Previously in the book: War Stanton kidnaps President and Mrs. Lincoln and holds them under guard in the White House basement while he has installs lookalikes upstairs. Tad already realizes they are not his real parents, and Stanton is unsure how the fake Lincoln will handle his first cabinet meeting.
Stanton looked to the door and saw the last two Cabinet members enter, each trying to force the other to go first to allow for a grand entrance, but they ended up looking like a pair of buffoons. Buffoons they were, Stanton told himself, trying to control a smirk as they came to the table.
“Mr. Seward,” Duff said, “it’s reassuring to see a man who knows so much and can still smile.”
“Any occasion I can spend with you causes a smile, Mr. President,” Seward said blandly as he sat in one of the remaining wooden captain chairs and slouched down.
“Mr. Seward,” Duff said. “Pull the cord for Mr. Hay and Mr. Nicolay.”
“Yes, sir.”
Like Blair, Seward was a man Stanton could not trust. Not because of his bluntness, but because of his mystery and equivocating. The war secretary never knew where he stood with Seward, nor, indeed, where the former New York senator stood on anything. He hated the South, but loved Jefferson Davis. He could concede point after point in an argument until he won everything he wanted.
“Good evening, Mr. President,” Chase said as he sat, looking a bit smug and satisfied, which made Stanton flush with anticipation.
Chase would take the initiative, leaving the war secretary out of any suspicion of conspiracy. Stanton liked everything about Chase—except his ambition.
“Sorry to interrupt your evening, Mr. Nicolay and Mr. Hay,” Duff said as they entered, each with a pad and pen. “This shouldn’t take long at all.”
“That’s quite all right, Mr. President,” Nicolay said, sitting to the left of Duff.
Hay sat without a word to Duff’s right. Stanton lowered his eyelids as he studied the secretaries. Hay would not be a problem. He cared only for drinking and whoring. Nicolay, on the other hand, was intelligent, and might put small clues together to guess the truth. Perhaps a trip out west could be arranged for him if this project took longer than expected, Stanton mused.
“May I introduce my new adjutant, Private Adam Christy,” Duff said to an uninterested Cabinet.
Good, Stanton thought, he did not want the Cabinet to notice the change of guard.
“I have a letter for the Cabinet to consider.” Chase pulled it from his coat pocket. “It’s about the Army of the Potomac command problem.”
“There is no command problem,” Duff said, putting his hands to his face as if in prayer. “Only this week I reinstated General McClellan to that position, and expect him to perform to expectations.”
This itinerant farmer from Michigan was good, Stanton thought. It was good for him to resist the idea at first; hopefully, he would not make too good an argument for keeping McClellan.
“He assured me this was his intention when he spoke with me earlier today on his way out of the Capitol,” Welles said. “He said he was going forward. And I replied, ‘Well, onward, General, is now the word, the country will expect you to go forward.’” Welles paused to sigh. “I don’t think he detected the irony in my voice.”
“So will you please read us your letter, Mr. Treasury Secretary?” Duff said to Chase.
“Of course.”
Chase unfolded the sheet and began his recitation of objections to the general, who trained troops well but failed to engage them aggressively. Stanton nodded sagely at Chase’s words, until he reached his conclusion.
“Therefore, we the undersigned call for permanent dismissal of General George McClellan and instatement as commander of the Army of the Potomac General Joseph Hooker.”
Stanton’s head jerked as he looked at Chase, who turned to smile at him. The decision, he thought, had been for General Ambrose Burnside. Was it a misunderstanding, or was Chase instigating his first move toward his campaign for the presidency?
“Any comments?” Duff asked amiably. “Please?”
Interior Secretary Smith cleared his throat and leaned forward. “I, for one, could not sign such a document,” he said with a slight lisp. “Frankly, I appreciate General McClellan’s conservative approach. Killing thousands of our young men from the North will not in itself free any slaves, nor convince any Southerner to stay in the Union.”
“And I wonder about the legal repercussions of replacing generals so quickly,” Attorney General Bates added. “While I agree civil authority outranks the military—”
“This is war, dammit,” Stanton boomed, interrupting the gray-haired Bates, who pursed his lips and leaned back in his chair.
“Thank you, Mr. Stanton,” Chase said. “Bringing back McClellan was equivalent to giving Washington to the rebels.”
“That surprises me, gentlemen,” Postmaster General Blair interjected, his face pinched with a hint of sarcasm. “I thought you and Mr. Stanton would have preferred the fall of the capital to the reinstatement of McClellan.”
“Mr. Blair, please.” Chase rolled his eyes.
“No,” Duff interceded. “I’d like to hear more of what Mr. Blair has to say.”
“I agree we can do better than General McClellan. But I blame Mr. Stanton for the general’s defects, as much as McClellan himself.”
