Oh my! Peace Democrat possible as President, with a scheming opportunist VP.
Let's hope the Republicans win, big time.
Let's hope the Republicans win, big time.
Let Us Have Peace
- Thread starter AnywhereButOTL
- Start date
The Sandman
Banned
If Grant's Cabinet is going to be different, I'd like to see George Thomas as Secretary of War. Whatever issues Grant may have had with the speed at which he went into battle, Thomas was a master of logistics and engineering, and when actually in battle consistently outperformed his adversaries. It would also allow him to have at least one Southerner in his Cabinet, one whose loyalty is without reproach.
See, that would be a plus. Thomas is loyal to the end, but i think the problem is that Grant and Thomas are not at all on the best of terms, so that might be jaded choice.
He could always pull a Longstreet, but i really do not see that going down well under any circumstances.
TFSmith121
Banned
Nicely done, all around...couple of minor points:
1. Greenbacks are it, actually, since the specie act was not repealed until 1875. So much for the "fiat money wouldn't work" meme.
2. Wine country of choice in the 1860s was probably Ohio; a nice Catawba would be just the thing for a quality restaurant.
Best,
1. Greenbacks are it, actually, since the specie act was not repealed until 1875. So much for the "fiat money wouldn't work" meme.
2. Wine country of choice in the 1860s was probably Ohio; a nice Catawba would be just the thing for a quality restaurant.
Best,
1.?? So you can't redeem greenbacks for gold. That doesn't get rid of precious metal coins. They didn't stop minting coins did they? And even if they did, there were coins from before the war, etc.
So silver quarters were minted at that time, if nothing else.http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Quarter_%28United_States_coin%29 said:
2. Catawba. Nice. Hmmm... interesting juxtaposition of words there. I'm sure a fancy restaurant wants wine made from wine grapes.
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Shouldn't worry. Nobody's going to beat Grant.
If I'd been a Democrat in 1868, I'd have pushed for the nomination of the most dead-beat candidates we had, and to save the good ones for a later year, when maybe we'd have a chance.
Yup. Blair was a Grade A asshole when it came to race relations, so naturally he was probably the inevitable choice for running mate in 1868, though he secured his spot in a much more exciting (and politically damaging) fashion ITTL.
Yeah. He wasn't quite at 'potatoe' levels, but he was definitely adept at providing gaffes for the general public to enjoy. And since Pendleton was more or less the opposite (very fastidious, liked to be nice to people if he could help it) then the two might start rubbing each other the wrong way before too long.
The campaign is just beginning, there's plenty of time for all sorts of shenanigans to occur. The deck is definitely stacked in favor of the Republicans though, I'll say that much.
With all of the radical influence that he's going to be accumulating in his cabinet, Grant might be forced to go for a more 'conservative' Secretary of War in Thomas. That way he appeases the moderates and doesn't piss off Wade (who would probably be livid if Grant decided to go with Schofield like he wanted to).
And while Grant and Thomas didn't particular get along very well, they did respect one another, and that could be a good start to repairing their relationship. The only issue is that with Thomas' health problems, he might end up dying in the middle of Grant's term.
Yep. It's dead. The main issue I guess was that my readers were a lot more excited about the Icarusverse than I was. I ran out of steam somewhere in the middle of the Night of Terror, and then realized at that point that the story was going nowhere. I had originally set out to demonstrate just how monstrous and cruel authoritarian policies were, because they inevitably result in an ever increasing spiral of dictatorial behavior, but I demonstrated it too well. Things got too hopeless and mean spirited for me to really enjoy writing about them any longer.
But I felt really bad about just cutting things off in the middle of the end, so I tried to revive it with Icarus 2000, so I could write about slightly happier things. The problem there was, I had fucked things up so badly that even my tiny little attempts at happier times were implausible, so I decided that I might as well give up the ghost and call it quits.
So yeah, the Icarusverse is dead. Good riddance.
Considering that a fancy meal for a table full of people would have cost something like ten or twenty dollars back then, I'm going to imagine that Grant left a roll of silver quarters on the table and called it good.
As for Catawba. Hmm. I tried to find what Wade liked to drink but nobody seems to have noted that in all of their work about the man. I might have to stick with French to be safe, but Catawba may be present at future parties.
Considering Pendleton and Blair are more or less unelectable in the northern half of the nation, you might have gotten your wish actually. They really weren't the best ticket that the Dems could have launched. The best would probably be Hancock/somebody small and inoffensive from Ohio. They'd still lose to Grant though.
Chapter 6
6.
Grant puffed thoughtfully away at a cigar as he regarded the front page of a newspaper. The front page was dominated by a cartoon depicting him and Pendleton in a boxing ring, their running mates hanging off of their respective right arms, wailing and making nuisances of themselves while the candidates attempted vainly to fight. The caricature that was supposed to be Wade was throwing greenbacks to a small crowd of cheering Negroes while Blair appeared to be holding a bullwhip and wearing a pointed Klan hood. Grant wasn’t entirely sure whose side, if anyone’s, the cartoonist was on.
“What do you think?” Wade asked, “accurate?” Grant raised an eyebrow and offered Wade his right arm, which made the Ohioan laugh.
“It shouldn’t matter,” Grant said noncommittally, “to most people Pendleton is a throwback to the last elections...he’s probably even more controversial than you.” Wade didn’t look like he believed that, but nodded anyways.
“Sure. I guess we’ll get a chance to see just how popular he is when the campaigns start up...” Truth be told, there wasn’t much happening yet, only a week removed from the end of the chaos at the Democratic convention. The Democrats still seemed to be trying to settle upon a unifying message, since not the entirety of Pendleton’s nor Blair’s beliefs were palatable to the party at large.
Rumors were floating around that Blair and Pendleton disliked one another, and so far Hancock had refused to endorse Pendleton, lending fuel to further rumors that the War Democrats were planning to launch a splinter ticket. The situation was messy, and Republican agents like Chandler had been busily throwing as much fuel as they could onto the pyre, hoping that if a civil war erupted within the party, it would result in a Republican landslide beyond even that of 1864.
At that moment the rattling clack of the telegraph machine started up, echoing from the next room, where one of Chandler’s people was stationed to transcribe it for easy viewing. It would have to be coming from the main campaign headquarters in Washington, Grant realized, which meant that it was probably Chandler himself on the other end, tapping out important news from the world beyond Galena.
“That would be Mr. Chandler?” Wade asked, almost as if he had been reading Grant’s mind. Grant nodded.
“That would.” He got up and set the newspaper aside. After a decade in the public eye he had just about gotten used to the oddities of popular perception and culture, but thinking of the time that other people invested in writing about him, drawing him, or even photographing him was always a little bit strange.
Leaving the cartoon and it’s message behind, Grant walked to the door of the telegraph room, Wade close behind.
“Good evening sir,” Rory greeted him, “it’s news from Mr. Chandler, in Washington.” Grant nodded to himself, so he had been right on both counts. Good. He accepted the paper.
“Thank you Rory.” As he scanned the message, he raised an eyebrow and chewed on the end of his cigar, pondering the missive that Chandler had sent his way.
General [STOP]. It read. Mr. Robert Ingersoll visited the headquarters today, expressing an interest in aiding our campaign [STOP]. He also asked if a visit to Galena would be acceptable to you [STOP]. He seems to want to speak to you, not just about politics, but as men [STOP]. This could be an important opportunity to kick off the campaign with style [STOP]. Grant hadn’t ever heard Ingersoll speak in person before, but had read more than one copy of his speeches. The man was renowned as an orator for a reason, even if his outspoken agnosticism was…controversial.
