A Dishonorable Victory: A Short ACW Timeline

Japhy

Banned
Part I: The Last Hurrah

September 8th, 1862
Troy, New York


There had been a time, not all that long ago that the citizens of Troy, New York talked about making a real play to move the State Capital the dozen miles up the Hudson to the real engine of the North Country. It was Troy that had the first non-military Engineering School in the nation, had the better rail lines, more factories, beautiful neighborhoods and --- something that was tempting to just about any legislator who had ever had to climb Albany’s State Street --- a gentler hillside to have been built on. Not to mention what was generally considered to be better restaurants, taverns, and bordellos. Like their cousins down the road though, they too lacked any private clubs, but that was no change after all. Albany had been chosen by the leader of the revolution, yes, but only out of desperation and military necessity.


And so for years the idea had been whispered, and the idea had seen petitions and the idea had been talked over drinks and steaks and in the company of loose women. In the 1840s and the first half of the 1850s it had seemed like an idea to seize, and in anticipation property values in Troy had creeped up, as everyone prepared for the inevitable, and for the state government to honor the growing, young, industrial dynamo of a city.


But Troy was not that powerhouse anymore. The economic crash in Fifty-Seven had been devastating, with several thousand men in the small city thrown out of work. Her political clout had faded with the fading of her prefered political party, the Whigs. In Albany a design committee began work to find a plan for a new building to be built across the street at the site of the former City Hall, so that the State Capital could be moved from the Old City Hall building, and in its place when the move was completed, a newer City Hall could rise. Albany’s colleges, in Law, Pharmacy, and in Teaching --- but not Engineering were outpacing Troy’s.


And then in the spring had come the fire. The heart of Troy, from the thousand foot long Rensselaer and Saratoga Railroad Covered Bridge, where the inferno had begun, across seventy-five acres had been ripped out by the conflagration. Dozens dead, thousands homeless, and millions of dollars of property lost, the city seemed finished.


As such, it was the perfect place to host the Constitutional Unionist Convention for the upcoming State Election. Troy, always a loyal Whig city, was matching the fortunes of her old party.


Even with all the losses in hotel and inn space, it was a small affair, made up mostly of diehards who had missed the trends in the past few years, and old men looking for a graceful way to enter their political oblivion.There was no trouble for burnt out Troy to host its guests, who after all we're only going to be present for a day or so before leaving for Albany, and then points South and West.


Joel T. Headley found the whole affair to be equal parts depressing and stressful. It had been impossible in the past few nights to go out without running into everyone else who was here for the Convention, all sorts of former Congressmen, former state legislators or state office holders like he, as a former Secretary of State, was. There were also plenty of folks who had never served in government, newspaper editors, factory owners, a few cranks who had made a living over the years passing the hat while giving Pro-Whig Speeches over the years. They were all so tired, and all so awkward with each other.


That was understandable though, none of them after all could make much of a case of being Whigs anymore. Some had supported one or the other of the two Democratic factions in the state, Hunkers and Barnburners in recent years, other had a foot in the door of the black Republicans, ready to join the list of traitors. Some like Headley himself had embraced the angry mobs and tried to save the party running as ‘Americans’, knowing nothing and tossing out comments about disgusting Irish and disloyal Germans like red meat to wild animals. In Sixty they’d scattered, there’d been no Whig or American or Constitutional Union tickets in statewide races, just a few legislators, congressional candidates, and splitting. They hadn’t even had a ballot. They’d all flocked to other factions and tried desperately to get Bell in, when that had failed they’d prayed for Crittenden, all the while making deals with whatever party might work with them for the moment.


And now they had to pretend they all hadn’t stabbed each other in the back, time and again, that they were still the heirs to Henry Clay and… well, maybe DeWitt Clinton if one squinted hard enough, and most importantly that somehow this mattered.


It was damnably hard to manage this, as hard as it had been to be a minister half a lifetime ago for Headley, but he tried to keep a brave face on it, and reminded himself again it would all be over tomorrow.


If he was lucky in fact, it might be over after this meeting.


Because the great old man of the whole convention had called on him to stop by. Washington Hunt, the young former Governor had called a private meeting, and for some reason had asked Headley to attend. The quietly spoken word, generally offered with sounds of reluctant approval was that Hunt and the rest of the party leadership were aiming to get the whole convention to nominate the Democratic ticket straight, which would be a bit of a challenge, what with the Democrats not meeting until the day after the vote here, and with the full chance the party would split again.


