The KKK getting their ass kicked always brings a smile to my face
Until Every Drop of Blood Is Paid: A More Radical American Civil War
- Thread starter Red_Galiray
- Start date
South Carolina also, I posted quite a bit Up thread that They had a majority black population in 1860 and Even before talk about how much more carnage there would be I thought it was possible they could have 2/3 of their population be black by the end of the war.
I said there would need to be 50000 more white deaths and/or moving out of the state and 50000 more blacks moving in to give South Carolina about 72% black. The former seems possible now and the latter, I'm not sure but While the federal government won't decree states to be specifically for the Freedman, A state such as Mississippi or South Carolina may become such a draw that, like the Ohio and Pennsylvania heartlands of industry drew so many from West Virginia and elsewhere later, good number of black people would probably migrate there versus the North as long as they knew there were opportunities..
Plenty of land out west that the government would be happy for them to bring under plow, though that same land might also look good to black families that want to get away from the states that they had been slaves in
Instead of the black migration we’re likely gonna see white flight of all those rednecks to more white majority states.
This may have dangerous implications for the unity of the US long term if states are divided on racial lines.
I think the void will be filled by immigrants from East/Southern Europe, Latin America and East Asia as per OTL.
As for the second question, the deep south yes, but a good amount of the South is still very white, especially the mountains that sided with the Union.
The black and white southerners are likely going to migrate to the Southern factories. There might be a bigger backlash to Northern/Western Immigrants instead.
Side-story: "Somewhere along the Mississippi"
Somewhere along the Mississippi, 1863, December
Samual reached again towards the fire, letting the sharp tendrils of heat banish the chill from his hand. Without a desk his handwriting was already terrible enough, and Mother never failed to mention when it was too shaky. Finishing the last line and signing it, he took one last careful look at the letter, trying to think if he left anything out. Satisfied, he let the ink dry and folded it into its envelope and pocketed it.
Bundling his pen and writing paper back into his pack, he huddled up and sat so he could take as much of the warmth of the fire as he could. This wasn't his first winter at war, and he'd long before been disabused of the idea of the South always being the balmy, hot, tropical kingdom of cotton, but he still quietly laughed at the many things, little and large, he didn't know just a few years earlier.
He never would've predicted that day in the recruiting office, what felt like eons ago, that his matchbox would be as important a weapon in the campaigns he'd fight as his musket. At the start he didn't quite have the knack for making fires, but with his experience now he could swear he could do it at the bottom of the ocean. And it wasn't just campfires that mudsills like himself were lighting anymore. After Vicksburg, the army had the job of making the whole Mississippi safe from attacks by the rebels. The trouble Sam had was, not every rebel was in a grey coat and flying a treason banner. Every time a southern woman saw his blue uniform and gave him a look of disgust, he wondered, were those two of Forrest's eyes? He nearly broke down the first time he told a family, a woman and two children, that they had so many minutes to pack their bags and get before he torched their home. He didn't know if anybody in the world had hated anything as much as that mother had clearly hated him. But that house had a fine view of the river, and the army had learned that the moment they left that tiny corner of this vast country a band of marauders could pop out of the trees and be given supper as they watched the river traffic, or smuggled from West to East. When the house burned and the fires licked the skin of his face, it was images of strung-up and mutilated Yankees that burned into his memory.
Sam almost jumped out of his skin at the quiet call beside him. "Sir?"
He turned to see a saluting Josiah. A contraband boy that the very depleted regiment picked up a few months earlier. In his most official capacity he was a drummer, but he was always about helping with odd jobs that meant most of the boys had grown to like him. In this rough country tears in uniforms were terminal annoyances, but Josiah liked giving mends, and most appreciated that help.
"Oh. Hello, Josiah. What brings you out here?" This campfire wasn't near the perimeter the army was keeping, so it was pretty safe, but it was a bit on its own. Sam preferred the silence when he was writing his letters.
"They're getting together all the letters, sir, for posting. You got anything?"
"Uh, yes." Sam pulled out the letter, and looked back at Josiah.
"You sit here by the fire for a second."
"I'm alright, sir."
"I can see you shaking, boy, now sit here and get warm."
Slowly, Josiah stepped around, took off his pack, presumably other letters from around the brigade, and sat beside Sam, before rubbing his hands by the fire. Once he settled a bit, Sam offered him the letter and took out his pipe. Once he lit the tobacco, he noticed Josiah was carefully looking at the letter's address.