“Anything important?” Wade asked and Grant glanced up, realizing that he’d been standing in silence for several moments now, chewing mechanically on the end of his cigar.
“Robert Ingersoll wants to campaign for us. He also wants to come and speak to me here in Galena.” Wade smiled, nodding enthusiastically.
“That,” he said happily, “is fantastic news. Ingersoll is a great man...an appreciable Radical too. I say we welcome him with open arms.” That was about the reaction that Grant had expected. He turned to Rory.
“Send the following back to William: I accept on both fronts. Stop. Tell Mr. Ingersoll that my door is always open to him. Stop. I shall be in touch. Stop.” Rory began obediently tapping away and Grant tucked the paper into his front pocket.
“It’s too bad that I wont be around for this,” Wade said as they headed back to the living room, “the Senate demands my presence.” Grant nodded and flicked the stub of his cigar into the fire. He thought briefly about going for another one but decided that he might as well stop. Julia never liked it when he smelled like smoke in bed.
“How are things going on the hill?” Wade made an exaggerated pretense of hanging himself.
“The Democrats aren’t able to really stop anything that we’re doing, but I’ll be damned if they aren’t the most insufferable bunch of twits I’ve ever dealt with. I thought that the failure of Johnson would knock some sense into their craniums...but if anything they’ve gotten worse ever since the war ended.” This wasn’t an uncommon sentiment, Grant had heard quite a few other politicians, Radical and moderate alike, express what could only be called volcanic expressions of enmity towards the Democratic party and anyone involved in it.
“I’m sure that things have improved since the war,” he said lightly, “nobody’s brandishing revolvers on the floor anymore...” Wade chuckled, but his eyes were flinty.
“I assume you’re talking about Willard Saulsbury?” Wade asked, Grant nodding in the affirmative, “he did more than brandish his revolver...he stuck it right in the Sergeant at Arms‘ face and threatened to blow his brains out. Now you’d expect something like that to result in impeachment, but five years later, I still see that miserable bastard in the chamber every day.” Wade shook his head, his tone was light but Grant could see real anger burning in the man’s eyes.
“That’s disgraceful.” An understatement, but Wade didn’t seem to notice.
“Him and James Bayard both. I’ve spent plenty of time in Delaware and so far as I can tell it’s a state just like any other...but somehow those two managed to come to represent it. It’s just ugly.” Wade sighed and shook his head, more vigorously this time. “Ah, but I’m ranting...there’s nothing to be gained from that. I suppose I should go to bed now, it’s getting late.” Grant bid his running mate a good night but remained behind, thinking about the beginning of the campaign and what everybody seemed to want of him. The Radicals seemed to be coming on a great deal more strongly than the moderates, which was slightly concerning. The last thing he wanted to do was pin himself in a corner, especially if the Radicals finally imploded like so many were expecting them to do.
He supposed that he would have more time to think about the whole situation in the light of a new day. Wade would be departing back to Washington, returning to senatorial duties, and Robert Ingersoll would probably be taking his place. Grant wasn’t entirely sure what the orator wanted to talk to him about, Chandler had made sure to specify that it wasn’t politics, so what did that leave?
The telegraph clattered briefly in the next room and moments later Rory delivered a one word from Chandler that simply read, ‘excellent.‘ Grant went to bed, but didn’t go to sleep for a long time.
Grant puffed thoughtfully away at a cigar as he regarded the front page of a newspaper. The front page was dominated by a cartoon depicting him and Pendleton in a boxing ring, their running mates hanging off of their respective right arms, wailing and making nuisances of themselves while the candidates attempted vainly to fight. The caricature that was supposed to be Wade was throwing greenbacks to a small crowd of cheering Negroes while Blair appeared to be holding a bullwhip and wearing a pointed Klan hood. Grant wasn’t entirely sure whose side, if anyone’s, the cartoonist was on.
“What do you think?” Wade asked, “accurate?” Grant raised an eyebrow and offered Wade his right arm, which made the Ohioan laugh.
“It shouldn’t matter,” Grant said noncommittally, “to most people Pendleton is a throwback to the last elections...he’s probably even more controversial than you.” Wade didn’t look like he believed that, but nodded anyways.
“Sure. I guess we’ll get a chance to see just how popular he is when the campaigns start up...” Truth be told, there wasn’t much happening yet, only a week removed from the end of the chaos at the Democratic convention. The Democrats still seemed to be trying to settle upon a unifying message, since not the entirety of Pendleton’s nor Blair’s beliefs were palatable to the party at large.
Rumors were floating around that Blair and Pendleton disliked one another, and so far Hancock had refused to endorse Pendleton, lending fuel to further rumors that the War Democrats were planning to launch a splinter ticket. The situation was messy, and Republican agents like Chandler had been busily throwing as much fuel as they could onto the pyre, hoping that if a civil war erupted within the party, it would result in a Republican landslide beyond even that of 1864.
At that moment the rattling clack of the telegraph machine started up, echoing from the next room, where one of Chandler’s people was stationed to transcribe it for easy viewing. It would have to be coming from the main campaign headquarters in Washington, Grant realized, which meant that it was probably Chandler himself on the other end, tapping out important news from the world beyond Galena.
“That would be Mr. Chandler?” Wade asked, almost as if he had been reading Grant’s mind. Grant nodded.
“That would.” He got up and set the newspaper aside. After a decade in the public eye he had just about gotten used to the oddities of popular perception and culture, but thinking of the time that other people invested in writing about him, drawing him, or even photographing him was always a little bit strange.
Leaving the cartoon and it’s message behind, Grant walked to the door of the telegraph room, Wade close behind.
“Good evening sir,” Rory greeted him, “it’s news from Mr. Chandler, in Washington.” Grant nodded to himself, so he had been right on both counts. Good. He accepted the paper.
“Thank you Rory.” As he scanned the message, he raised an eyebrow and chewed on the end of his cigar, pondering the missive that Chandler had sent his way.
General [STOP]. It read. Mr. Robert Ingersoll visited the headquarters today, expressing an interest in aiding our campaign [STOP]. He also asked if a visit to Galena would be acceptable to you [STOP]. He seems to want to speak to you, not just about politics, but as men [STOP]. This could be an important opportunity to kick off the campaign with style [STOP]. Grant hadn’t ever heard Ingersoll speak in person before, but had read more than one copy of his speeches. The man was renowned as an orator for a reason, even if his outspoken agnosticism was…controversial.
“Anything important?” Wade asked and Grant glanced up, realizing that he’d been standing in silence for several moments now, chewing mechanically on the end of his cigar.
“Robert Ingersoll wants to campaign for us. He also wants to come and speak to me here in Galena.” Wade smiled, nodding enthusiastically.
“That,” he said happily, “is fantastic news. Ingersoll is a great man...an appreciable Radical too. I say we welcome him with open arms.” That was about the reaction that Grant had expected. He turned to Rory.
“Send the following back to William: I accept on both fronts. Stop. Tell Mr. Ingersoll that my door is always open to him. Stop. I shall be in touch. Stop.” Rory began obediently tapping away and Grant tucked the paper into his front pocket.