Regardless, an invitation from his former governor and the closest thing left to a party leader was not something that Headley would turn down, and so he walked to the decently sized house that he had been requested at, and attempted as much as he could to keep his nervous ticks under control. He hadn’t seen Hunt in years, since the American Party National Convention in ‘56 when Hunt had been chairmen and Headley a New York delegate.


For a moment he had a flash of memory thinking back to that disappointing race, and the man they had run.


It was a strange assortment of men in the rented parlor when Headley was the last to arrive. Governor Hunt was joined by his only remaining fellow still in the party, the older but more recent Myron Clark, the former Congressmen and Comptroller Lorenzo Burrows, Stephen B. Cushing, the former state Attorney General and law partner of none other than Tammany Congressmen and now by some feat, General Dan Sickles, and then the most surprising man of them all, the bearded, double-chinned millionaire and traitor of the American Party, George Law, now occasional Republican financier.


The Butler had a Cigar in Headley’s hand, opened and lit before that had actually quite sunk in. He was barely paying attention as the man asked him what he’d have to drink, it wasn’t an issue as Hunt, smiling answered for him “Mr. Hadley will have a sparkling water, Charles. Same as Governor Clark. We don’t want to force anything on our temperent friends.” And then to Headley, the one-time governor directed him to a floral stitch couch. The man sat there, and took a slow drag of the cigar.


“I find myself in quite the conclave,” he offered, sounding out the audience, “I hope you didn’t need me to make quorum.” They all offered polite, slightly amused smiles. Even Law, whom Headley eyed nervously.


“Factionally, yes we do.” Hunt responded. “And while I wish we had a few more men present for this, it will have to do as it is now.” He walked over to the brick fireplace in the room and placed his arm on the mantle, holding his whiskey in that arm and gesturing about with the other, firmly gripping his cigar between his two forefingers.


“Gentlemen, I’ve asked you all here because our tired, old political party has one chance, just one, to save itself from oblivion. I trust you have all had an ear to the ground these past few weeks. You know the state of things.”


All nodded, though Headley wondered just how much more these men knew than himself.


“If we don’t secure a ticket on the first ballot the thing is finished. We will be dead. There will be no more Whigs or Constitutional Unionists or Know-Nothings---” Headley cringed slightly at the slur of a nickname --- “or any sort of party. We will face the fact that the legacy of our party, of Webster and Clay and three Presidents will be tossed to the wayside. The machines are all gone. We are the only bosses left. And without intent to offend, I think we can all agree that we are not nearly as strong as the bosses of old.”


The former Governor began pacing the room now as he spoke, breaking only to puff on the cigar. “The convention is going to be fragmented. We don’t have the traditional means to keep it in line, and that is what our enemies are counting on.” With a flare for the dramatic Hunt paused for just a moment to look at the assembled collection before continuing. “The black Republicans gentlemen are at the gates. Here in the city. Waiting for that moment to pounce, just as they are in Albany. They have their pet ‘War Democrats’ lined up and mounted there, ready to break the opposition and repeat last years farce of the ‘People’s Ticket’, but they hope to take it outright. And here, though they haven’t come out as such we’re dealing with ‘War Whigs’,” he spat out the term as he coined it, ash from his cigar shaking onto the floor as the former governor trembled with anger. “ready to sell us out all the same.”


Headley, looking at the Governor, didn’t quite catch who it was who offered “I’ll be damned if I join those abolitionists.” He and the rest, even Law, who had done just that in 1856 when he’d lost the nomination offered agreement. They all--- at least besides Law--- agreed with that, otherwise they’d have made the ‘easy’ choice in the past several years.


“Exactly.” Said Hunt, offering a sardonic grin, as he saw that his audience had catched on. “We’ll all be damned on the ash heap of history if we fail to secure the convention. If we fail, we will harm the men who think like us in the Democrats, perhaps even cripple them, cause an outright stampede to back Morgan, or Raymond or Weed or God help up, even Greeley. The Democrats might survive that, but we won't. And neither will the country.” He didn’t have to explain why the party machinery of the Democrats going over would be a disaster. Everyone in the room understood immediately the power of War ticket labeled ‘Democrat’ over even a ‘Unionist’ one as had happened the year before.


Burrows spoke up at this point, while remaining seated on the sofa. “I’ve spoken to friends who are in Albany right now, as I’m sure all of you have. They feel a showing by the Constitutional Unionists towards a united Peace Ticket would be decisive in tipping the balance. In exchange for that, they’d be willing to toss us a good deal of patronage, Enough to keep things going, allow the party to stay alive, help us get ready for after the next Presidential Election when all this Lincolnite madness comes to an end.” --- Or to let us into their party with our dignity intact He didn’t say allowed, though Headley was sure that was part of the offer, being as he’d heard similar offers himself.


