Hi, all.

Short fiction has not been my priority among my recent works,1 though this story you will read tonight and its companion pieces will be exceptions.

As I mentioned previously, learning that you can write alternative history fiction on my favorite fan fiction site, Archive of Our Own, inspired me to take an alternative look at one of the biggest events of American history and see what might transpire. In this case, what would happen if the assassination plot against Abraham Lincoln not only failed, but was revealed to have had support from the highest levels of the Confederacy’s political and military leadership?

If you want to catch up, Part 1 (in an expected four parts) can be found here. Part 2, which will be below, reveals some of the responses of the United States government against the leaders of the Confederacy for what they did. And we begin this part of the story on the campus of the US Military Academy at West Point. I admit the first scene in this story was one of the ones that first sprang to mind once this idea came to me.

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Father Abraham

Part 2: Old Abe Sets Things Right (1866-1867)

By Jason Liegois

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11 September 1866, U.S. Military Academy, West Point, N.Y.

David Mullin

Davy Mullin and the rest of The Corps of Cadets had known today would not be a typical morning muster on the parade ground. But it wasn’t until they saw the gallows erected at one end of the ground that they knew how different a day it would be.

What was to come had been abstract to Davy, the senior, or “firsty” cadet, known as Paddy to his fellow cadets for his Irish heritage. The son of an Irish father who’d fled to America after the Young Ireland Rebellion of ’48 and a mother who’d fled Limerick two years later, he’d gotten his appointment through his Uncle Kerry, who’d risen from being a ward boss in Baltimore to a delegate in the Maryland General Assembly.

It had come through the day Lee ordered Longstreet and Pickett to charge the Union center at Gettysburg. He’d initially resisted going, thinking he could do more for his country by immediately enlisting in the Union Army. However, Uncle Kerry managed to talk him out of it.

“Look here, lad, you’ll not get a better education in America anywhere else but Harvard or Yale, like,” he’d said over cigars in the older man’s study that summer of 1863. “It’ll keep you in good stead whenever you decide to leave the service. And in the service, well … The West Pointers always get their choice of assignments.”

Although initially put out by not getting into the action, the casualty lists from Gettysburg and later Grant’s campaign against Lee the following year made him rethink his earlier eagerness to get into the fight. Besides, he reassured himself, once he and the rest of the Class of 1867 graduated, there would be plenty of opportunities for action in either the West against the Indians (his preference), or as garrison troops keeping order in the still-volatile South.

He and the rest of his bunkmates put on their dress gray uniforms. Paddy’s sleeve bore four chevrons, the insignia of a battalion commander in the Corps of Cadets. At that moment, he was ranked 14 in a class of 69 cadets, with engineering and history being his top classes. Not bad for the son of Irish refugees.

“Can’t believe it’s going to be today, Paddy,” said Edward “Teddy” Banks, the Connecticut boy who was his close friend, fellow firsty, and battalion executive officer, as he dressed on the bunk beside him.

“We knew it was coming, Teddy,” Paddy grunted.

“But why here, for God’s sake?” Teddy retorted. “Why not at the Old Capitol or the Washington Arsenal? Wouldn’t that be the best place for it?”

“We’re soldiers, Teddy. We follow any order that’s lawful, and this was ordered by the law. That’s all there is to it.”

Teddy sighed as he buttoned up his jacket. “I still don’t feel good about this.”

“I reckon that’s the whole point of the enterprise,” he said as he set his tarbucket hat on his head.

#

Within a half-hour, the entire Corps of Cadets were assembled on The Plain, the old parade ground at West Point. They saw the familiar sight of George Washington’s equestrian statue at the northern end of The Plain. What was not familiar was the wooden scaffolding set up beside it, with a high cross beam and three hemp rope nooses hanging from it.

“God save Ireland,” Paddy muttered under his breath.

The Old Man was standing in front of the scaffolding in his full-dress uniform as a major general in the U.S. Army. Gen. George Washington Cullen, the 16^th Superintendent of West Point, stood at parade rest as he waited for his charges. Gen. Cullen had served as chief engineer in several theaters of the last war and had even served as chief of staff to Gen. Henry Halleck. Paddy remembered he would be stepping down from the superintendency in a matter of days. A hell of a way to wrap up his term.