“It’s too bad that I wont be around for this,” Wade said as they headed back to the living room, “the Senate demands my presence.” Grant nodded and flicked the stub of his cigar into the fire. He thought briefly about going for another one but decided that he might as well stop. Julia never liked it when he smelled like smoke in bed.
“How are things going on the hill?” Wade made an exaggerated pretense of hanging himself.
“The Democrats aren’t able to really stop anything that we’re doing, but I’ll be damned if they aren’t the most insufferable bunch of twits I’ve ever dealt with. I thought that the failure of Johnson would knock some sense into their craniums...but if anything they’ve gotten worse ever since the war ended.” This wasn’t an uncommon sentiment, Grant had heard quite a few other politicians, Radical and moderate alike, express what could only be called volcanic expressions of enmity towards the Democratic party and anyone involved in it.
“I’m sure that things have improved since the war,” he said lightly, “nobody’s brandishing revolvers on the floor anymore...” Wade chuckled, but his eyes were flinty.
“I assume you’re talking about Willard Saulsbury?” Wade asked, Grant nodding in the affirmative, “he did more than brandish his revolver...he stuck it right in the Sergeant at Arms‘ face and threatened to blow his brains out. Now you’d expect something like that to result in impeachment, but five years later, I still see that miserable bastard in the chamber every day.” Wade shook his head, his tone was light but Grant could see real anger burning in the man’s eyes.
“That’s disgraceful.” An understatement, but Wade didn’t seem to notice.
“Him and James Bayard both. I’ve spent plenty of time in Delaware and so far as I can tell it’s a state just like any other...but somehow those two managed to come to represent it. It’s just ugly.” Wade sighed and shook his head, more vigorously this time. “Ah, but I’m ranting...there’s nothing to be gained from that. I suppose I should go to bed now, it’s getting late.” Grant bid his running mate a good night but remained behind, thinking about the beginning of the campaign and what everybody seemed to want of him. The Radicals seemed to be coming on a great deal more strongly than the moderates, which was slightly concerning. The last thing he wanted to do was pin himself in a corner, especially if the Radicals finally imploded like so many were expecting them to do.
He supposed that he would have more time to think about the whole situation in the light of a new day. Wade would be departing back to Washington, returning to senatorial duties, and Robert Ingersoll would probably be taking his place. Grant wasn’t entirely sure what the orator wanted to talk to him about, Chandler had made sure to specify that it wasn’t politics, so what did that leave?
The telegraph clattered briefly in the next room and moments later Rory delivered a one word from Chandler that simply read, ‘excellent.‘ Grant went to bed, but didn’t go to sleep for a long time.
The Sandman
Banned
Given that he died of a stroke while writing a rebuttal to a criticism of his military career, I have to imagine that his lifespan might be lengthened by the vote of confidence a position as Secretary of War would imply.
This is true, though we must remember that Thomas did suffer from complications from a severe back injury, amongst other things. So while his health might be better, the stress of effectively running Grant's Reconstruction effort might weigh heavily upon him, even if he's not having to deal with defending his reputation from Schofield (who, the more I read about him the less I like him) and other critics.
Chapter 7
A pitifully short update today, I've just broken out of a bunch of college work and other stuff that took precedence over this, so hopefully the next updates will be lengthier and more exciting.
7.
Winfield Hancock formally endorsed the Democratic ticket of George Pendleton and Francis Blair on August 3rd, after a silence of two and a half weeks that very nearly caused the party to go to war with itself. Initially Hancock had intended to support nobody at all, but the thought of a Radical controlled federal government was painful enough that he swallowed his pride and saved the party from splitting apart. At least for the moment.
Even with the de facto leader of the beaten War Democrats coming round to support them, the Peace faction was still battered from what many of them were coming to realize had been a Pyrrhic victory at the convention. Though they had achieved ideological purity and nominated a set of candidates who were completely and absolutely opposed to Reconstruction, they had badly damaged their electability in doing so. Many campaign donors who would have happily given to a less controversial ticket were spooked by Pendleton’s reputation as an alleged Confederate sympathizer, and Blair’s apparent betrayal of the War faction.
Blair, who had always held his public reputation in the highest of esteem, was likewise dismayed when criticism began to flow in from his one time colleagues instead of the praise that he had expected. This made him antsy and paranoid, pushing him to prove his loyalty to the party even as he was tugged in two different directions by Pendleton and virtually everyone else.
Pendleton himself was not fond of Blair, who he viewed as rude and positively obnoxious in social company. While Hancock’s forced endorsement bought him a little breathing room away from what had formerly been a claustrophobic fog of division and anger, the situation was hardly any better with outright rebellion from the War Democrats out of the question.
Even if Grant did have a Radical running mate, he was far and away the more respected candidate after the chaos at the Democratic convention, which put the Democrats solidly on the defensive for the first few weeks of the campaign. The silence of many senior War Democrats did nothing to aid Pendleton and Blair’s efforts to get their campaign back on track, and as the month of August began, the future of the Democratic party looked incredibly uncertain.
In Galena Grant was having no such worries. He had been left alone for the most part and did no campaigning on his own behalf. His belief that the election was solely the business of the American people, and William Chandler, held firm. So far nothing had gone wrong. Sure there were the worries from the conservative wing of the party that the Radicals held too much influence over him, but each time he received a fearful telegraph message, letter or visit from one politician or another, Grant assured them that he was impartial.
He had been aided in this in part by Wade remaining mostly silent regarding the election. The man was busy enough in the Senate as it was, and though he probably wanted to speak his mind regarding each and every issue that Pendleton and Blair brought up, he remained focused on his work instead.
The selection of Pendleton also persuaded the conservatives to fall into line. If there was one thing that the conservative Republicans did not like, it was the Peace faction of the Democratic party, who they viewed as the worst sort of traitors, especially in the post war world. Though many of them wished that someone more inoffensive and...controllable had been selected to run alongside Grant, they agreed that the chances of the robust young general dying in office were slim and agreed to support him.
Similar was the situation of the alienated War Democrats. As the convention ended with the betrayal and subsequent defeat of their faction, many of the more anti-Confederate and indeed anti-southern men amongst them made up their mind to boycott Pendleton’s effort, if not cast a reluctant vote for Grant out of sheer spite.
The campaign season had begun, and already the battle lines had been drawn. Now, all that was left was to see how they would change before the ballots began to be cast.
7.
Winfield Hancock formally endorsed the Democratic ticket of George Pendleton and Francis Blair on August 3rd, after a silence of two and a half weeks that very nearly caused the party to go to war with itself. Initially Hancock had intended to support nobody at all, but the thought of a Radical controlled federal government was painful enough that he swallowed his pride and saved the party from splitting apart. At least for the moment.
Even with the de facto leader of the beaten War Democrats coming round to support them, the Peace faction was still battered from what many of them were coming to realize had been a Pyrrhic victory at the convention. Though they had achieved ideological purity and nominated a set of candidates who were completely and absolutely opposed to Reconstruction, they had badly damaged their electability in doing so. Many campaign donors who would have happily given to a less controversial ticket were spooked by Pendleton’s reputation as an alleged Confederate sympathizer, and Blair’s apparent betrayal of the War faction.
Blair, who had always held his public reputation in the highest of esteem, was likewise dismayed when criticism began to flow in from his one time colleagues instead of the praise that he had expected. This made him antsy and paranoid, pushing him to prove his loyalty to the party even as he was tugged in two different directions by Pendleton and virtually everyone else.