“I’ve heard the same.” Offered Hunt. “The future of our Party is going to be decided right now gentlemen. I assume you all agree that its better to join with the Jacksonians than the Abolitionists?” Nods all around, though with all eyes glancing over to Law.


“So we endorse Seymour.” Stated Burroughs as the sense of consensus spread across the room.


It was obvious, Horatio Seymour, the former Governor had made a name for himself in the past two years, walking a fine line between the Peace and War factions, opposition to Confederate Independence but also a strict and powerful call against the excesses of the Lincoln Regime. It had been he in Utica who had coined the phrase that spread across all opposition in the Republic ‘The Union as it was, the Constitution as it is.” He was on paper, the only man in the Democrats who would be able to keep at least most of the war faction contentedly in the tent, allowing for victory for Peace and Law.


Again, more nodding across the room. This was the big decision, and between all of them, they’d probably be able to get him though tomorrow, the bridge he created between Democratic Factions being an easy crossing for the divides in their own party. Headley was about to ask about if they would try to secure for themselves the Clerkship of the Court of appeals when a gruff voice spoke for the first time since he’d come in the room.


It was a deep voice, and with finality it offered a monosyllabic refusal. And yet again, all eyes turned to George Law. The corpulent man moved himself forward in the overstuffed chair, and repeated himself. “No, no, no. Seymour won’t do.”


Finally where he wanted to be in his chair, the one time American Party candidate and closest thing the Constitutional Unionist convention had to an open ‘War Whig’ leader continued. “Seymour will offend the party base. They hated him as Governor and the War faction will hate him doubly. And even more importantly, we have the Democrats over the barrel right now. They need us gentlemen, to stop their party from fracturing. And we can use them to save this organ from oblivion. I say we use it.” He leaned to one side as he reached into his jacket and from its pocket pulled out a rather crumpled looking packet, which he waved around before with determination he smacked it onto the small table in the center of the room, to which he was closest.


“We are facing an outright abolitionist administration in Washington. We are facing a party that knows only how to govern by dictatorship. This is not just about the governor’s mansion. This is about the Constitution itself. We’re on the ropes as a party. But there’s another man who has walked that line Seymour has, and better yet he’s one of ours. He’s supported this war when it was about maintaining the law, that will appeal to our Jacobins, and now, he’s come out swinging about this ‘Emancipation Proclamation’ that Lincoln released before Thoroughfare Gap was even finished. He’s the only chance we have to keep our own party united.”


Headley stood up and walked over to the table, and picked up the pamphlet unfolding it. He’d been half-sure that he knew who Law was talking about, as much as he couldn’t believe it. Governor Hunt in a few quick steps was looking over Headley’s shoulder at the pamphlet as well, and so quiet that only Headley could here muttered a curse in surprise.


When both men looked back at the Industrialist he looked pained, but was nodding. “If we want a Peace man, and we want the Constitutional Unionists to matter beyond tomorrow. And if we want a man who can actually stand up the tyrant in Washington he’s the only chance we have.”


“Will the Democrats accept him?” Asked Headley to Hunt and Law, the other men in the room looking around in confusion no longer existed in the conversation.


“They have to, unless they want this to break down into a four way election.” Said Hunt, his eyes darting across the speech in the pamphlet, taking it all in, and Headley imagined, trying to cope with the fact that it would preclude himself from securing the nomination to any major posts in State Government.


“So that settles it then, offered Law, slapping his hands on his knees. We’re going to nominate a real son of a bitch.”


It was as if the lamps in the room all caught the flame and lit at once. Everyone must have suspected, but like Headley could barely believe that it was George Law proposing it.


“I’ve got a code I can use to send a message to Albany, let Tweed and the rest of the right people know.” Offered Hunt, now grinning, with even more malevolence than before. “Hell, we’ll give them the rest of the ticket outright. But they're going to have to meet us part way, tomorrow we’re nominating President Millard Fillmore for Governor.
”​
*********************
Thanks for Reading. As always, thoughts, comments and criticisms are appreciated and sought.
 
Millard Fillmore, running for Governor of New York, spurred on by George "How Dare You Compare Me To Some Scotch-German Named Drumpf" Law? Interesting indeed!
 

