alternatehistory.com

Chapter 4
4.

That year Grant headed the veteran’s portion of Galena’s Independence Day parades. He had lost weight since the war, the result of more exercise and cleaner eating, and while his uniform hung ever so slightly off of his frame, he still cut a dashing figure. The veteran’s contingent made up the majority of the parade, and Grant had several men who he knew personally marching behind him as he led the little band down Galena’s streets.

Most of the men in the parade had served during the Civil War and were still fresh faced and young, but there were older men present who remembered fighting everyone from the Mexicans to the Cherokees to the British. Grant knew most of them by name, and supposed that more than a few would be dropping in and out of his house over the course of the evening, once the fireworks had been lit off.

Ben and Caroline Wade had arrived early and been quartered in the guest bedroom, which Grant had up until then been using to store old military detritus that had piled up from his various posts and duties around the country. He and Fred had once again found themselves hauling armloads of items up to the attic, burdened down with sabers, maps, papers and daguerrotype plates.

The Wades hadn’t been much in the mood for talk that previous evening and had retired early, but now they seemed livelier and Grant could see Ben and Caroline chatting animatedly with Julia, who waved as she noticed his gaze. She was wearing a blue patterned dress spangled with little silver stars, and the effect that it gave off of was that of the sky as it slowly darkened into night.

A smile crept onto Grant’s face as he reflected on how lucky he was to have such a wonderful family. All too often his thoughts had been consumed by bad things, memories of the war, concerns of personal failure, or even the challenges of the campaign, but now...now he felt perfectly happy, ready to enjoy the day.

When the parade ended with a salute of rifle fire that shrouded the street and cheering spectators in a skein of white smoke, Grant dismounted from his horse and fed it a sugar cube, shaking hands with the other organizers and arranging to meet for whiskey and cigars at a later date.

“Good show General,” a voice called enthusiastically and Grant turned to see his running mate break free from the crowd, looking spry and well rested, “I enjoyed that.” Grant smiled and took off one riding glove, shaking Wade’s hand.

“Glad to hear that.” He looked around to the other parade items, the floats were being busily disassembled, the veterans who weren’t aiding in that task milling and conversing amongst themselves. “Shall we head back home for lunch?” He asked, and Wade nodded.

“This is a lovely horse,” Caroline said, “what is its name?” Grant smiled.

“Jeff Davis.” That made Wade laugh hard enough that his face went red. He nodded approvingly.

“An appropriate name,” he chuckled, then checked his pocket watch, “the Democrats will have started their balloting about now,” he noted, “your telegraph machines are probably clattering away.” Grant nodded, wondering what type of news they were bearing back to him, having been carried hundreds of miles over metal wires.

“Probably. But that’s not very important right now, from what I’ve heard the Democrats may be tied up for several days before they make a decision regarding who they throw into the ring.” They began their walk back up the main street, Grant walking his horse as they joined a stream of others, all heading back to their daily lives in the aftermath of the parade.

“You’re probably right,” Wade said, “we’ll have to see.” Grant had nothing to say in response to that, and the rest of the way home both men were more or less silent.

While Grant stabled his horse and made sure that he was fed and watered, Julia and Caroline readied a picnic basket, and the two families laid out a blanket in the back pasture. Grant was late in joining them, having had to change from his uniform, but accepted a roast beef sandwich and looked up at the sky, which was slightly overcast.

“The fireworks are going to reflect off of the clouds.” Fred said, and Junior nodded distractedly between bites of his food.

“I hope it doesn’t rain,” said Nellie, “like it did last year.” Grant didn’t think that it would and assured Nellie as much. The clouds looked light and wispy, not nearly substantial enough to disrupt that evening’s fireworks display.

“Oh,” Julia said, shading her eyes from the sun as she squinted towards the house, “there’s Rory.” Rory was one of Chandler’s lieutenants, a young man with an impeccably groomed set of muttonchops, and he was advancing towards the little group at a fast walk, something held in his left hand.

That something turned out to be a neatly folded sheet of paper, which Rory handed to Grant with a little flourish.