Pendleton himself was not fond of Blair, who he viewed as rude and positively obnoxious in social company. While Hancock’s forced endorsement bought him a little breathing room away from what had formerly been a claustrophobic fog of division and anger, the situation was hardly any better with outright rebellion from the War Democrats out of the question.
Even if Grant did have a Radical running mate, he was far and away the more respected candidate after the chaos at the Democratic convention, which put the Democrats solidly on the defensive for the first few weeks of the campaign. The silence of many senior War Democrats did nothing to aid Pendleton and Blair’s efforts to get their campaign back on track, and as the month of August began, the future of the Democratic party looked incredibly uncertain.
In Galena Grant was having no such worries. He had been left alone for the most part and did no campaigning on his own behalf. His belief that the election was solely the business of the American people, and William Chandler, held firm. So far nothing had gone wrong. Sure there were the worries from the conservative wing of the party that the Radicals held too much influence over him, but each time he received a fearful telegraph message, letter or visit from one politician or another, Grant assured them that he was impartial.
He had been aided in this in part by Wade remaining mostly silent regarding the election. The man was busy enough in the Senate as it was, and though he probably wanted to speak his mind regarding each and every issue that Pendleton and Blair brought up, he remained focused on his work instead.
The selection of Pendleton also persuaded the conservatives to fall into line. If there was one thing that the conservative Republicans did not like, it was the Peace faction of the Democratic party, who they viewed as the worst sort of traitors, especially in the post war world. Though many of them wished that someone more inoffensive and...controllable had been selected to run alongside Grant, they agreed that the chances of the robust young general dying in office were slim and agreed to support him.
Similar was the situation of the alienated War Democrats. As the convention ended with the betrayal and subsequent defeat of their faction, many of the more anti-Confederate and indeed anti-southern men amongst them made up their mind to boycott Pendleton’s effort, if not cast a reluctant vote for Grant out of sheer spite.
The campaign season had begun, and already the battle lines had been drawn. Now, all that was left was to see how they would change before the ballots began to be cast.
Nice update. Looking forward to more! The election is going to be interesting that's for sure.
Cool story Anywhere. Don't see many 19th century PoDs around here concerning this period. I look forward to seeing what you come up with.
Thank you. And yes indeed, the election will be exciting. At the moment both sides are still catching their breath and dealing with respective controversies, but soon enough opening moves will begin to be made.
Aww yes, Shadow Knight in the house! It's good to see some of the old Icarus readers joining me in the magical land of Pre-1900. And thank you, I decided to step outside of my comfort zone when I decided to do this idea, and so far it's moving along pretty smoothly.
Nope. Grant definitely has the advantage right now, Pendleton and his people will have to do something drastic if they wish to have even a fighting chance in the general election.
Chapter 8
8.
Benjamin Wade was never one to have many regrets in life, but one of them was that he didn’t get to participate in the first meeting between Grant and Robert Ingersoll that occurred when the famed orator swung through Galena on the way to a speaking conference in Des Moines, which he hoped would be the first stop of a countrywide speaking tour to espouse the virtues of the Republican party and General Grant.
Ingersoll’s arrival wasn’t exactly quiet and he was practically mobbed as he exited his train car, a forest of speech transcripts and other memorabilia bearing his work and picture being waved by a dozen excited members of the public. Producing a steel tipped pen from one pocket, Ingersoll grinned and exchanged pleasantries as he made his way slowly off of the platform, signing signatures all the way. Everybody seemed rather pleased to see such a famous person in town; even the minister of Galena’s local Methodist church, who had been about to depart town for a sabbatical to St. Louis, tipped his hat politely to his informal rival.
Grant himself was not present on the station platform, but received Ingersoll from inside, both men hurrying to a carriage before any more attention could be drawn to them. Sitting down, Ingersoll set down his travel bag, made sure that his pen was properly cleaned off, then leaned back in his seat with a little sigh.
“I suppose someone recognized me on the platform in Chicago,” he remarked, mopping his forehead with a handkerchief, “and then relayed that information here.” Grant nodded, letting his eyes flicker over the man sitting opposite him. Ingersoll was somewhat rounder than he had expected, but in a soft, pleasant way that invoked a sense of kindly wisdom.
“There have been a great many people visiting here lately,” Grant said, “mostly to see me. So I suppose there are likewise a great number of people keeping tabs on rail traffic that goes through this part of the state.” Ingersoll nodded and extended a hand.
“Forgive me for forgetting my manners,” he smiled, “it is a pleasure to finally meet you General.” Grant shook Ingersoll’s hand, noting that the orator had a remarkably firm grip, and waved off the title that the man had used.
“Please, call me Sam, all of my friends do.” Ingersoll nodded as the carriage began moving, with a clattering of wheels on hard-packed dirt.
“And you can call me Bob. In any case I am very pleased that we are becoming acquainted. When I heard of your victory at the convention, and Mr. Wade’s as well, I knew that your cause was one that I absolutely had to support.” Grant thanked him and they exchanged small talk for the remaining minutes of the carriage ride, until they arrived at the front door of Grant’s house.
“The city gave this house to my family and I after the war ended.” Grant said, and Ingersoll studied the structure for a few moments as he gathered up his things.
“It’s a very handsome building.” He said, and Grant opened the door for him, Ingersoll hanging up his coat and setting down his bag. In that time Grant had fetched a pitcher of lemonade from the ice box and poured Ingersoll a glass.
“Cigar?” Grant asked as Ingersoll joined him in the sitting room, “these are Virginian...I acquired a fondness for them during the war.” Ingersoll shook his head.
“No thank you, I don’t smoke.” Grant lit up his own cigar and sat down, motioning for Ingersoll to do the same. Though it was a balmy day the sitting room was cool and suitably dim, a relief after the glare of the afternoon sun.
“I suppose that makes sense,” Grant said, smoke curling from his mouth with every word, “you do make your living off of your voice, there’s no sense in coarsening it.” That made Ingersoll smile.
“I appreciate your hospitality though. Say...is the family around?” Grant shook his head.
“Julia and the children are visiting her parents for the next few days, so I’m holding down the fort for now.” Ingersoll nodded, a little sound of acknowledgment escaping his throat.
“A pity, I would like to meet them.” Grant blew a smoke ring and thought about getting himself a glass of lemonade as well, Ingersoll’s beverage looked quite inviting.
“Don’t worry, you’ll have time to, even if it isn’t right now.” Ingersoll took a long draught of his drink and sat back, looking greatly refreshed.
“Marvelous stuff,” he said, examining his glass, “Julia made this?” Grant nodded.
“I’m a firm believer in the restorative qualities of that woman’s lemonade.” Ingersoll raised an eyebrow.
“Amongst other things?” Grant could see that the orator’s eyes were fixed upon the decanter of brandy sitting next to the drink service on the mantle.
“Amongst other things.” He agreed, and poured Ingersoll a drink.
“I’ve been hearing things during my trip across the country, mostly about you and Wade, but some about Pendleton and Blair too. Nobody’s quite sure what to think of the tickets just yet.” Grant poured himself two fingers of brandy and settled back in his chair.
“The election is several months away still.” Ingersoll nodded sagely.
“That it is, but this is still slightly worrying. We need to start reinforcing a message, letting the American people know that you and Senator Wade stand for renewed peace and prosperity in this country, as opposed to the moral darkness of Pendleton and the so called Democratic party.” Grant sipped his drink and watched as his cigar burned slowly out on the ashtray where he’d set it.