Japhy

Banned
Thanks guys, early interest is always appreciated.

Pressing Fillmore into a run wouldn't actually be that hard, after his defeat in 1856 he seems to be operating on the periphery of a lot of state and Federal political affairs, Constitutional Union Conventions federally in 1860 and in this one in 1862, plus with the Democratic National Convention in 1864, after he'd turned on Lincoln over Emancipation which I sped up here. IOTL he was at this moment still a "War Whig", but what a difference two weeks can make.

With him in office at the top of an Anti-Administration ticket there will be a wonderful chance to explore what happens when Copperheads take a government, something they failed to entirely do anywhere in the war, with the exception of New York, where Seymour was a spineless loser who didn't have the means or spine to act against Lincoln. With this, the stage is now set for that kind of drama and one can look at what would have happened to Lincoln if he had to deal with the sort of dissenting state Governments Jeff Davis did in North Carolina and Georgia most prominently.

Hope that sort of thing interests folks as much as it interests me.
 
Very interesting concept, Japhy! Division among the Northern states is underdone (as I am exploring in my own TL).

I am curious to see what you do with it.
 

Japhy

Banned
Part II: Unconditional Surrender

September 9th, 1862
Albany, New York


Albany was packed to the point of combustion. Lincolnites and Copperheads, Knickerbocker aristocracy and jumped up Irish and German refugees, Reformers and Ward healers all jockeyed first and foremost for sleeping space and a place to drink. After that they fought for what to drink and how many oysters. And who would pay the bill. And then, perhaps, if they could still stand, the politics of the moment.


It was a sight rarely seen in off-year party conclaves, but then nearly every man present viewed it to be as important, if not more so than the similar madness of the quadannual national meetings. After all, this was the meeting of the Empire State’s Democracy. And the rest of the nation could pretend otherwise, but as New York went, so went the Union.


And while this mass --- assembled from the grand old organs of Gotham and the booming cities of the Great Lakes of Buffalo and Rochester joined with the old clans of the Hudson and the beleaguered parties of Brooklyn and Plattsburgh --- talking shop and trading horses, reading pamphlets and getting into bloody brawls over apostasy and boredom, the actual decisions of the party were being made, as all party decisions were always made, away from it all.


The bosses were meeting. In any other state this would have in its own way, been more of the same that was happening downtown, where the leader of the party in Podunk haggled his support with the Boss of Timbucktoo and the Hicksville’s local patron. But just as New York had led the colonies in partisanship when it had aligned itself between the Livingston and Morris Clans, and Alexander Hamilton, Aaron Burr and Citizen Genet had revolutionized the young Republic by birthing political clubs, New York had taken the position at the national bow seat once more. Because in one dining room uptown the bosses that mattered met, and all of their eyes turned to their own master. Because New York alone had a boss of bosses.


New York had a Regent.


The Albany Regency had become the machine in the state under Martin Van Buren, who had not only united the Democratic Wards of the cities of the upper hudson but had used them to dictate terms to the whole state. Albany, Troy, Schenectady, Binghamton, Poughkeepsie, Syracuse, Utica, Rochester, Buffalo and Niagara had all fallen into line or been colonies. Banks and the New York Central Railroad had been brought in, and under the ageis of the regency had spread out, entrenched, and subsumed. And now all men, even the host of this event, Erastus Corning, Boss of Albany and thus, at least on paper the leader of the old Regency machine had to follow orders.


And the orders for the Congressmen and former Mayor had been to host the other guests in the parlor, and with a smile and just a tinge of distaste for the jumped up Irish and Germans, and his moderate pro-war proclivities, and he had done so without complaint. The voice of Augustus Belmont, the National Party Chairmen who was trying to export this system to the rest of the nation echoed back into the dining room with his traces of actual German and false French accents and the great uproar of his joking.


For just a moment Fernando Wood felt the corners of his lips twinge towards a smile as the Rothchild’s personal American Representative and New York ally of Stephan A. Douglas continued on with his lude story that could only be told by well bred men in good company. But as he looked back at the Regent he returned to his natural state of calculating calm.


It wouldn’t do to laugh at one’s own political funeral.


He didn’t turn his head as he heard the mass of Tweed lit himself another cigar, he knew Tweed was looking at him, he knew he was being measured. And he knew what that measurement was. Wood was defeated, bested, had been found wanting, and worse, had been found to be disloyal. Tweed wasn’t here to mourn. He was here to make sure the corpse was desecrated.


