Heaven and Hell (2 page)

, Secretary of War Stanton. Along the pavilion's front roof mg bunting swags and evergreen sprays, hung banners painted names of Union victories: Atlanta and antietam, gettys1

spotsylvania, and more.

quarter to nine there was still no sign of the President. The tured Chief Executive sailed in a sea of gossip these days. Peohe lacked tact, drank heavily. And he was common--well, that

. Johnson, a tailor, later senator, was the self-educated son of 5see tavern porter, but he did not have the skills that had enncoln to turn his rustic background into a personal advantage, had met Johnson. He found him a brusque, opinionated man almost religious reverence for the Constitution. That alone would at odds with the Radical Republicans, who wanted to expand ation of the Constitution to suit their vision of society.

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and the franchise for eligible males of both races. But frequently he found Radical motives and tactics repugnant. Many of the Radicals made no secret of their intent to use black voters to make the Republicans the majority party, upsetting the traditional Democratic dominance of the country. The Radicals displayed a vicious animosity toward those they had conquered, as well as any others they deemed ideologically impure.

President Johnson and the Radicals were locked in an increasingly vindictive struggle for control of reconstruction of the Union. It was not a new quarrel. In 1862, Lincoln had proposed his Louisiana Plan, later amplifying it to allow for readmission of any seceded state in which a

"tangible nucleus" of voters—only ten percent of those qualified to vote in i860—took a loyalty oath and organized a pro-Union government.

In July of 1864, the Radical Republicans had retaliated with a bill written by Senator Ben Wade, of Ohio, and Representative Henry Davis, of Maryland. It outlined a much harsher reconstruction plan, which included a provision for military rule of the defeated Confederacy. The
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bill fixed control of reconstruction in the Congress. Early in 1865, Tennessee had formed a government under the Lincoln plan, headed by a Whig Unionist named Brownlow. The Radicals in Congress refused to seat elected representatives of that government.

Andrew Johnson had accused Jefferson Davis of acting to "inspire"

and "procure" the assassination at Ford's Theatre. He made the obligatory harsh statements about the South, but he also insisted that he would carry out Lincoln's moderate program. Lately, George had heard that Johnson intended to implement the program by means of executive orders during the summer and fall. Since Congress had adjourned and was not scheduled to reconvene until late in the year, and since Johnson certainly wouldn't call a special session, the Radicals would be thwarted.

So the political wind carried word of coming Radical reprisals, tie of George's missions in.Washington was to speak to a powerful Pennsylvania politician, to state his views on the situation. He donated enough to the party each year to feel-entitled to do so. He might even do some good.

"Papa, there's Aunt Isabel," said Patricia from behind him.

George saw Stanley's wife waving from the presidential stand. He grimaced and returned the wave. "She wanted us to be sure and see her."

Brett smiled. Constance patted his hand. "Now, George, don't be spiteful. You wouldn't trade places with Stanley."

George shrugged and continued scanning the crowd on his side of street, searching for the congressman from his state whom he wanted HEAVEN AND HELL

:orner. While he was occupied, Constance reached into her reticule a piece of hard candy. Her red hair shone where it curled from eath a fashionable straw bonnet. She still possessed a pale Irish love

:ss,

but she'd gained thirty pounds since her marriage, at the end of Mexican War. George said he didn't mind; he considered the weight ign of contentment.

Promptly at nine, a cannon boomed, off by the Capitol. In a few lutes, the Hazards heard a distant brass band playing "When Johnny mes Marching Home." Then they heard unseen thousands cheering
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ade units beyond the jog in the avenue. Soon the first marchers rounded

: corner by the Treasury, and everyone leaped up to clap and hurrah.

Scholarly General George Meade led the parade, riding to the

:sidential pavilion amid an ovation. Small boys hanging from the trees hind it leaned out to clap and nearly fell. Meade saluted the dignitar; with his saber--neither Grant nor Johnson had yet arrived--then nded his horse to a corporal and went to sit with them.