"Can you read it?"
"Freeport...ill-noh-is?"
"You got the first bit right, and good try, but it's 'Illinois'."
Josiah looked back to the fire, angry in the way boys got when they couldn't do something right.
"Listen, I had to be sat down and forced to read, and get smacked with a ruler if I didn't, to be even that good at it. Many boys your age go to school and come out never bothering to learn, and you're teaching yourself with signs and the backs of letters. You think that Douglass fella learned it all in one day?"
Josiah shook his head, "No, sir."
"No, sir." The two sat watching the fire for a moment, Josiah idly pushing bits of snow in to melt with his boot, Sam puffing at his pipe. Sam thought he couldn't just leave the discussion at that, he'd definitely been on the other side of too many that ended only with that kind of dressing down.
"I'm guessing you have some ambition. That's good for a young man. What will you do when we end the war?"
The boy sheepishly cracked a smile, "Well, it won't be a farm, sir. I think I'll be dead before I pick another bag of cotton."
That he would be dead before that, Sam felt confident, but he would not have dared saying that. This war didn't like sparing boys like Josiah. Of course, what a band of rebel marauders might do to him if he was caught was likely to be even worse than what they'd do to someone like Sam, but even in a stand-up fight it was common for drummers and fifers to get killed. You'd sometimes see in newspapers reports of the traitors murdering drummer boys in their little blue uniforms, and that had infuriated Sam when he heard earliest such stories, but after he first saw the elephant he understood that, in battle, when the volleys of lead started flying, nobody could be kept safe. Not the boys drumming John Brown's Body, and not the boys drumming the Bonnie Blue Flag.
"Then what would it be then? A shop?"
He hesitated. "A tailors. Sir."
"Really? I mean, you do good stitching, I--" Sam stopped, then gave him a smile, "Clever boy, that's why you help out with the uniforms!"
Josiah smiled more fully, clearly feeling encouraged. "In town before the war there was this tailor, and even the apprentice boys had really nice shoes and clothes on, and I always thought 'When I get North, I'll dress at least as good as that every day.'"
"Well, when you establish yourself, I'll need you to make me a suit."
"Thank you, sir."
After another while, Josiah turned again, like he realized something, "Isn't Illinois where Lincoln's from, sir?"
"I saw Lincoln."
Josiah's eyes widened, all quasi-military deference of rank briefly forgotten, "What did he say to you?"
Sam chuckled, "No, no, he was giving a speech. A debate, actually, with a democrat. This was before he was President, but there he showed that even Yankee democrats wanted slavery over the whole nation, just like how they forced it on Kansas."
The boy went quiet. He'd spoken about his old massa only a few times, but it seemed like the man led him to think the North was full of nothing but 'negro-worshippers' who wanted to set his kind loose. A nasty scar on the kid's back was from when Lincoln was elected, and his owner got drunk, asked Josiah if he thought he was good enough to be the Vice-President, and then beat him with a shovel. But he didn't think any Yankee could be as bad as any Dixie boy. He'd also been a soul who had to learn much in this war. Most of the troops liked him enough to back him up, but Sam had seen sometimes in his face how the odd cruel remark could get to him.
"But don't you worry. When they're licked, anybody left who wants slavery here will know to keep it to themselves."
"Thank you, sir. Sir, is it alright asking something?"
"Go ahead."
"Where do you think the army's going to go, what with the Mississippi being taken?"
Another puff from his pipe. "The Sam you need to be asking is a general, not a private. Grant's gotten us to do damn near anything an army could be asked to do, short of storming Hell, so it could be anything. Probably not west, the east is where the people and the farms and the factories really are. So, possibly Alabama."
"Georgia, sir?"
Sam's eyes narrowed. There was something Josiah wasn't saying, and he didn't like his first guess about what it was.
"Do you have family in Georgia, Josiah?"
The boy was mortified at being found out, but struggled to say something.
"Ye-yes, sir. Um, Mammie. Mother. A man from Georgia bought her before the war."
"And your father?"
Josiah was looking up at him, and it was obvious to Sam that whatever the answer was, the boy didn't want to have to say it.
"No, it's alright. You don't need to tell me." said Sam, putting a hand around the boys shoulder.
After a few minutes of silence, Josiah got up off the log. "Uh, I should get these letters sent, sir. Um, thank you, sir." He gave a salute.