For a long while none of them spoke. Tweed stared at Wood with his dark beady, deep cut eyes. Wood in turn with all the aristocratic bearing he had developed over a lifetime, refused to turn head or eye in that direction, keeping himself ramrod straight, facing the man with whom he had been in conflict with for nearly a decade, his other rival, the Regent.


Dean Richmond was far fatter than Tweed was, and unlike the former Fire Fighter, there was little in the way of meat under the lard. The corpulent mass at the head of the table laughed at the joke from down the hallway with a deep hearty guffaw, before pulling out one of his own cigars and expertly snipping off the ends before lighting. He allowed himself another laugh, shaking his head before smoking, and eyeing the two men he had ‘asked’ to remain before getting down to brass tacks.


“Eighteeen-Sixty should have been a capital year, Gentlemen,” said the Railroad Vice President in a dull, flat voice found in the western reaches of Upstate New York. “But our divisions gave extra life to those against us. Breckinridge and Douglas and even Bell. Even ‘Fusion’ divided us..” He remained seated, and continued to stare directly at Wood, the man who had tried to add fuel to the fire in Charleston in an attempt to make himself a power broker for the decisive New York delegation, all in the name of pulling a fast march on the other two.


“There were Democrats who went so far as to Stand with Lincoln, gentlemen. Both then and last year. This disloyalty and this dissent have broken our state. We are at the end of the rope. I ask you, what are we supposed to do?”


Wood continued to stare, watching the rolls of fat on the older man’s neck shift about as he turned towards the two bosses of old New York.


Tweed, in the corner of Wood’s vision shifted without discomfort in his seat for a moment before he spoke up. “We deliver the votes Mister Richmond.”


“And how,” Richmond asked in slow, deliberate terms, “are you proposing we do that? Because the Organizations on Manhattan have been failing at that lately.”


Wood let the stern tone, the sort one reserved for wayward children pass before he spoke up. “Unity Mr. Richmond. The state of the party in Manhattan has allowed things to fall apart, nothing else has weakened us more.” Wood was weighing his options, discussing in his own mind the probabilities and variables of this conversation, working as he always had since the days of the California trade to see at once, all the possible angles. He was born for this, his mind well crafted by a lifetime to process it. Other men with such minds would play the Newton, or a Philidor, but Wood had found his craft in politics, a game of men.


And as such he was more than prepared for the eventualities of what happened next as Richmond’s eyes narrowed to be nearly as buried under his brow as Tweed’s naturally were. “Now thats a funny thing for a man like you to toss out there Wood. Being as you’re the cause.”


For the first moment, Wood allowed himself to drop the iron facade, a grin began to appear across his face, and for the first time, he turned to look at Tweed, who returned the gaze with the ease and carelessness of the cat watching the trap spring. That didn’t bother Wood, who simply offered a curt nod before turning back to Richmond, the tougher opponent.


“I have to assume Wood, that this is all about getting yourself back in as Sachem? That would be the price to put an end to this Mozart Hall business? To restore Unity?”


“I think its a fair bargain, We at Mozart have been able to bring in good numbers, and its not as if Connolly is any more than a seat warmer for the hopes you gentlemen have that a miracle will somehow end Fowler’s vacation. Anyway, I still have so many of the toughs with me. You need them, to keep things in line. And you know no one manages the multiples better than me.” He offered with a casual flair and a brush of his hand. In the game in his mind he had just moved a bishop forward.


“John Morrissey doesn’t work for you anymore Wood.” Said Tweed, moving forward a Knight with perhaps too much force.


Wood countered, moving a pawn up to block. “You can’t bring on the reformists I can. Not in the districts that they count in, not without them looking tarnished.”


“That Brain of yours has gotten Soft, Wood.” Tweed replied, moving a rook forward. Though, it occurred to Wood that was unfair, Tweed wasn’t a chess player at all, the man was a Boxer, a Swordfighter, a Beserker. He may not put Wood into a checking position, but he would toss the board over if it meant winning. As he shifted strategies, the Tammany man continued. “John Kelly is a natural for multiples work. If you give in and won’t do the part, we wont lose anything. And if you don’t give it at all he’ll make sure your finished.”


And while Tweed wasn’t a man for this kind of game Richmond was, and as if there were two games going on at once, he chose this moment to move forward his queens, against both of the New York County men. “I am not interested in allowing either of you to destroy the Democratic Party. I am telling you gentlemen, no more splits. And if either of you dare to not resolve this, right now, tonight,” He reached into his pocket and removed a telegram sheet. “There will be a new Boss in New York City tomorrow, backed by myself, Belmont, and Connolly. He’ll finish off the two of you and I guarantee will secure all of your voters.”


