Read Online The Battle of the Crater: A Novel by William R. Forstchen, Newt Gingrich, Albert S. Hanser - Free Book Online
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against itself, scheming with ever more cruel instruments of war against each other. A Shakespeare would indeed then proclaim that there was a plague on both our houses. It has to end here and now.
“That and slavery; it, too, has to end now, and I believe it is the burden of our generation to see it done. I will not pass on to my sons the curse of yet another war and to my grandchildren, Lord forbid it, yet another and another.
“And as for those men,” and he gestured to the boats turning down the broad sweep of the Potomac, one after another in the line disappearing from view.
“There was a time, James, when I agreed with the recolonization movement, that the two races could not live side by side in peace. But those men, their blood drawn with the lash and the bullet, I realize now, have as much a place here as I do and as you do.”
James sadly shook his head.
“There are neighborhoods in New York where I would be beaten to death as a Papist Mick. You see what Thomas Nast draws about us Irish and the Negroes,” and his sarcasm was evident.
“Is there a man in any other regiment in the army who would say a word against the Irish Brigade?” Lincoln asked.
“Not unless he wants a thousand of us lined up and ready for a good bare-knuckled fight.” Now James finally smiled for the first time.
“Guess you heard all the legends about me, Jack Armstrong, and his boys of Sangamon County,” Lincoln said.
James chuckled.
“Who hasn’t?”
“Some of it is actually true. It is the way of things.”
“Except they weren’t armed with fifty-eight-caliber Springfield rifles, deadly out to six hundred yards.”
“No, but Jack wasn’t above eye gouging or biting off a man’s ear if he got him down. I had to tame him of that.”
The President smiled as if recalling a pleasant memory.
He sighed and looked back at James.
“I want you to go back, James.”
“Sir?”
“Just that. Your editor at Harper’s might let you take an assignment somewhere else, but believe me, my young friend, in the end you’d hate yourself for it.”
“You mean running away from a job that is not finished?” There was a cold edge now to James’s voice. “You want me to go back and draw more pictures like that ?”
Lincoln did not reply.
“No thank you, sir. I’ve had a belly full of this damn war. I did my part being there, and I’ve had enough.”
“And who will replace you?”
“I don’t care anymore.”
“Thomas Nast, perhaps?”
James looked at him crossly.
“Hit a nerve there, didn’t I?”
“That bastard? He keeps his distance from me when I’m in the office, and I keep my distance from him. Though for two cents I’d love to break both his hands good and proper so he wouldn’t be able draw for a year or two.”
Lincoln leaned back and chuckled softly.
“I’d like to see that fight, if it ever comes to that. But seriously, James, I need you back there. I can’t order you, the way I would a soldier. But I need your eyes, and, yes, your ears. This war is not going to stop because of Cold Harbor. It will go on; God forgive me if I am wrong, but I believe with all my heart and soul it must go on to the end.”
“And if McClellan wins the election?”
“We will have a victory, some kind of victory between now and then that will turn the political tide.”
“Do you really believe that, sir?”
Lincoln gazed straight at him. In reality he was no longer sure, but if he voiced the opinion that he was truly going to lose and let that infection spread, he would indeed lose, and the nation would forever be torn asunder.
“I must believe we will win,” he finally replied.
James did not reply.
“I want you to go back. Of course go to New York first, turn in your drawings, rest up for a week or two. Perhaps go back and fall in with that colored division for a while. It would be good for the nation to see how they can indeed fight. Your drawings of your Irish brethren at Fredericksburg, and
“That and slavery; it, too, has to end now, and I believe it is the burden of our generation to see it done. I will not pass on to my sons the curse of yet another war and to my grandchildren, Lord forbid it, yet another and another.
“And as for those men,” and he gestured to the boats turning down the broad sweep of the Potomac, one after another in the line disappearing from view.
“There was a time, James, when I agreed with the recolonization movement, that the two races could not live side by side in peace. But those men, their blood drawn with the lash and the bullet, I realize now, have as much a place here as I do and as you do.”
James sadly shook his head.
“There are neighborhoods in New York where I would be beaten to death as a Papist Mick. You see what Thomas Nast draws about us Irish and the Negroes,” and his sarcasm was evident.
“Is there a man in any other regiment in the army who would say a word against the Irish Brigade?” Lincoln asked.
“Not unless he wants a thousand of us lined up and ready for a good bare-knuckled fight.” Now James finally smiled for the first time.
“Guess you heard all the legends about me, Jack Armstrong, and his boys of Sangamon County,” Lincoln said.
James chuckled.
“Who hasn’t?”
“Some of it is actually true. It is the way of things.”
“Except they weren’t armed with fifty-eight-caliber Springfield rifles, deadly out to six hundred yards.”
“No, but Jack wasn’t above eye gouging or biting off a man’s ear if he got him down. I had to tame him of that.”
The President smiled as if recalling a pleasant memory.
He sighed and looked back at James.
“I want you to go back, James.”
“Sir?”
“Just that. Your editor at Harper’s might let you take an assignment somewhere else, but believe me, my young friend, in the end you’d hate yourself for it.”
“You mean running away from a job that is not finished?” There was a cold edge now to James’s voice. “You want me to go back and draw more pictures like that ?”
Lincoln did not reply.
“No thank you, sir. I’ve had a belly full of this damn war. I did my part being there, and I’ve had enough.”
“And who will replace you?”
“I don’t care anymore.”
“Thomas Nast, perhaps?”
James looked at him crossly.
“Hit a nerve there, didn’t I?”
“That bastard? He keeps his distance from me when I’m in the office, and I keep my distance from him. Though for two cents I’d love to break both his hands good and proper so he wouldn’t be able draw for a year or two.”
Lincoln leaned back and chuckled softly.
“I’d like to see that fight, if it ever comes to that. But seriously, James, I need you back there. I can’t order you, the way I would a soldier. But I need your eyes, and, yes, your ears. This war is not going to stop because of Cold Harbor. It will go on; God forgive me if I am wrong, but I believe with all my heart and soul it must go on to the end.”
“And if McClellan wins the election?”
“We will have a victory, some kind of victory between now and then that will turn the political tide.”
“Do you really believe that, sir?”
Lincoln gazed straight at him. In reality he was no longer sure, but if he voiced the opinion that he was truly going to lose and let that infection spread, he would indeed lose, and the nation would forever be torn asunder.
“I must believe we will win,” he finally replied.
James did not reply.
“I want you to go back. Of course go to New York first, turn in your drawings, rest up for a week or two. Perhaps go back and fall in with that colored division for a while. It would be good for the nation to see how they can indeed fight. Your drawings of your Irish brethren at Fredericksburg, and
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