“I believe in letting the American people decide whether or not they wish to put me in the presidency, political shenanigans has little to do with it.” Ingersoll raised an eyebrow, a little smile playing across his face.
“Easy for a man leading in every poll to say. You’re already as good as elected Sam, but we’re not talking about your chances of victory...we’re talking about the margin.” That certainly put it in new light, and even if Grant was uncomfortable with the concept of taking any type of victory for granted, he could see where Ingersoll was coming from.
“And so you want to help me spread the good word.” Ingersoll nodded.
“Absolutely. To be perfectly honest, I had some doubts about whether or not you’d accept, what with my reputation...” Grant stopped him there.
“You’re talking to a man who has Benjamin Wade as his running mate,” Grant said with a crooked smile, “one more Radical won’t hurt anything. Besides, you wont be speaking on my behalf as the Great Agnostic, just as you aren’t when you’re speaking about anything from Shakespeare to color-phobia.” Ingersoll was silent for a few moments, regarding his opposite with what Grant was a quantity of surprise.
“That’s welcome news,” he said finally, “even if the newspapers will trumpet to the heavens above how I, chief emissary of the Abomination, am campaigning on behalf of Unconditional Surrender Grant...” Grant chuckled at Ingersoll’s hyperbole.
“So long as I’m not being forced to interfere with the will of the American people then the newspapers can print whatever they damn well please. I have told the citizens of this nation that we shall have peace if I am elected, and it is up to them whether they want to accept that or not. I wish you luck in convincing those that may not have heard me correctly the first time around.” Ingersoll grinned like a fed cat.
“Thank you.” The mood had become more relaxed as the two men got a feel for one another. Ingersoll was radically different than him, Grant realized, but not in a displeasing way. He liked the orator’s energy, and could see a little flame of determination burning constantly in the man’s eyes, like the pilot light in a furnace.
“I understand you’re heading to Iowa soon?” Grant asked, Ingersoll nodded.
“I’m to speak at a gathering in Des Moines with a few others, most probably about your candidacy. I’ll then proceed onwards to St. Paul, turn back around and head all the way across the country, leaving crowds of furious night riders and excited Republicans in my wake.” Grant laughed.
“That’s a wonderful thing for you to do.” Grant knew even as he spoke that his words were an understatement. No doubt Ingersoll would be operating at somewhat of a deficit speaking purely of politics for however long his little tour took, his customary one dollar speaking fee would have to be lowered if not completely abolished in the more ruined portions of the country.
“It’s my duty as an American,” Ingersoll said, suddenly dead serious, “and what I’ve seen of you so far is only strengthening my determination to support you.” Grant blinked. He always felt slightly baffled when people praised him for character or other things that weren’t readily apparent. It was one thing to receive a promotion for winning a tough campaign, or emerging victorious in a decisive battle...but quite another to be happily and totally endorsed by a man who he had only just met.
“I’m happy to hear that.” He said, but Ingersoll must have seen the flash of uncertainty cross his face.
“And don’t think that I’m being hasty. I spent the night of the convention shoulder to shoulder with a bunch of Vermont Radicals who were absolutely convinced that you were going to jump in and endorse Colfax when it looked like he was going to lose to Wade in the vice presidential ballot,” Ingersoll affected a remarkably accurate New England accent, “‘Just watch, just watch, he’s gonna pull for the goddamned conservatives now,‘ they’d say,” Ingersoll dropped the accent, his voice returning to its usual soft, neutral inflection, “but instead of going for the safer choice you let Wade get chosen, no doubt to the dismay of your campaign manager,” Grant had to stifle a smile at the knowing glance that Ingersoll gave him, “which is a big part of why I’m impressed with you. You aren’t shutting out the Radicals, but neither are you abandoning the moderates and conservatives. You’re bridging the divide and allowing the party to remain united.” Grant liked that analysis. He had been trying to listen to everybody in the party as the campaign proceeded, and he liked to think that he had been doing a good job so far. Ultimately everybody was willing to fall in line behind him, the party was strong, and now the most famous orator in the country was jumping to endorse him. Things were going pretty well.
“I’m glad that you feel that way, and I can assure you that any man who believes in a united and equal nation is welcome in the Republican party. You’ve made quite the impression on me as well Bob, and I’m glad that you came to speak to me.” Ingersoll appeared to be similarly touched by Grant’s words.
“I’ve been working on some material,” he said, “if you’d like to take a glance at it.” Grant nodded.
“I’d like that.” Ingersoll handed him a small sheaf of papers and Grant glanced inside. Ingersoll’s handwriting reminded him of Wade’s, tiny, neat and precise. He had written the outline of a speech that he intended to give in Indianapolis, and already Grant could see that it was something special.
“It’s not finished yet, but I’m hoping to set the record straight when Pendleton inevitably begins to accuse you of following in the footsteps of tyranny, a la Lincoln.” The main body of the outline was an exhaustive defense of the war measures that Lincoln, and indeed the party as a whole, had used. The denial of habeus corpus to suspected traitors in the Revolutionary War was mentioned and compared to the same tactics used during the Civil War. ‘The title ‘Democratic‘ party is an obvious oxymoron‘ Ingersoll had written, which made Grant chuckle. He handed the outline back.
“I look forward to seeing what you produce.” Ingersoll beamed.
“Wonderful,” he glanced at the clock on the mantle and nodded slightly, “but in any case, it’s been a long day and I must confess that the fare on the train was rather poor...is it too early for dinner?” It was only five but Grant nodded anyways.
“Dinner sounds fine.” Grant got up and moved to the kitchen. He had had the ice box freshly filled and extracted a number of ingredients, including a pair of sirloins. Though Julia normally did the cooking, as was expected, he didn’t mind preparing his own food and had grown rather fond of grilling steaks. Ingersoll took a seat at the kitchen table and the two men spoke, the conversation winding and tumbling across various subjects as the smell of roasting meat and frying potatoes gradually filled the room. Dinner was fairly standard and wouldn’t have been out of place in the officer’s mess back on the campaign trail, but Ingersoll seemed happy enough, sipping brandy and sharing stories of the various people he had met while on the road.
“Have you ever heard of a man named Walt Whitman?” He asked, and Grant shook his head.
“Can’t say that I have.” Ingersoll didn’t seem surprised.
“He’s a poet. Wrote a book of verses several years ago called Leaves of Grass,” Grant raised an eyebrow at the title, he wasn’t sure what to make of it, “it’s a very...interesting and new type of poetry. A lot of people have called it indecent, but between you and me I think it’s brilliant.” Grant cut a little slit in Ingersoll’s steak and winced as he felt his stomach roil at the sight of the pinkness inside. He glanced back at his own meat, which was sizzling merrily away and decided to cook it for a little longer.
“Have you met this, uh, Whitman person?” Ingersoll nodded.
“Yes. He’s an interesting man, I think his’ll be a household name before too long.” This was the first that Grant had ever heard of the man but he nodded anyways. For all he knew, Walt Whitman might be incredibly popular already, he wasn’t terribly knowledgable when it came to poetry.
“Leaves of Grass...” Grant mused, and stirred through the potatoes, adding a little pepper as he did so.