“And who the hell is that?” Asked Tweed bluntly.


Wood, relieved of having to ask was already going through the scrolls in his mind, narrowing down a list, and as Richmond worked for the dramatic as he took another puff of his Cigar, he was sure he’d just realized the opening, and timing it just right spoke at the same time as Richmond. He was already working out how the offensive pick would get Tweed in a position to work with him, and bring him back, inside the party, ready for another Run at City Hall, or perhaps the Governor’s Mansion in ‘64.


But as he turned to face Tweed and began to say aloud “Daniel E. Sickles” he found his voice wasn’t matching Richmond’s.


He could recognize the name, but for a moment it took a while to process. Sickles, currently in the field with the Army of the Potomac was just the man to appease the reformers, who would be blinded by his war credentials and as a loyal Tammany man would appeal to the rank and file. He was popular at the bars and popular in the private clubs, the Irish toughs loved that he could tell a good story and had literally gotten away with murder. And best of all his terrible relations with Tweed and Wood would make him unacceptable to either.


But Richmond hadn’t said Sickles. He wasn’t looking to fire a shot across the two New Yorker’s bow. He was moving to detonate a field of electric torpedos around them, this wasn’t a warning this was a threat to destroy everything, least of all, any chance either man would ever have to profit or dictate to New York’s Democracy ever again.


Wood lost his composure for one brief moment and snapped his neck back to stare at Richmond. And with his eyes wide he could see the grin spread across the man’s face. And taking it all in, the Regent repeated himself. “James. Gordon. Bennett.”


There was no way to keep the calm in his voice as he spoke. “Bennett’s insane. We’ll lose every race in the city. Across the whole state!” He’d thought he’d been moving in for the kill and missed that that his king was trapped between half a dozen pieces. His mind raced for new options. There had to be someway out of this. There wouldn’t even be a consolation prize if Bennett got the job, because there’d be no way Wood could possibly win even an exile.


“Oh I know Mr. Bennett and his paper have a bit of a problem telling up from down or if the Sun has gone out or not.” Offered Richmond slowly. “But he’s easy enough to work with. Yes I’ll have a rough few years to go on further, but neither of you will be there to see it. And we’ll manage. So what do you think.”


“I think the Party in the City will not, at large, accept the return of Wood.” Said Tweed, still somehow in spite of the madness calm.”


“I think you’re quite right.” Said Richmond. “The party won't take you back Fernando, not as its leader. Not after all your little conversations with Lincoln or your fantasy about Free Cities. And you see, if you don’t accept I lose nothing either way, Bennett in charge, or cracks in the engine, the party loses the city either way. And if you cause trouble, Tweed’s out and Bennett will never cut a deal with the likes of you. He may be mad as a fish, but no matter what way the wind is blowing he hates you. Fight me all you want, you’ll just keep digging yourself in deeper.”


And so, Wood realized, he’d been played. There would be no redemption in ‘64 or ‘66. This was the end of the line. There was no way to the White House, no way to the Governor’s mansion, and especially no path to become the next man at the head of this table.


“I want the Senate Seat.” He blurted out, grasping for straws. “The Senate vote next year. You’re going to try for it with Corning. I want it.” They wouldn’t give it to him he knew, not when there was a chance they might be able to claim some other post that they’d find more acceptable.


“Its yours” was all Richmond could offer in return. And for the second time at that table Wood was shocked. “And I want to be able to make as many promises to Republicans as I can. I’m going to need to cut into their majority in the State Senate. And maybe do the same thing in the Assembly if it comes down to it.”


“Of course.” Said Tweed now. Wood quickly flashed his eyes back and forth to both men, a sick taste forming in the back of his mouth.

“And a Congressional Seat in this coming election.”


Both men nodded. Richmond put the telegram down on the table.


“And in exchange, before November, you end this business with Mozart Hall. Correct?” Asked the real Boss at the table.


“Yes.” Offered Wood, knowing full well what he was selling in addition to his pet Machine.


Richmond smiled, and so did Tweed. It was Richmond who offered out a hand. “I’d like to shake on that Mr. Wood.”


The one-time Sachem of Tammany Hall and former Mayor of New York nodded, and shook the mans hand.


“And now gentlemen that we have that business settled. There’s another matter we need to discuss.”