Sam returned it. "No problem at all." He saw the boy turn and start walking back into the darkness. "And Josiah?"
"Yes, sir?" the boy turned back.
"Merry Christmas."
They exchanged smiles. "Merry Christmas, sir."
As he walked away, Sam decided he was going to sit until his pipe was finished, then head back. He knew it was going to take too long to get a reply to his letter, it always took too long, but it was around this time that a lot of soldiers, stuck in winter with little to do and feeling especially homesick, would tend to send at least one letter home, if just to tell the folks what they were looking. And now one more letter was going from some damned stretch of the Mississippi up to a house in Freeport, Illinois.
"..I was also wondering, mother, if you could find some of the childrens books I learned to read with. I would very much like to be sent some of them..."
Samual reached again towards the fire, letting the sharp tendrils of heat banish the chill from his hand. Without a desk his handwriting was already terrible enough, and Mother never failed to mention when it was too shaky. Finishing the last line and signing it, he took one last careful look at the letter, trying to think if he left anything out. Satisfied, he let the ink dry and folded it into its envelope and pocketed it.
Bundling his pen and writing paper back into his pack, he huddled up and sat so he could take as much of the warmth of the fire as he could. This wasn't his first winter at war, and he'd long before been disabused of the idea of the South always being the balmy, hot, tropical kingdom of cotton, but he still quietly laughed at the many things, little and large, he didn't know just a few years earlier.
He never would've predicted that day in the recruiting office, what felt like eons ago, that his matchbox would be as important a weapon in the campaigns he'd fight as his musket. At the start he didn't quite have the knack for making fires, but with his experience now he could swear he could do it at the bottom of the ocean. And it wasn't just campfires that mudsills like himself were lighting anymore. After Vicksburg, the army had the job of making the whole Mississippi safe from attacks by the rebels. The trouble Sam had was, not every rebel was in a grey coat and flying a treason banner. Every time a southern woman saw his blue uniform and gave him a look of disgust, he wondered, were those two of Forrest's eyes? He nearly broke down the first time he told a family, a woman and two children, that they had so many minutes to pack their bags and get before he torched their home. He didn't know if anybody in the world had hated anything as much as that mother had clearly hated him. But that house had a fine view of the river, and the army had learned that the moment they left that tiny corner of this vast country a band of marauders could pop out of the trees and be given supper as they watched the river traffic, or smuggled from West to East. When the house burned and the fires licked the skin of his face, it was images of strung-up and mutilated Yankees that burned into his memory.
Sam almost jumped out of his skin at the quiet call beside him. "Sir?"
He turned to see a saluting Josiah. A contraband boy that the very depleted regiment picked up a few months earlier. In his most official capacity he was a drummer, but he was always about helping with odd jobs that meant most of the boys had grown to like him. In this rough country tears in uniforms were terminal annoyances, but Josiah liked giving mends, and most appreciated that help.
"Oh. Hello, Josiah. What brings you out here?" This campfire wasn't near the perimeter the army was keeping, so it was pretty safe, but it was a bit on its own. Sam preferred the silence when he was writing his letters.
"They're getting together all the letters, sir, for posting. You got anything?"
"Uh, yes." Sam pulled out the letter, and looked back at Josiah.
"You sit here by the fire for a second."
"I'm alright, sir."
"I can see you shaking, boy, now sit here and get warm."
Slowly, Josiah stepped around, took off his pack, presumably other letters from around the brigade, and sat beside Sam, before rubbing his hands by the fire. Once he settled a bit, Sam offered him the letter and took out his pipe. Once he lit the tobacco, he noticed Josiah was carefully looking at the letter's address.
"Can you read it?"
"Freeport...ill-noh-is?"
"You got the first bit right, and good try, but it's 'Illinois'."
Josiah looked back to the fire, angry in the way boys got when they couldn't do something right.
"Listen, I had to be sat down and forced to read, and get smacked with a ruler if I didn't, to be even that good at it. Many boys your age go to school and come out never bothering to learn, and you're teaching yourself with signs and the backs of letters. You think that Douglass fella learned it all in one day?"
Josiah shook his head, "No, sir."
"No, sir." The two sat watching the fire for a moment, Josiah idly pushing bits of snow in to melt with his boot, Sam puffing at his pipe. Sam thought he couldn't just leave the discussion at that, he'd definitely been on the other side of too many that ended only with that kind of dressing down.