Women cheered, men wept openly, a chorus of young schoolgirls ng and showered the street with bouquets and nosegays. The sun struck lite fire from the alabaster of the Capitol dome as General Wesley erritt led the Third Division into sight. The regular commander, Little lil Sheridan, was already en route to duty on the Gulf of Mexico. rhen the Third appeared, even William, who was afflicted with adoles:nt

disdain for nearly everything, jumped up and whistled and clapped.

Sixteen abreast in a column of platoons, sabers flashing in the inshine, Sheridan's cavalry passed. The troopers had a trim, freshly irbered look and showed few signs of war-weariness. Many of them id stuck small bunches of daisies or violets into the muzzles of the irbines carried behind them on shoulder slings.

Each rank dipped its steel to the Chief Executive, who had finally ntered the pavilion with General Grant, looking apologetic. George card a woman several rows behind wonder aloud whether Johnson was

lready drunk.

Dust clouds rose. The smell of horse droppings ripened. Then, rom Fifteenth Street, George heard a chant. "Custer! Custer! Cuser!

. . ."

And there he came, on his fine high-stepping bay, Don Juan: the

'Boy General"--shoulder-length ringlets, yellow with a reddish paina, flushed face, scarlet neckerchief, golden spurs, broad-brimmed hat loffed to acknowledge the chanting of his name. Few Union officers lad so captured the fancy of public and press. George Armstrong Custer lad been last in his class at West Point, a brigadier at twenty-three, a

"najor general at twenty-four. Twelve horses had been shot from under nim. He was fearless or reckless, depending on your view. It was said Prologue 9

that he wanted to be president after Ulysses Grant ran for the office. If he did want that--if the famed "Custer's luck" stayed with him and the public didn't forget him--he'd probably get what he wanted.

The Boy General led his troop of red-scarfed cavalrymen while his regimental band blared "Garry Owen." The schoolgirls surged up, ready to sing again. They threw flowers. Near the presidential stand, Custer
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stretched out his gauntlet to catch one. The sudden move spooked the bay. It bolted.

George glimpsed Custer's furious face as the bay raced toward Seventeenth. When Custer regained control of Don Juan, it was impossible for him to turn back against the tide of men and horses to salute Johnson. Enraged, he rode on.

No Custer's luck this morning, George thought, lighting a cigar.

The road of ambition was not smooth. Thank God he himself had no designs on high office.

According to his engraved program, it would be a while before the engineers appeared. He excused himself to search again for the politician he hoped to find in the crowd. '

He did find him, holding forth among the trees behind the special stand. Congressman Thaddeus Stevens, Republican of Lancaster and perhaps the foremost of the Radicals, was over seventy but still had an aura of craggy power. Neither a clubfoot nor an obvious and ugly dark brown wig could diminish it. He wore neither beard nor mustache, letting his stern features show clearly.

He finished his conversation, and his two admirers tipped their hats and walked away. George stepped up, extending his hand. "Hello, Thad."

"George. Splendid to see you. I'd heard you were out of uniform."

"And

back at Lehigh Station, managing the Hazard works. Do you have a moment? I'd like to speak to you as one Republican to another."

"Surely," Stevens said. A curtain dropped over his dark blue eyes.

George had seen this happen before with the eyes of politicians put on guard.

"I just want to say that I'm in favor of giving Mr. Johnson's Program a chance."

Stevens pursed his lips. "I understand the reason for your concern.

I know you have friends down in Carolina."

God, the man had a way of setting you off with his righteousness.

George wished he was five inches taller, so he wouldn't have to look UP- "Yes, that's right. My best friend's people; my friend didn't survive

10 HEAVEN AND HELL

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the war. I must say in defense of the family that I don't consider them aristocrats. Or criminals--"

"They are both if they held blacks in bondage."

"Thad, please let me finish."

"Yes, certainly." Stevens was no longer friendly.

"A few years ago, I believed that overzealous politicians on both sides had provoked the war, unnecessarily. Year after year, I rethought the question, and I decided I was wrong. Terrible as it was, the war had to be fought. Gradual peaceful emancipation would never have worked.

Those with vested interests in slavery would have kept it going."