Tweed, who seemed to have been contenting himself with the idea of a low cost victory against his decades-long rival, at the low cost of threatened self-immolation and the death of the Party, was surprised by this as much as Wood was.


The great grin had faced on Richmond’s face, replaced with a grimace as he reached into his pocket and retrieved another telegram, and handed it directly to Tweed who silently read. Turning to Wood, the upstater spoke. “The other Unity issue. Which I will demand you accept, as much as it might pain you personally considering your history. I’ve put a lot of Pressure on the Whigs in recent months to have their convention. After Dickinson and his little organization folded down and knowing that the two of you would see reason, I decided that the best means of winning this race was to unite all three factions of Anti-Lincoln men.”


Wood nodded, and Tweed having finished the telegram began to quietly curse, the fiery boss setting off the verbal equivalent of warning rockets with each oath under his breath. But the larger man didn’t pass the telegraph over, and so Wood turned back to Richmond for an explanation.


“I made sure of course, that they knew who our ticket was going to be. The one agreed upon by Dickinson, Seymour, Belmont, Corning and myself. And tonight they are going to nominate them all.”


“Like hell they are.” Offered Tweed, as the man pushed back his chair and rose to his feet, leaning his bulky form on the table with locked arms.


“Well, nearly all of it. Floyd-Jones for Lt. Governor, Skinner, Clarke, and Tallmadge for the minor offices. A public endorsement for nearly ever nominee we will put up for Congress. They’re handing us the keys to their party, allowing a Unity ticket.”


“And shutting down a lot of your opposition here at the convention. It’ll be hard for a lot of Lincolnites to reject such men, now that they’ve been nominated by another party.” Wood said as calmly as he had been before the twists, he was running the numbers again in his head. A good combination of War and Anti-War men, decent reformers for the minor offices, a Downstater for the bottom of the ticket. That meant upstate for the Governor. And being as it was Richmond who had made it, a Peace man. “I assume then by the absence they’ve declined to nominate Governor Seymour for a return to office?”


For a moment Richmond paused, as if to say ‘How did you know it was going to be Horatio Seymour?’ but well aware of Wood’s talent for such work, decided to leave it.


“No, no they did not Mr. Wood and that’s the problem. As you can tell my Mr. Tweed’s reaction you know it’s become a bit of a problem.” He glanced at a large grandfather clock for just a moment, “They should in fact be nominating him right now. So we’ll have an option tomorrow of accepting him or fighting back.”


“Surely Seymour can beat back some old Grey Hair? Especially one that would probably take potential Republican voters too?”


“Seymour won't fight it, he doesn’t want the damned job in the first place.” Interjected Tweed, who having been on speaking terms with the Former Governor knew more on the subject. Richmond offered a solemn nod to the statement.


Wood yet again tried to run down his lists, find someone who the Whigs would nominate they’d think would play a similar role to Seymour. They were in their remnant aware of the fact that an Anti-War man would offer chances that a War Man, who would be bound to the Republicans could. It seemed obvious for a moment it would be Washington Hunt, that would explain Tweed’s anger but Hunt would be no match to whatever man a Democratic ticket would put up to stop him. And he was far, far too tied into the disaster of the Bell Ticket in ‘60 to be considered passable on the larger party. And then suddenly, it ground to a halt as he thought of one name. One troublesome, brilliant, problematic name.


“Fillmore.”


Something between a grimace and a grin came across Richmond’s face, his brow descended and everything seemed to move closer to the massive bulbous nose of the Regent. “Yes. So the question I have to ask you Mr. Wood is, will you be able to keep those toughs in line with a Know-Nothing at the top of our ticket?"
 

Japhy

Banned
Very interesting concept, Japhy! Division among the Northern states is underdone (as I am exploring in my own TL).

I am curious to see what you do with it.
Thank you!

I'm definitely interested in the concept. The Anti-War forces in the North really do represent a Second Front that a lot of ACW timelines on the site are lacking, outside of discussion of Knights of the Golden Circle and the occasional underground militia causing trouble. And being as I'm crap with Battlefront AH I figure the backroom dealings are probably more in line with what I'm capable of writing. Though probably not pulpy enough to be really great for me, I'll admit.

Hopefully the next few updates will be ready for this in a few days. I admit, I've actually got quite a bit done, but its not necessarily in chronological order, especially as there are some big events that outweigh others that already have things finished or merely finished, the Draft Riots obviously being one of them.
 
How diabolical, a Unity ticket -- and a skillful truncation of Wood's political career. Keeping the street toughs in line with Fillmore as the head of the ticket will be, as Richmond mentioned, a challenge...