After the cadet officers led their men to parade rest in front of the scaffolding, The Old Man began to speak. “Gentlemen of the Corps of Cadets. When Gen. Grant informed me a month previously of what would take place today, I immediately endorsed it. This academy, this Corps of Cadets, functions based on our code of honor and the oaths we take here. What will occur here today, as best as it can be summarized, is the result of a failure of this code and the oaths graduates of this academy took in service of the United States of America. I can think of no other group of men who need to be aware of the consequences of this failure than you, the future officers of the United States Army. We will now proceed.” Looking over his right shoulder, Gen. Cullen gave a single nod.

Paddy could make out a double line of infantry soldiers, all of them either corporals or higher non-commissioned officers, marching with shouldered rifled toward the back of the scaffolding. While he didn’t have a direct view of the lines, it appeared there were a few men walking between them.

Eventually, men started to make their way onto the top of the platform. First, there was a full colonel who seemed to oversee the detachment of guards, who stood off to the left side of the platform, and a barrel-chested sergeant major who appeared to be the main hangman. Then he could see three men, their hands shackled in front of them. They were led to the empty nooses by two guards each holding either arm of each man.

The first man was gaunt with a prominent beard underneath his chin. He had a persistent cough and a limp in his right leg but dressed formally with coat and tie as if he was preparing to give a speech to the U.S. Senate. Jefferson Davis, Class of 1828, graduated 23^rd in a class of 33. Former congressman, senator, Secretary of War … and first and last president of the Confederate States of America.

The second man was white haired and bearded, more solidly built than Davis but with a complexion now somewhere between pale green and gray. He stood erect in the immaculate full-dress uniform of a Confederate general. Robert E. Lee, Class of 1829, second in a class of 46, and astonishingly zero demerits throughout his studies. Hero of the Mexican War … and then commander of the Army of Northern Virginia and General in Chief of the Armies of the Confederate States. My God, he was superintendent of this place…

The third man was younger than the other two, his hair and beard more a mix of dark and gray. He scowled at the assembled cadets with a gaze of pure undistilled disdain. Like Lee, he wore the full-dress uniform, not a button out of place, of a Confederate general.

Braxton Bragg, Class of 1837, fifth in a class of 50. Fought alongside Gen. Taylor in the Mexican War … and then served as commander of the Confederacy’s Army of the Tennessee and then chief military adviser to Confederate President Jefferson Davis.

The colonel then turned to face the three prisoners. “Jefferson F. Davis, Robert E. Lee, and Braxton Bragg, you have been convicted of the crimes of treason to the United States of America, dereliction of duty as either an officer of the United States Army or as a federally elected official, and conspiracy to attempt to murder President Abraham Lincoln, Vice President Andrew Johnson, Secretary of State William Seward, and General Ulysses S. Grant, Commanding General of the U.S. Army. As such, you have been sentenced to hang from the neck until dead, the sentence to be carried out this day, 11^th of September, 1866.”

Paddy noticed the colonel either had or had handed him three black hoods. He first walked to Davis and wordlessly offered him a hood to put over his head; Davis shook his head. “Any final words?” the colonel then asked.

Davis started at the colonel. “I am an innocent man, and what occurs today is an injustice,” he declared in a high, clear voice. “However, the fault lies with other men, and not with these. Do your duty.”

As the sergeant major placed the noose around Davis’ neck with the knot to the left, the colonel walked to Lee, who also refused the hood. “Any final words?”

Lee bowed his head in what appeared to be prayer. “Almighty God, please preserve the souls of all those here and those of our country. I will deliver your servant’s soul to you today in your name. Amen.”

As the sergeant major eased the noose over Lee’s head, the colonel stood before Bragg and offered him a hood. After an uncomfortable pause, Bragg nodded. “Do you have any final wor…?” the colonel began to ask.

“None those here are worthy of listening to,” Bragg interjected. He gave another nod, and the colonel slid the hood over Bragg’s head before the sergeant major approached with the noose.

After affixing the noose to Bragg, the sergeant major trotted down the steps to somewhere behind the scaffolding. After a pause, the colonel gazed down at where the sergeant major was likely to be and gave a single nod.