“I have a copy with me if you’d like to read through it.” Grant nodded vaguely. Ingersoll’s mention of it being described as indecent had sort of intrigued him, and besides, he had recently finished the Iliad and Odyssey, a little more poetry couldn’t hurt.
“Thanks,” he said, “and...how did you say you liked your steak?” Ingersoll glanced at the pan and shrugged.
“Well done is fine.” Grant nodded and looked back at the table, to where Ingersoll had produced a strange looking volume with an orange cover adorned with a rising sun symbol and a cloth butterfly resting upon a delicately drawn hand. Grant stared for a moment, unsure of what exactly to make of it.
“Hmm.” He vocalized, and opened the cover. A daguerrotype of a youngish man with a beard and a black, wide brimmed hat stared back up at him. This was Walt Whitman he supposed. Well, he looked ordinary enough.
“That’s the 1860 edition,” Ingersoll said, “there’s been another reprinting since then, but this is my favorite cover.” Grant closed the book and nodded. Now he was genuinely curious to know what lay inside. He would have to close himself into his study once Ingersoll had left and study the book in full.
“It’s certainly...unique.” He said, and doused the flame on the stove, the steaks were just about done. Pouring himself a drink, he served dinner and sat down.
“Thank you.” Ingersoll said and Grant nodded.
“It may be a bit spartan compared to what the city can offer, but I hope it’ll suffice.” Ingersoll took a bite of his steak and chewed thoughtfully.
“I like it,” he said after a few moments had passed, “not everything has to be fancy.” He was right, Grant supposed, a simple meal of meat, potatoes and bread could be just as good as a lamb dinner in some fancy restaurant in Chicago or New York City.
“Amen to that.” Of course Julia would probably disagree, but Grant respected that. Everybody had their sensibilities after all, and she would have plenty of time to explore hers once they reached the White House. It was at that point that Grant noticed that Ingersoll was observing him, a little smile on his face.
“No prayer?” He asked, and for a moment Grant wasn’t sure what he was talking about. Then he nodded.
“I don’t usually pray.” He wasn’t in the habit of observing anything resembling a religion when Julia wasn’t around, and Ingersoll had obviously noticed.
“That’s interesting...” An understatement judging by the look that Ingersoll was giving him, something akin to surprise and a growing look of giddy excitement.
“Before you ask, I don’t personally follow any religion but I do go to church when Julia recommends it...more for her satisfaction than mine. The children are free to choose as they will, I don’t plan on swaying them in any particular direction.” Ingersoll nodded slowly.
“Another agnostic,” Ingersoll marveled happily, “I wasn’t expecting you to be one, to be perfectly honest.” Grant was silent for a few moments.
“If we could keep this between ourselves,” he said, “that would be ideal.” Ingersoll nodded.
“Don’t worry,” he said, “I would never use your beliefs as a...as a weapon for my cause. They’re your private beliefs and I respect that you want to keep your personal life...well...personal.” That was about the response that Grant had expected, and he was glad that Ingersoll was being so earnest. The rest of dinner was relatively quiet and Ingersoll, tired from a long day of travel, went to bed early. The telegraph machines stayed silent and Grant, oddly tired as well, dozed in the sitting room for a while before going to bed. He set Leaves of Grass on his nightstand and decided that he would read it tomorrow, once Ingersoll had continued on to Des Moines.
He liked Ingersoll. The orator reminded him of Wade a little bit, in the way that he pursued his objectives and even created his own. He also seemed to be well read and just a little bit controversial, which was always exciting. Grant felt a little bit stuffy and old fashioned in comparison, but Ingersoll seemed to like him all the same, which was comforting.
Thoughts fleeing in the face of a featureless fog of fatigue, Grant shut his eyes and drifted off to sleep.
Somewhere across the country, in a wood paneled office, George Pendleton was sitting behind a desk and reading a telegraph transcript. Ulysses Grant had received a visitor in the form of Robert Ingersoll apparently.
“What do you think sir?” The campaign executive who had brought the paper asked. Pendleton was silent for a very long time. Ingersoll was very bad news, he knew that much; silver tongued didn’t even begin to describe the man, and the fact that he was meeting directly with Grant also didn’t spell good things. It signified direct loyalty, and the thought of that made Pendleton’s heart do an ugly little flip in his chest. But all the same, there were weaknesses, and already he could see one becoming readily apparent.
“The Great Agnostic is on the prowl,” he said, “and that is what we will label him as. Not as Colonel Ingersoll, not even as Robert Ingersoll...but as the Great Agnostic. Here to strip God from the nation and cast us all into the lake of fire.” Pendleton himself didn’t mind Ingersoll’s mission, anybody with more than moderate faith would be able to see through what the man said against the divinity of Jesus and the absolute presence of God Almighty. But campaigns weren’t won with half measures...especially when they were in such desperate straits as his…
He would need to go on the offensive, and immediately.
Benjamin Wade was never one to have many regrets in life, but one of them was that he didn’t get to participate in the first meeting between Grant and Robert Ingersoll that occurred when the famed orator swung through Galena on the way to a speaking conference in Des Moines, which he hoped would be the first stop of a countrywide speaking tour to espouse the virtues of the Republican party and General Grant.
Ingersoll’s arrival wasn’t exactly quiet and he was practically mobbed as he exited his train car, a forest of speech transcripts and other memorabilia bearing his work and picture being waved by a dozen excited members of the public. Producing a steel tipped pen from one pocket, Ingersoll grinned and exchanged pleasantries as he made his way slowly off of the platform, signing signatures all the way. Everybody seemed rather pleased to see such a famous person in town; even the minister of Galena’s local Methodist church, who had been about to depart town for a sabbatical to St. Louis, tipped his hat politely to his informal rival.
Grant himself was not present on the station platform, but received Ingersoll from inside, both men hurrying to a carriage before any more attention could be drawn to them. Sitting down, Ingersoll set down his travel bag, made sure that his pen was properly cleaned off, then leaned back in his seat with a little sigh.
“I suppose someone recognized me on the platform in Chicago,” he remarked, mopping his forehead with a handkerchief, “and then relayed that information here.” Grant nodded, letting his eyes flicker over the man sitting opposite him. Ingersoll was somewhat rounder than he had expected, but in a soft, pleasant way that invoked a sense of kindly wisdom.
“There have been a great many people visiting here lately,” Grant said, “mostly to see me. So I suppose there are likewise a great number of people keeping tabs on rail traffic that goes through this part of the state.” Ingersoll nodded and extended a hand.
“Forgive me for forgetting my manners,” he smiled, “it is a pleasure to finally meet you General.” Grant shook Ingersoll’s hand, noting that the orator had a remarkably firm grip, and waved off the title that the man had used.
“Please, call me Sam, all of my friends do.” Ingersoll nodded as the carriage began moving, with a clattering of wheels on hard-packed dirt.
“And you can call me Bob. In any case I am very pleased that we are becoming acquainted. When I heard of your victory at the convention, and Mr. Wade’s as well, I knew that your cause was one that I absolutely had to support.” Grant thanked him and they exchanged small talk for the remaining minutes of the carriage ride, until they arrived at the front door of Grant’s house.
“The city gave this house to my family and I after the war ended.” Grant said, and Ingersoll studied the structure for a few moments as he gathered up his things.
“It’s a very handsome building.” He said, and Grant opened the door for him, Ingersoll hanging up his coat and setting down his bag. In that time Grant had fetched a pitcher of lemonade from the ice box and poured Ingersoll a glass.