I presume they mean the elder Bennett for NY mayor, although the younger Bennett also offers some interesting possibilities as well.
 

Japhy

Banned
How diabolical, a Unity ticket -- and a skillful truncation of Wood's political career. Keeping the street toughs in line with Fillmore as the head of the ticket will be, as Richmond mentioned, a challenge...

It was a brilliant ploy by Richmond, IOTL he did convince the Whigs to outright meet on their own, and without a full purge of their Pro-War, Non-GOP faction for just the purpose of creating momentum, and with the added bonus of being able to say "They tried to nominate John A. Dix! They tried to nominate Fillmore! This is being forced on us!" Hand-in-hand wish the wobbly credentials of Seymour that allowed him to be simultaneously a Copperhead's dream and a non-threatening War man who won't disrupt the War Effort meant that the nomination by an outside party meant the War Democrats inside the Democratic Party still just had to shut up and deal.

Of course here he made the mistake of talking in the inclusion of Law, who was of course all over the place politically for the sake of boosting the "This is a real convention in Troy" credentials.

Fillmore on paper actually meets a lot of the same ticks as Seymour, who incidentally really didn't want the nomination IOTL, with of course the big Know-Nothing problem. Is it fair for me to assume that the mostly-Irish muscle that kept the Machines in operation on Election Day? Maybe not, its not as if there's a long list of Ex-Know Nothings to cite running as Democrats, much less winning. But Millard, for all of his flaws was a pretty canny operator, and he does pop up repeatedly on the edges of votes throughout the war. Not just at the 1862 Troy convention but for example the 1864 Democratic National.

Richmond, Tweed, and Wood of course don't know it. But Law's trick doesn't leave them any other option. Besides nominating Dix of course.

I presume they mean the elder Bennett for NY mayor, although the younger Bennett also offers some interesting possibilities as well.
Well not Mayor, that election has come and gone and wont repeat until the end of 1863. He absolutely means the elder Bennett too. Its a good scorched earth sort of threat to the Tammany vs Mozart fight, especially in 1862 when the Democrats are dealing with the First National Committee Chairmen of the modern style and with the Albany Regency at the height of its power. (Sidenote: It would begin to decline when Vanderbilt cut into the railway dominance it had, with the death of Richmond in 1866. But it would last in its original Albany only Machine form until Erastus Corning 2nd died. In 1983.)

Obviously IOTL Wood caved in, and got that Congressional Seat, though not the support for the Senate run, which went to Corning, who inevitably lost. But he was left perpetually on the outs in New York Politics for the rest of his life, Mozart Hall survived, after a fashion, generally by doing whatever Tammany Hall said to do, until, well, that will be covered later. The imminent failure of the Seymour nomination of course, changes things, he was also able to operate with a bit more independence than he has got here, where he's sold his soul to be Richmond's new personal set of eyes.
 
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Japhy

Banned
Legitimate question to readers (By whom I guess I just mean El Yanqui) Would this be an easier read for people with footnotes? Is there anything coming up that people can't follow? I ask only because I did my BA Capstone paper on Wood and the state politics of the time and I'm afraid a lot of stuff I'm taking for granted might be opaque.
 
I mean personally I think you've come up with a good detailed idea (although some spell-checking might be useful). Honestly the commenting will probably pick up with the action in the timeline - no need to be concerned that there isn't a rush of posts right now. (And Gov. Fillmore wreaking havoc should be very interesting when it happens.) Footnotes of course are always welcome.
 
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Legitimate question to readers (By whom I guess I just mean El Yanqui) Would this be an easier read for people with footnotes? Is there anything coming up that people can't follow? I ask only because I did my BA Capstone paper on Wood and the state politics of the time and I'm afraid a lot of stuff I'm taking for granted might be opaque.

Nothing wrong with some footnotes -- it'd be helpful.
 
I personally understand next to nothing, but I get the gist of the TL and I'm still reading it. So I'm also in favor of footnotes
 
Legitimate question to readers (By whom I guess I just mean El Yanqui) Would this be an easier read for people with footnotes? Is there anything coming up that people can't follow? I ask only because I did my BA Capstone paper on Wood and the state politics of the time and I'm afraid a lot of stuff I'm taking for granted might be opaque.
Definitely. I was confused as to what was going on with Wood and how exactly this is so catastrophic for him and means he'll never be in the White House or whatever. Maybe I'm just really not perceptive.
 
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