“Now that’s true.” Welles shook a finger at Stanton. “The general has enough failings of his own to bear without the addition of your enmity.”
“We’ve so many fine officers coming out of West Point,” Blair continued, “jewels to be mined, so to speak.”
“I don’t know if I quite agree with you on that, Mr. Blair,” Welles said.
“We all know your prejudices against West Point,” Blair replied with a wry smile.
“No efficient, energetic, audacious fighting commanding general has yet appeared from the place,” Welles said with a shrug.
This is foolishness, Stanton fumed. Why does not Duff end this banal debate?
“Another consideration, Mr. President, is political,” Blair said, now leaning forward to make his point. “As you know, my father was an adviser to Andrew Jackson, and I grew up on politics. If you replace McClellan so soon after reinstating him, especially before he has a chance to prove himself on the battlefield, you’ll look like a willy-nilly, not a quality to get you re-elected.”
“And you must consider General McClellan’s popularity with the troops,” Smith added. “Recently I read how soldiers beat up a man in a bar who dared speak ill of their commander. ‘Devil take the man who would say a word against McClellan,’ the paper reported them saying.”
“The military doesn’t run this country,” Bates said.
“You’re absolutely right, Mr. Bates.” Chase pushed the letter to the attorney general. “Sign this so we can end this war sometime this century.”
“Well…”
“Then pass it to Mr. Stanton,” Chase said. “I’m sure he has no reservations about signing it.”
“Not in its present form.” Stroking his pharaoh beard, Stanton wrinkled his brow.
“What?” Chase’s eyes widened.
“I prefer General Burnside.”
“He has declined the position twice,” Chase said.
“He’s a professional soldier. His campaigns have shown him to be capable.”
“He himself said he wasn’t fit for the job,” Chase replied.
“And he’s loyal,” Stanton continued his argument. “Once, upon hearing the rash statement by other officers that the military would run the Republican Party out of Washington and take over the government, he said, ‘I don’t know what you fellows call this talk, but I call it flat treason!’”
“Hooker will fight!” Chase blustered.
“He’s just like Pope, and he’s a blowhard and a liar,” Blair interjected.
Stanton sighed and wondered why Duff was allowing this meeting to get so out of control. But he knew why. This was not Lincoln, nor any other politician who had glided through the rough waters of government debate. Duff was drowning, and there was nothing Stanton could do without raising suspicions.
“What do you think, Mr. Seward?” Duff finally asked.
“There’s some wisdom in everything that has been offered here.” Seward smiled mysteriously. “If we just continue, we’ll find the truth, somewhere.”
Stanton made eye contact with Duff and could swear the man could read his thoughts—what the secretary of state had just said was rubbish. He watched Duff sigh with melancholy and stand, leaving the debate behind as he went back to his own desk.
“Mr. Stanton,” Chase said gravely, “you’ve never expressed any criticism of General Hooker before.”
Stanton hesitated before replying, watching out of the corner of his eye as Duff picked up a book left by Lincoln earlier in the day. No attention span, Stanton fretted, as he tried to find words to rebut Chase.
“I like Fremont myself,” Smith offered.
“Fremont!” Chase responded with irritation. “Please, Mr. Smith!”
Duff exploded with laughter, causing everyone to turn to see him with his large feet on the desk and his dour face opened by a huge grin as he read from the book.
“I was just looking at this book by Artemus Ward,” Duff said with a chuckle. “Listen to this: ‘I showed my show in Utica when a big burly feller walked up to my wax figures of the Lord’s Last Supper and seized Judas Iscariot by the feet and dragged him out on the ground. He then commenced to pound him as hard as he could, yelling, “Old man, that Judas Iscariot can’t show himself in Utica with impunity by a darn sight!” with which observation he caved in Judas’s head. The young man belonged to one of the first families in Utica. I sued him, and the jury brought in a verdict of arson in the third degree.’” Duff threw back his head and laughed loudly.
Stanton thought his worst fears had come true—Duff had succumbed to the stress and had gone out of his mind. Even this could be turned to his advantage if Stanton kept his head about him.
“Mr. President,” Seward said, “you’ve broken the tension and made your point.”
“And what, Mr. Seward, do you think this point is?” Duff finished his laughter.
“If we don’t stop bashing General McClellan in the head, we’ll surely be guilty of burning the future of our country.”
Duff looked at Stanton to shake his head imperceptibly, which the war secretary took to mean that the effort to remove McClellan was defeated, unless they ham-handedly forced their opinion on the others, which would raise too many questions. Stanton nodded.
“You sure can read my mind, Mr. Seward,” Duff said, standing. “I suggest we give General McClellan another chance to lead, until he fails so miserably even his most devoted followers would have to concede he must go.”
Seward nodded. “Wisely said, Mr. President.”