“The results of the first ballot at the Democratic convention sir.” He said, and Grant nodded, accepting the paper.

“Thank you.” He unfolded the paper, scanned the results and raised an eyebrow. “Johnson’s imploding. You’re right, he isn’t going to get the nomination.” Wade accepted the paper from Grant.

“Sixty four delegates,” he mused, “shows what being a traitor gets you.” There was a tone of almost vengeful satisfaction in his voice and he set the paper down in the center of the blanket for everyone to see.

1868 Democratic Convention: 1st Ballot

Rep. George Pendleton - 100

President Andrew Johnson - 64

Major General Winfield Hancock - 40

Former Lt. Governor Sanford Church - 34

Businessman Asa Packer - 26

Governor James English - 13

Former Governor Joel Parker - 13

Senator James Doolittle - 13

Senator Reverdy Johnson - 7

Major General Francis Blair Jr. - 6

Senator Thomas Hendricks - 1

“This isn’t going to end any time soon,” Fred said, “they aren’t going to stop fighting until they’re all completely spent.” Wade took a cookie from the picnic basket and chewed thoughtfully.

“I heard from someone that McClernand is at the convention,” that made Grant look up sharply from the paper, “I guess he’s remaining aloof since we’re not seeing him on the ballot.” Grant nodded slowly. McClernand...now that was a name he hadn’t expected to pop up, and definitely hadn’t wanted to either.

“Lots of military men suddenly popping up in the Democratic camp.” He said.

“Of course,” Wade said, finishing the cookie and going for a second one, “they want to prove that they fought the war too, even if we all know that they would have happily waved goodbye to the south had it been up to them...” Grant shrugged.

“Sure,” but even as he looked at the list of candidates he felt something nagging at him, “but it almost looks like we’ve dragged them more to the center than anything...my earlier concerns about them nominating an extremist may not come to pass.” That gave Wade pause and he examined the list again.

“Your definition of center is very different from mine,” he said with a smile, “but I understand what you mean. All the same though, the moderates are far more splintered than the lunatics, which isn’t good at all.” Grant still held the opinion that an extremist Democratic ticket would lead to a landslide come November, but didn’t say that, he knew that even the thought of Peace Democrats and the like made Wade twitchy.

“Candidates will start dropping out soon...probably starting with the President.” Wade made a mock salute.

“And good riddance to him.” Even as he said that, Rory came running back out, another piece of paper fluttering in his hand.

“Second ballot just happened, Pendleton is still leading.” Grant thanked him, gave him a cookie and then looked at the paper. Not much had changed, Johnson had lost a few delegates, Hancock, Pendleton and Blair being the beneficiaries. In addition someone had cast a solitary ballot for George McClellan, which made Grant wince.

“The dominoes are falling,” Wade said, “pretty soon people will start getting pushed out, and then the real fighting will start.” Fred nodded.

“How many ballots do you think it’ll take?” Grant checked his pocket watch.

“They probably have time for nine or ten today...after that it’s anyone’s guess.” For a long time after that there was no political conversation, the subject instead turning to the fireworks, how life was and even a tentative query or two surrounding the White House.

“I haven’t spent much time there ever since Johnson and his people infested it,” Wade said, “but from what I remember Mrs. Lincoln did make the place very livable.” From what Grant had heard concerning Mary Todd Lincoln’s rivalry with the radicals, and vice versa, this was high praise coming from Wade.

“I suppose Julia will have at least four years to fix anything that Johnson may have done to it.” Grant said, glancing over to where Julia was beginning to pack up the decimated contents of the picnic basket.

“You have to be more optimistic than that,” Wade chided gently, “the American people have the good sense to give you the traditional two terms, at least.” Grant wasn’t sure he liked the way Wade said that, even if it was a compliment.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves Ben. We have yet to win this election, let alone one four and a half years down the road. Let’s relax for now and see who the Democrats pick. After that we can begin to contemplate what the future may hold.” Wade seemed satisfied with that and they headed back to the house, picnic concluded.
Top