"I'm guessing you have some ambition. That's good for a young man. What will you do when we end the war?"
The boy sheepishly cracked a smile, "Well, it won't be a farm, sir. I think I'll be dead before I pick another bag of cotton."
That he would be dead before that, Sam felt confident, but he would not have dared saying that. This war didn't like sparing boys like Josiah. Of course, what a band of rebel marauders might do to him if he was caught was likely to be even worse than what they'd do to someone like Sam, but even in a stand-up fight it was common for drummers and fifers to get killed. You'd sometimes see in newspapers reports of the traitors murdering drummer boys in their little blue uniforms, and that had infuriated Sam when he heard earliest such stories, but after he first saw the elephant he understood that, in battle, when the volleys of lead started flying, nobody could be kept safe. Not the boys drumming John Brown's Body, and not the boys drumming the Bonnie Blue Flag.
"Then what would it be then? A shop?"
He hesitated. "A tailors. Sir."
"Really? I mean, you do good stitching, I--" Sam stopped, then gave him a smile, "Clever boy, that's why you help out with the uniforms!"
Josiah smiled more fully, clearly feeling encouraged. "In town before the war there was this tailor, and even the apprentice boys had really nice shoes and clothes on, and I always thought 'When I get North, I'll dress at least as good as that every day.'"
"Well, when you establish yourself, I'll need you to make me a suit."
"Thank you, sir."
After another while, Josiah turned again, like he realized something, "Isn't Illinois where Lincoln's from, sir?"
"I saw Lincoln."
Josiah's eyes widened, all quasi-military deference of rank briefly forgotten, "What did he say to you?"
Sam chuckled, "No, no, he was giving a speech. A debate, actually, with a democrat. This was before he was President, but there he showed that even Yankee democrats wanted slavery over the whole nation, just like how they forced it on Kansas."
The boy went quiet. He'd spoken about his old massa only a few times, but it seemed like the man led him to think the North was full of nothing but 'negro-worshippers' who wanted to set his kind loose. A nasty scar on the kid's back was from when Lincoln was elected, and his owner got drunk, asked Josiah if he thought he was good enough to be the Vice-President, and then beat him with a shovel. But he didn't think any Yankee could be as bad as any Dixie boy. He'd also been a soul who had to learn much in this war. Most of the troops liked him enough to back him up, but Sam had seen sometimes in his face how the odd cruel remark could get to him.
"But don't you worry. When they're licked, anybody left who wants slavery here will know to keep it to themselves."
"Thank you, sir. Sir, is it alright asking something?"
"Go ahead."
"Where do you think the army's going to go, what with the Mississippi being taken?"
Another puff from his pipe. "The Sam you need to be asking is a general, not a private. Grant's gotten us to do damn near anything an army could be asked to do, short of storming Hell, so it could be anything. Probably not west, the east is where the people and the farms and the factories really are. So, possibly Alabama."
"Georgia, sir?"
Sam's eyes narrowed. There was something Josiah wasn't saying, and he didn't like his first guess about what it was.
"Do you have family in Georgia, Josiah?"
The boy was mortified at being found out, but struggled to say something.
"Ye-yes, sir. Um, Mammie. Mother. A man from Georgia bought her before the war."
"And your father?"
Josiah was looking up at him, and it was obvious to Sam that whatever the answer was, the boy didn't want to have to say it.
"No, it's alright. You don't need to tell me." said Sam, putting a hand around the boys shoulder.
After a few minutes of silence, Josiah got up off the log. "Uh, I should get these letters sent, sir. Um, thank you, sir." He gave a salute.
Sam returned it. "No problem at all." He saw the boy turn and start walking back into the darkness. "And Josiah?"
"Yes, sir?" the boy turned back.
"Merry Christmas."
They exchanged smiles. "Merry Christmas, sir."
As he walked away, Sam decided he was going to sit until his pipe was finished, then head back. He knew it was going to take too long to get a reply to his letter, it always took too long, but it was around this time that a lot of soldiers, stuck in winter with little to do and feeling especially homesick, would tend to send at least one letter home, if just to tell the folks what they were looking. And now one more letter was going from some damned stretch of the Mississippi up to a house in Freeport, Illinois.
"..I was also wondering, mother, if you could find some of the childrens books I learned to read with. I would very much like to be sent some of them..."
Wait? U.S Grant is involved in non military Politics?Or is it anyother Grant?