“Cigar?” Grant asked as Ingersoll joined him in the sitting room, “these are Virginian...I acquired a fondness for them during the war.” Ingersoll shook his head.
“No thank you, I don’t smoke.” Grant lit up his own cigar and sat down, motioning for Ingersoll to do the same. Though it was a balmy day the sitting room was cool and suitably dim, a relief after the glare of the afternoon sun.
“I suppose that makes sense,” Grant said, smoke curling from his mouth with every word, “you do make your living off of your voice, there’s no sense in coarsening it.” That made Ingersoll smile.
“I appreciate your hospitality though. Say...is the family around?” Grant shook his head.
“Julia and the children are visiting her parents for the next few days, so I’m holding down the fort for now.” Ingersoll nodded, a little sound of acknowledgment escaping his throat.
“A pity, I would like to meet them.” Grant blew a smoke ring and thought about getting himself a glass of lemonade as well, Ingersoll’s beverage looked quite inviting.
“Don’t worry, you’ll have time to, even if it isn’t right now.” Ingersoll took a long draught of his drink and sat back, looking greatly refreshed.
“Marvelous stuff,” he said, examining his glass, “Julia made this?” Grant nodded.
“I’m a firm believer in the restorative qualities of that woman’s lemonade.” Ingersoll raised an eyebrow.
“Amongst other things?” Grant could see that the orator’s eyes were fixed upon the decanter of brandy sitting next to the drink service on the mantle.
“Amongst other things.” He agreed, and poured Ingersoll a drink.
“I’ve been hearing things during my trip across the country, mostly about you and Wade, but some about Pendleton and Blair too. Nobody’s quite sure what to think of the tickets just yet.” Grant poured himself two fingers of brandy and settled back in his chair.
“The election is several months away still.” Ingersoll nodded sagely.
“That it is, but this is still slightly worrying. We need to start reinforcing a message, letting the American people know that you and Senator Wade stand for renewed peace and prosperity in this country, as opposed to the moral darkness of Pendleton and the so called Democratic party.” Grant sipped his drink and watched as his cigar burned slowly out on the ashtray where he’d set it.
“I believe in letting the American people decide whether or not they wish to put me in the presidency, political shenanigans has little to do with it.” Ingersoll raised an eyebrow, a little smile playing across his face.
“Easy for a man leading in every poll to say. You’re already as good as elected Sam, but we’re not talking about your chances of victory...we’re talking about the margin.” That certainly put it in new light, and even if Grant was uncomfortable with the concept of taking any type of victory for granted, he could see where Ingersoll was coming from.
“And so you want to help me spread the good word.” Ingersoll nodded.
“Absolutely. To be perfectly honest, I had some doubts about whether or not you’d accept, what with my reputation...” Grant stopped him there.
“You’re talking to a man who has Benjamin Wade as his running mate,” Grant said with a crooked smile, “one more Radical won’t hurt anything. Besides, you wont be speaking on my behalf as the Great Agnostic, just as you aren’t when you’re speaking about anything from Shakespeare to color-phobia.” Ingersoll was silent for a few moments, regarding his opposite with what Grant was a quantity of surprise.
“That’s welcome news,” he said finally, “even if the newspapers will trumpet to the heavens above how I, chief emissary of the Abomination, am campaigning on behalf of Unconditional Surrender Grant...” Grant chuckled at Ingersoll’s hyperbole.
“So long as I’m not being forced to interfere with the will of the American people then the newspapers can print whatever they damn well please. I have told the citizens of this nation that we shall have peace if I am elected, and it is up to them whether they want to accept that or not. I wish you luck in convincing those that may not have heard me correctly the first time around.” Ingersoll grinned like a fed cat.
“Thank you.” The mood had become more relaxed as the two men got a feel for one another. Ingersoll was radically different than him, Grant realized, but not in a displeasing way. He liked the orator’s energy, and could see a little flame of determination burning constantly in the man’s eyes, like the pilot light in a furnace.
“I understand you’re heading to Iowa soon?” Grant asked, Ingersoll nodded.
“I’m to speak at a gathering in Des Moines with a few others, most probably about your candidacy. I’ll then proceed onwards to St. Paul, turn back around and head all the way across the country, leaving crowds of furious night riders and excited Republicans in my wake.” Grant laughed.
“That’s a wonderful thing for you to do.” Grant knew even as he spoke that his words were an understatement. No doubt Ingersoll would be operating at somewhat of a deficit speaking purely of politics for however long his little tour took, his customary one dollar speaking fee would have to be lowered if not completely abolished in the more ruined portions of the country.
“It’s my duty as an American,” Ingersoll said, suddenly dead serious, “and what I’ve seen of you so far is only strengthening my determination to support you.” Grant blinked. He always felt slightly baffled when people praised him for character or other things that weren’t readily apparent. It was one thing to receive a promotion for winning a tough campaign, or emerging victorious in a decisive battle...but quite another to be happily and totally endorsed by a man who he had only just met.
“I’m happy to hear that.” He said, but Ingersoll must have seen the flash of uncertainty cross his face.
“And don’t think that I’m being hasty. I spent the night of the convention shoulder to shoulder with a bunch of Vermont Radicals who were absolutely convinced that you were going to jump in and endorse Colfax when it looked like he was going to lose to Wade in the vice presidential ballot,” Ingersoll affected a remarkably accurate New England accent, “‘Just watch, just watch, he’s gonna pull for the goddamned conservatives now,‘ they’d say,” Ingersoll dropped the accent, his voice returning to its usual soft, neutral inflection, “but instead of going for the safer choice you let Wade get chosen, no doubt to the dismay of your campaign manager,” Grant had to stifle a smile at the knowing glance that Ingersoll gave him, “which is a big part of why I’m impressed with you. You aren’t shutting out the Radicals, but neither are you abandoning the moderates and conservatives. You’re bridging the divide and allowing the party to remain united.” Grant liked that analysis. He had been trying to listen to everybody in the party as the campaign proceeded, and he liked to think that he had been doing a good job so far. Ultimately everybody was willing to fall in line behind him, the party was strong, and now the most famous orator in the country was jumping to endorse him. Things were going pretty well.
“I’m glad that you feel that way, and I can assure you that any man who believes in a united and equal nation is welcome in the Republican party. You’ve made quite the impression on me as well Bob, and I’m glad that you came to speak to me.” Ingersoll appeared to be similarly touched by Grant’s words.
“I’ve been working on some material,” he said, “if you’d like to take a glance at it.” Grant nodded.
“I’d like that.” Ingersoll handed him a small sheaf of papers and Grant glanced inside. Ingersoll’s handwriting reminded him of Wade’s, tiny, neat and precise. He had written the outline of a speech that he intended to give in Indianapolis, and already Grant could see that it was something special.
“It’s not finished yet, but I’m hoping to set the record straight when Pendleton inevitably begins to accuse you of following in the footsteps of tyranny, a la Lincoln.” The main body of the outline was an exhaustive defense of the war measures that Lincoln, and indeed the party as a whole, had used. The denial of habeus corpus to suspected traitors in the Revolutionary War was mentioned and compared to the same tactics used during the Civil War. ‘The title ‘Democratic‘ party is an obvious oxymoron‘ Ingersoll had written, which made Grant chuckle. He handed the outline back.
“I look forward to seeing what you produce.” Ingersoll beamed.
