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Chapter 3
3.

“There are a lot of people who are very angry about Wade being on the ticket,” Chandler was pacing back and forth in front of Grant’s fireplace, “and not just Democrats either...” Grant rolled his cigar between his fingers and raised an eyebrow. Now that they were back in Galena, one week and five hundred miles removed from the convention, Chandler had grown unhappy once again with Wade and nearly every mention of him that he encountered.

“Yes, I’m aware of what Blair and his people have been saying. But the simple fact is that Benjamin Wade has been democratically selected as my running mate. If they’d rather deal with a second term of Andrew Johnson then they are welcome to.” Chandler paused, looking vaguely surprised by what Grant had said.

“They want your assurance that you’ll keep Wade on a very tight leash.” Grant nodded.

“And they have it. I’m not going to let the Vice President walk all over me, but neither am I going to let the conservative Republicans try and stifle democracy because somebody they don’t like ended up winning.” Grant hoped that he was establishing a solid middle ground that he could inhabit, equally far away from the radicals and the conservatives. Both factions seemed to be trying to lay claim over him ever since Wade’s victory, and both were absolutely terrified of what could happen if Grant decided to pick a side that wasn’t theirs.

“Just be careful General,” Chandler said, more than a little ominously, “sometimes taking the middle road doesn’t work.” Grant nodded.

“Sometimes...” He paused, “but I don’t think that this is one of those times.” Chandler’s frown didn’t ease.

“It sounds to me like you’re shifting your troubles off until after the election...” Grant gave Chandler an irritated look.

“I appreciate your concerns William,” he said, hoping that Chandler would get the hint that this subject was no longer up for discussion, “now tell me...what’s happening with Johnson?” Chandler was silent for a long time and for a few moments Grant wondered if the man was going to start arguing with him, but instead he sighed.

“The mainstream Democrats look like they’re trying to disavow him to the best of their ability...and I don’t blame them at all. They’re looking for a fresher, probably more ideologically extreme candidate to oppose you.” Grant nodded.

“And who will that be?” He knew perfectly well who stood to claim the Democratic nomination, but making sure that Chandler was on top of his game was just as important as learning the newest campaign information was.

“George Pendleton is more or less openly running to oppose Johnson.” That was news to Grant and he straightened up in his chair.

“I thought that he was remaining aloof.” Chandler nodded.

“So did I. But Wade being confirmed as your running mate spooked him and the other old Anti-War Democrats. They’re intent on making sure that the right kind of Democrat gets nominated in July.” Grant nodded, staring into the fire. For a moment he wasn’t sure what to think of this news, but then he smiled.

“So the extremists are rallying.” For a long moment there was no response other than the crackle of the flames.

“It appears to be that way...” Chandler paused, “and I know what you’re thinking General...don’t try and antagonize the Democrats, they might be unpalatable to the average American, but if they win...” Chandler actually shuddered at the thought and turned sharply to stare at the flames, shaking his head.

“I want to reform the old antebellum south and demolish those that defend it,” Grant said mildly, “Wade and I can agree on that much, even if our methods do...differ. But the best method for beginning that process would be a crushing electoral defeat for the Democrats, especially if they’re as riled up about Wade as I think they are.” Chandler didn’t respond, only stared moodily into the fire. Finally, after a long time, he spoke.

“Why must you insist on making my job this much harder?” He lamented, but underneath his unhappiness Grant could tell that the mind of his campaign manager was working steadily away, grinding the problems and challenges that lay before it into so much fine powder.

June began inauspiciously that year, clouded by thunderstorms and gales that stripped shingles from the roof and confined Grant to his home for most of the time. He went riding sometimes, bundled up in a waterproofed greatcoat, his attention only partially on the road before him. He mulled over the problems that faced him, disconcerted by how few and far between the solutions seemed to be.

A telegraph station was set up in a front room that Grant had been using to store unused items and he and Fred spent a busy day ferrying armloads of boxes and other social detritus up to the attic while measurements were made by a small group of electrical engineers.

Grant, who viewed telegraph and other forms of long distance communications quite favorably, was delighted by the project and watched every step of the process intently, chatting with the engineers and observing as they wired a series of telegraph sets into place. Now, they told him, every last bit of breaking news from the campaign trail could be at his fingertips within moments.

Julia took a slightly dimmer view towards the telegraphs, especially when the engineers cheerfully drilled a number of holes in the walls to pass wires through. She worried about the possibility of fire enough that eventually it was decided that a bucket of sand would be kept in the corner, in order to douse any electrical fires that should arise.

Grant had taken the time to learn how to use a telegraph after his return to civilian life, and experimentally sent a message off to Chandler’s office, receiving a prompt reply in the form of a congratulations. Of the two machines in Grant’s home, one connected to Chandler and the main campaign office, the other to Wade. This had apparently been suggested by the Ohioan, and Grant didn’t protest, it made sense for them to stay in touch.

Caroline and I shall come to Galena for Independence Day [STOP]. Wade wrote to Grant a few days after the telegraph network had been set up, with the added bonus of seeing who the Democrats decide to use as an avatar of ruination [STOP]. Grant smiled at the hyperbole. He didn’t harbor much animosity towards the Democrats, they were simply doing what they thought was best for the nation, but that didn’t mean that he wouldn’t stamp them into the dust when they eventually tried to tear him down.

Our doors are open [STOP]. Grant replied, brow furrowed with concentration as he focused on the Morse code key he had tacked up to the wall above each machine. Any insight as to this specter of devastation? [STOP]. Grant had time to read a significant portion of the Iliad before Wade responded, sipping away at a glass of lemonade as he did so. Homer had catalogued perhaps half of the Akhaian invasion fleet before the telegraph machine began to click and tap rapidly away.

Whoever spits the most fire regarding my presence on the ticket will likely take the nomination [STOP]. Grant finished his lemonade and went to the kitchen for another glass.

Pendleton then [STOP]. Wade offered no response to this and Grant supposed that he had been sucked back into his senatorial duties. From what he heard the Democrats in the chamber, what precious few were left anyways, had made it their mission to heckle him ceaselessly, hoping to provoke some sort of campaign ending gaffe from him.

Wade had remained cool and calm though, spitting fire only when necessary, and remaining free from controversy. That suited Grant just fine. He turned back to the Iliad.

Independence Day was only a few weeks away, he supposed that he should tell Julia that they were expecting guests, but that could wait for the moment. He looked back to the Iliad. When he had been in West Point he had studied Latin and Greek but both of the ancient languages had slipped his mind completely since then, leaving only a ghostly trace of alphas, betas, gammas and translation rules that he hadn’t been particularly fond of.

Now his copy of the classical work was strictly in English, which was fine with him.

Finishing up Homer’s list of the forces besieging Troy, Grant wondered what Wade’s visit would be like, then supposed that he would simply have to wait and see.
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