Of course it could, but I have to wonder if such a path would be better for the United States and its people, given that the goal is a better, more egalitarian and just US.
Thanks for this write-up! The Confederate constitution is a very interesting document indeed. The addition of God is also significative. I am guessing more explicit links between religion and government were accepted compared with the 1780's. I wonder if an updated US constitution would similarly include God like that, which would mean little at the time but could become very significative in the future. All things to ponder.
ITTL Lincoln actually came very close to winning the popular vote outright thanks to Douglas' collapse, resulting in 49% of the nation voting for him. Joined with the rethoric that the Southern masses are actually anti-slavery just deceived and deluded, and Republicans might think that they are the natural majority of the nation.
The White Republicans that think that they have done enough for the freedmen and that to ask for social equality is treacherous ingratitude are likely to form the basis of the equivalent to the OTL Liberal Republicans.
I heard it here first! It's a great thing that Grant's image is finally being rehabilitated after decades of Lost Cause propaganda.
I can see the argument that you may only own land (and maybe property) if you work it as the logical conclusion of wartime ideologies. Given that the greater wish of the freedmen is owning land themselves I don't see straight out Georgism flourishing, but among many freedmen socialism could have a greater welcome.
That's basically my assessment of Grant too. I think he ultimately had his heart in the right place, which is commendable coming from an era where even many White Republicans were alright with Black people being massacred because protecting them was too much trouble. It's just that he lacked the necessary strategy and vision for Reconstruction to truly succeed.
Thanks! More will be coming soon. I'm on Christmas break, and while I will of course first spend some time with my family I will have time to write and finish the next update. Hopefully it'll be ready before the New Year.
My own estimate is that a combination of war, emigration and policy will result in Black majorities in Mississippi, Georgia, Florida, and South Carolina, along with large Black minorities in most Southern states. And yes, the KKK is going to have a bad time!!
I think we may yet see some Black migration to cities, both Northern and Southern, merely because rural to city migration remains a phenomenon even in countries where the rural people aren't in such a bad state. In much lower numbers, of course, and the different situation will probably result in different outcomes. The son of prosperous farmers that received an education is much better positioned to achieve prosperity and build intergenerational wealth than the son of poor sharecroppers. At the same time, with lower numbers of Black immigrants, we may see more concentration of White immigrants in Northern cities, instead of them expanding across the Western plains.
White flight is to a certain point good for the TL's purposes, since those likely to leave are probably the most unreconstructed rebels who simply cannot accept the new status quo. But ultimately it's better for the US as a whole if people of different backgrounds get to meet and forge relationships.
Hey thank you for this wonderful vignette
I really liked it, it's a sweet little moment amidst the suffering of war. I will threadmark it and encourage anyone who wants to to similarly contribute if they wish! (Shoutout to @DTF955Baseballfan who already has!)It's explained in the update that follows that one (the latest I posted) that Grant is wooed by politicians from all ideologies and parties to be their candidate. Grant maintains his views as a cypher, even though in truth he's a firm Lincoln supporter with no desire to be a candidate. At the time the Radicals thought they could draft him as a rival to Lincoln.
Well, for starters there's land redistribution, which Lincoln only executed half-heartely OTL. He also supports qualified Black suffrage way earlier and more publicly, forcing Banks to install it in Louisiana while IOTL he only "suggested" it in a personal letter. Lincoln also is much more willing to employ the tactics of hard-war, allowing his commanders to hang guerrillas and war criminals. His Reconstruction Plan also envisions greater Federal oversight and needs at least 25% of the pre-war voter total, instead of 10%. And finally he supports equality under the law instead of just emancipation, endowing Reconstruction and the Union war aims with a deeper political meaning.
It depends, does this actually result in anything of the sort or does it build tension until it explodes. Likewise for the war as a whole, I do feel abit of anxt at the entire genre developing where “You know how you get a better country out of our most bloody event in history? By making it even more bloody”. I get the instinct behind it, but still, I don’t think it’s nessicarrily healthy, especially when people try to apply it to today.
IIRC the US constitution was written when Deism was in vogue. Since then, ITTL, you've had the rise and fall of the French Revolution and the example of its intense anticlericalism, and you've also had, in America, the rise of the use of religion as a propaganda tool both in favour of and in opposition to slavery, thus entering the political discourse. It would be interesting to think that an explicit inclusion of God in the constitution might be used as leverage in favour of say Catholic and Jewish rights movements, or alternatively in stirring the anti-Catholic sentiment further, with a drive around allegiance to Rome versus to the Constitution.