“Wonderful,” he glanced at the clock on the mantle and nodded slightly, “but in any case, it’s been a long day and I must confess that the fare on the train was rather poor...is it too early for dinner?” It was only five but Grant nodded anyways.
“Dinner sounds fine.” Grant got up and moved to the kitchen. He had had the ice box freshly filled and extracted a number of ingredients, including a pair of sirloins. Though Julia normally did the cooking, as was expected, he didn’t mind preparing his own food and had grown rather fond of grilling steaks. Ingersoll took a seat at the kitchen table and the two men spoke, the conversation winding and tumbling across various subjects as the smell of roasting meat and frying potatoes gradually filled the room. Dinner was fairly standard and wouldn’t have been out of place in the officer’s mess back on the campaign trail, but Ingersoll seemed happy enough, sipping brandy and sharing stories of the various people he had met while on the road.
“Have you ever heard of a man named Walt Whitman?” He asked, and Grant shook his head.
“Can’t say that I have.” Ingersoll didn’t seem surprised.
“He’s a poet. Wrote a book of verses several years ago called Leaves of Grass,” Grant raised an eyebrow at the title, he wasn’t sure what to make of it, “it’s a very...interesting and new type of poetry. A lot of people have called it indecent, but between you and me I think it’s brilliant.” Grant cut a little slit in Ingersoll’s steak and winced as he felt his stomach roil at the sight of the pinkness inside. He glanced back at his own meat, which was sizzling merrily away and decided to cook it for a little longer.
“Have you met this, uh, Whitman person?” Ingersoll nodded.
“Yes. He’s an interesting man, I think his’ll be a household name before too long.” This was the first that Grant had ever heard of the man but he nodded anyways. For all he knew, Walt Whitman might be incredibly popular already, he wasn’t terribly knowledgable when it came to poetry.
“Leaves of Grass...” Grant mused, and stirred through the potatoes, adding a little pepper as he did so.
“I have a copy with me if you’d like to read through it.” Grant nodded vaguely. Ingersoll’s mention of it being described as indecent had sort of intrigued him, and besides, he had recently finished the Iliad and Odyssey, a little more poetry couldn’t hurt.
“Thanks,” he said, “and...how did you say you liked your steak?” Ingersoll glanced at the pan and shrugged.
“Well done is fine.” Grant nodded and looked back at the table, to where Ingersoll had produced a strange looking volume with an orange cover adorned with a rising sun symbol and a cloth butterfly resting upon a delicately drawn hand. Grant stared for a moment, unsure of what exactly to make of it.
“Hmm.” He vocalized, and opened the cover. A daguerrotype of a youngish man with a beard and a black, wide brimmed hat stared back up at him. This was Walt Whitman he supposed. Well, he looked ordinary enough.
“That’s the 1860 edition,” Ingersoll said, “there’s been another reprinting since then, but this is my favorite cover.” Grant closed the book and nodded. Now he was genuinely curious to know what lay inside. He would have to close himself into his study once Ingersoll had left and study the book in full.
“It’s certainly...unique.” He said, and doused the flame on the stove, the steaks were just about done. Pouring himself a drink, he served dinner and sat down.
“Thank you.” Ingersoll said and Grant nodded.
“It may be a bit spartan compared to what the city can offer, but I hope it’ll suffice.” Ingersoll took a bite of his steak and chewed thoughtfully.
“I like it,” he said after a few moments had passed, “not everything has to be fancy.” He was right, Grant supposed, a simple meal of meat, potatoes and bread could be just as good as a lamb dinner in some fancy restaurant in Chicago or New York City.
“Amen to that.” Of course Julia would probably disagree, but Grant respected that. Everybody had their sensibilities after all, and she would have plenty of time to explore hers once they reached the White House. It was at that point that Grant noticed that Ingersoll was observing him, a little smile on his face.
“No prayer?” He asked, and for a moment Grant wasn’t sure what he was talking about. Then he nodded.
“I don’t usually pray.” He wasn’t in the habit of observing anything resembling a religion when Julia wasn’t around, and Ingersoll had obviously noticed.
“That’s interesting...” An understatement judging by the look that Ingersoll was giving him, something akin to surprise and a growing look of giddy excitement.
“Before you ask, I don’t personally follow any religion but I do go to church when Julia recommends it...more for her satisfaction than mine. The children are free to choose as they will, I don’t plan on swaying them in any particular direction.” Ingersoll nodded slowly.
“Another agnostic,” Ingersoll marveled happily, “I wasn’t expecting you to be one, to be perfectly honest.” Grant was silent for a few moments.
“If we could keep this between ourselves,” he said, “that would be ideal.” Ingersoll nodded.
“Don’t worry,” he said, “I would never use your beliefs as a...as a weapon for my cause. They’re your private beliefs and I respect that you want to keep your personal life...well...personal.” That was about the response that Grant had expected, and he was glad that Ingersoll was being so earnest. The rest of dinner was relatively quiet and Ingersoll, tired from a long day of travel, went to bed early. The telegraph machines stayed silent and Grant, oddly tired as well, dozed in the sitting room for a while before going to bed. He set Leaves of Grass on his nightstand and decided that he would read it tomorrow, once Ingersoll had continued on to Des Moines.
He liked Ingersoll. The orator reminded him of Wade a little bit, in the way that he pursued his objectives and even created his own. He also seemed to be well read and just a little bit controversial, which was always exciting. Grant felt a little bit stuffy and old fashioned in comparison, but Ingersoll seemed to like him all the same, which was comforting.
Thoughts fleeing in the face of a featureless fog of fatigue, Grant shut his eyes and drifted off to sleep.
Somewhere across the country, in a wood paneled office, George Pendleton was sitting behind a desk and reading a telegraph transcript. Ulysses Grant had received a visitor in the form of Robert Ingersoll apparently.
“What do you think sir?” The campaign executive who had brought the paper asked. Pendleton was silent for a very long time. Ingersoll was very bad news, he knew that much; silver tongued didn’t even begin to describe the man, and the fact that he was meeting directly with Grant also didn’t spell good things. It signified direct loyalty, and the thought of that made Pendleton’s heart do an ugly little flip in his chest. But all the same, there were weaknesses, and already he could see one becoming readily apparent.
“The Great Agnostic is on the prowl,” he said, “and that is what we will label him as. Not as Colonel Ingersoll, not even as Robert Ingersoll...but as the Great Agnostic. Here to strip God from the nation and cast us all into the lake of fire.” Pendleton himself didn’t mind Ingersoll’s mission, anybody with more than moderate faith would be able to see through what the man said against the divinity of Jesus and the absolute presence of God Almighty. But campaigns weren’t won with half measures...especially when they were in such desperate straits as his…
He would need to go on the offensive, and immediately.
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Glad to be here. Your work is superb as usual.
And if you feel like you need to stir up trouble I'm sure I could recommend a conspiracy by the KGC to blow up the world or something. Just kidding.
Very interesting update! I can see the moralistic preaching of the Democratic campaign now! Though it's interesting to discover Grant is an agnostic, I wasn't aware of that.
I'm not normally one for political timelines, but this one is so unique (and honestly refreshingly pre-1900) and you seem to have an in depth grasp of the movers of the era that it really comes alive.
Keep up the good work.
I'm not normally one for political timelines, but this one is so unique (and honestly refreshingly pre-1900
) and you seem to have an in depth grasp of the movers of the era that it really comes alive.Keep up the good work.