me, in what he expects of me, I would go. The right thing to do. But you are right, Major. There is the job. And we are not yet finished.”

GREEN HOUSE—CHRISTMAS EVE, 1864

The letter had come by packet, the way most of the mail was reaching the army. He knew from the Treasury agent, Browne, that the faster boats could reach Fortress Monroe in only a few days, and from there the telegraph wire could reach anywhere in the North the messages
needed to go. More important to Sherman, those messages could reach him the same way.

He read it again, let the words boil up inside him, felt energized, the full fury at the enemy building. The staff had gathered, and he knew they had read the dispatch already. But they seemed to wait for his response, watching him as though expecting a volcanic eruption. He twirled the cigar in his fingers, held tight to the smile, felt suddenly playful, toying with them, keeping them in suspense as to what might happen next. After a long moment, he burst from the chair, faced them, held the paper out toward them.

“Do you know what this signifies?” No one responded, the staff knowing when not to interrupt him. “This, gentlemen, is a Christmas present. My commanding general is, after all, generous. He is also wise.”