"Quite right. With their cooperation and encouragement, the blackbirders imported and sold slaves from Cuba and the Indies long after Congress outlawed the trade in 1807."

"I'm more interested in this moment. The war's over, and there must never be another one. The cost to life and property is too high.

War defeats every attempt at material progress."

"Ah, there it is," Stevens said with a frosty smile. "The businessman's new creed. I am well aware of this tide of economic pacifism in the North. I'll have nothing to do with it."

George bristled. "Why not? Aren't you supposed to represent your Republican constituents?"

"Represent, yes. Obey, no. My conscience is my sole guide." He laid a hand on George's shoulder and gazed down; the mere act of inclining his head was somehow condescending. "I don't want to be rude, George. I know you donate heavily to the state and national organizations.

I'm aware of your fine war record. Unfortunately, none of that changes my view about the Southern slavocracy. Those who belong to that class, and all who support them, are traitors to our nation. They presently reside not in sovereign states, but in conquered provinces.

They deserve full punishment."

In the eyes beneath the overhanging brows, George saw the light of true belief, holy war.

Cynics often cited sordid reasons for that fanaticism. They linked Stevens's championship of Negro rights with his housekeeper in Lancaster and Washington, Mrs. Lydia Smith, a handsome widow, and a mulatto. They linked the burning of his iron works in Chambersburg by Jubal Early's soldiers with his hatred of all things Southern. George didn't entirely believe the explanations; he considered Stevens an honest idealist, though an extreme one. It had never surprised him that Stevens
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and his sister Virgilia Hazard were close friends.

Still, the congressman by no means represented all of Republican opinion. Again sharply, George said, "I thought the executive branch was in charge of reconstructing the South."

Prologue 11

"No, sir. That's the prerogative of the Congress. Mr. Johnson was a fool to announce his intention to issue executive orders. Doing so has generated great enmity among my colleagues, and you may be assured that when we reconvene, we will undo his mischief. Congress will not have its rights usurped." Stevens rapped the ferrule of his cane on the ground. "I will not have it."

"But Johnson is only doing what Abraham Lincoln--"

"Mr. Lincoln is dead," Stevens said before he could finish.

Reddening, George said,*"All right, then. What program would you enact?"

"A complete reconstruction of Southern institutions and manners by means of occupation, confiscation, and the purging fire of law. Such a program may startle feeble minds and shake weak nerves but it is necessary and justified." George grew even redder. "To be more specific, I want harsh penalties for traitors who held high office. I'm not content that Jeff Davis be held in irons at Fortress Monroe. I want him executed. I want amnesty denied to any man who left the Army or Navy to serve the rebellion." Unhappily, George thought of Charles. "And I insist on equal rights, full citizenship for all Negroes. I demand the franchise for every eligible black male."

"For that, they'll throw rocks at you even, in Pennsylvania. White people just don't believe blacks are their equals. That may be wrong-- and I think it is--but it's also reality. Your scheme won't work."

"Justice won't work, George? Equality won't work? I don't care.

Those are my beliefs, I'll fight for them. In matters of moral principle, there can be no compromise."

"Damn it, I refuse to accept that. And a lot of other Northerners feel the same way about--"

But the congressman was gone, to see three new admirers.

The battalion from the Corps of Engineers, Army of the Potomac, swung down Pennsylvania Avenue toward the presidential pavilion. Eight
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companies marched, smartly outfitted in new uniforms, which had replaced the soiled, ragged ones worn during the last days of the Virginia campaign. On the belts of half the marchers swung short spades, emblems of their dangerous field duty--bridge building, road repair--often done under enemy fire they were too busy to return.

Marching with them in the hot sun, neatly bearded, the pain of his healing chest wound almost gone, Billy Hazard strode along with pride and vigor. He glanced toward the stand where his family should be sitting. Yes, he saw his wife's lovely, luminous face as she waved.

^>en he noticed his brother and nearly lost the cadence. George looked abstracted, grim.

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HEAVEN AND HELL

The brass band blared, sweeping the engineers past the special stands through a rain of flowers.

Constance, too, saw something amiss. After Billy went by, she asked George about it.