It is my pleasure and my honour. Think of it as a Christmas gift to the author of an excellent timeline, which helped to kindle in me a deeper interest in the US Civil War.Hey thank you for this wonderful vignette
I do like these side stories as opportunities to complement the more academic tone of the main chapters and remember that these events are simply the result of the actions of uncountable numbers of human beings. Individuals are more than just puppets in the play of history, they can be a young man who wants to find his mother and build a life for himself, or a soldier who finds ways to be kind even in the midst of the terrible things he's seen and had to do and is aware of how easily it can be his own life that is snuffed out today.
I guess there is some accelerationism baked in the TL because the whole premise is based on the idea that a bloodier and overall worse Civil War will eventually result in a better country, if only because bitterness against the Confederacy and its leaders often resulted in measures that benefited Black people, even if merely out of spite.
Yes, that was what I was thinking of. I think sadly that any inclusion of God would just tend to reinforce the power of WASPs.
It's a great Christmas gift, thank you.
I started to write the little stories for that exact purpose too. It's so easy to forget all the little people, the individuals. So I believe it's important to include these reminders between the updates that look at the big picture - which, after all, is made up of thousands of individual pictures.
Merry Christmas to everybody who celebrates Christmas, and Happy Holidays to those who don't. It's absolutely crazy to think that the TL has now lasted longer than the OTL Civil War. But it's been a greatly gratifying journey, full of learning thanks to all the wonderful people of this forum. To all those here, I wish you happiness and success, for you personally and for your loved ones. I hope you will accompany me the next year, as the TL draws to a close and we approach the second part and Reconstruction with it.
An observation on the TTL historiography; presumably a surviving Lincoln would mean that at some point he would be able to write his memoirs of his presidency. That in itself would be a huge change in the primary sources for the period of the civil war and Reconstruction, the guy right at the top being able to actually give his perspective. Part of the reason why there are so many goddamn books about Lincoln is because what he was thinking often could only at most be gleaned from what he said to other people, in circumstances where he often had to keep sweet different groups of people who dramatically disagree with each other.
Of course, there is legitimate reason why most presidential memoirs should be treated with skepticism, even one coming from 'Honest Abe', and we know the man to have decided against letting his full opinions be known if he thought it would just leave people feeling hurt and insulted (most famously his immense disappointment in Meade not catching Lee after Gettysburg) but a retired Lincoln who no longer has constituents to placate would be a quantum leap in direct sources on Lincoln and how he recollected the war and his changing opinions.
Also, someone of his emotional intelligence would know that with him being such a divisive figure and knowing his memoir would de facto double as a spiritual manifesto for a post-war America he could not spend much time shifting blame or morally revising himself, not to mention his vast body of existing speeches and writing that would be cross-referenced with his memoir.
Of course, there is legitimate reason why most presidential memoirs should be treated with skepticism, even one coming from 'Honest Abe', and we know the man to have decided against letting his full opinions be known if he thought it would just leave people feeling hurt and insulted (most famously his immense disappointment in Meade not catching Lee after Gettysburg) but a retired Lincoln who no longer has constituents to placate would be a quantum leap in direct sources on Lincoln and how he recollected the war and his changing opinions.
Also, someone of his emotional intelligence would know that with him being such a divisive figure and knowing his memoir would de facto double as a spiritual manifesto for a post-war America he could not spend much time shifting blame or morally revising himself, not to mention his vast body of existing speeches and writing that would be cross-referenced with his memoir.
I think it would be more tragic since Breckinridge and Lincoln were personal friends and Breckinridge was a closet abolitionist and subscribed to Fredrick Douglass' newspaper.
And if Grant still becomes President (and OTL he was smart enough to know that as the most famous and celebrated living American he just had to wait to be asked), then he too might still write his own memoirs. With a less troubled presidency, a more successful reconstruction, and if somehow he begins writing earlier before his cancer sets in, then it might stretch to a third volume to properly cover his political career. With both Lincoln and Grant, history would have a direct source from the Executive office across a full sixteen years of the country's most transformational period, and the number of memoirs by former American presidents worth reading would literally be doubled compared to OTL. Though I concede that the events leading up to Grant deciding to actually write his account of the war were so random and tragic that butterflies may mean he doesn't write them at all.