It was a bit of a horror that Paddy knew what was to come. There had been a professor of artillery at the Academy who had not had the “pleasure” of hanging men but had seen the act done when living in Oregon in the post-Mexican War and pre-Civil War eras. The discussion regarding execution by hanging had occurred at mess one evening, the professor reasoning it was likely they as officers in the United States’ army would have to consider such things as officers. The man’s words now rang in Davy’s ears.

You had to plan hangings with some thought nowadays. Give them too short a rope or drop, they would dangle and kick against death, and it would come slow but agonizingly sure. Give them a longer rope or drop, the noose was likely to tear the man’s head clean off their shoulders and leave the most … inconvenient mess. No, the trick was to drop them long, but just enough to snap the neck as you would snap a tree branch for the evening fire.

There was a clatter and then the rattle of wood, and he saw the front of the platform swing down on a hinge. There was a crack and then the trio of Confederates dangled at the end of their ropes, silent and still. For a long time, the call of a flock of geese overhead was the only sounds heard over The Plain.

Finally, Gen. Cullen nodded to the first captain of the Corps of Cadets and the colonel nodded to his sergeant major. The first captain ordered the cadets to about face and head back to the dining hall for breakfast, while the sergeant major and his men started the process of taking the bodies down and placing them in rough wooden coffins.

#

Paddy and Teddy stared at each other across their steaming cups of coffee and uneaten biscuits. Whatever conversations they overheard were muted and few on the ground.

“What’s going to happen to them? Their remains, that is,” Teddy murmured.

Paddy stared at him, then took a tentative sip of his mug. It was something approaching but nowhere near acceptable coffee. “Imagine they’ll send them to their families, like they did with Booth and the conspirators.”

The execution of Booth, Lewis Powell, David Herold, and George Atzerodt had been two months before at the Old Capitol Prison. All but Booth had been captured within two days of the assassination attempt trying to flee the Washington area. Booth made it all the way to Baltimore and was attempting to board a ship bound for Newfoundland when a detachment of U.S. deputy marshals intercepted him and shot him four times. Booth managed to survive, but the surgeons had been obliged to remove his left leg below the knee due to the damage one of the bullets caused.

The trials had been fair to most legal observers, according to the papers, but the verdicts and later sentences were never in doubt. For his testimony against his fellow conspirators and the evidence against the Confederate leaders, John Surratt had spared his mother from punishment and earned himself a mere two years imprisonment.

“We’ve not seen the end of it yet,” Paddy added. “Apparently Forrest and Wirtz are due for the gallows next week, but they’ll take care of them at the Washington Arsenal.”

“Thank God. I have to say, Paddy, it’s the damndest thing I ever saw in my life.”

“Mine either. You realize why they did it, right?”

Teddy nodded. “Show us what it means to betray our oaths?”

“That too. But there’s more. Father Abe’s trying to pass along a message to his people.”

“What message?”

“Well, you know how it is at the Point. Officers give orders and soldiers suffer them, right? And if something goes wrong, it’s usually the soldiers who suffer and the officers who get by all right. Back in Ireland, it was the British who ran things and the Irish had to suffer it. Now, though, Father Abe reversed it. It’s the generals and politicians who are getting it good and hard, but the soldiers are being left alone. The men who decided to betray us, who tried to kill Abe, they’re paying the price.

“It’s a brave new world, lad,” Paddy said, leaning back in his chair. “A brave new world.”

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May 1867, The White House

John Hay

Hay breathed a sigh of relief as the afternoon sun finally sank past the western horizon overlooking the nation’s capital. Praise the maker for some relief. I’ve spent six years in this swamp turned city, but I’ve still to get used to the humid summers. Not even Illinois in July got this warm.

Although Hay and the three other principal secretaries for the president, now had rooms over at the Willard Hotel, the primary secretary for President Lincoln spent much of his time working in a small office on the second floor of the Executive Mansion, just a few steps away from the president’s own study which doubled as the Cabinet Room.

As he sat down by his desk, he opened a letter he’d just received from John Nicolay, his close friend and predecessor as Lincoln’s primary secretary, who now served as a Consul for the US mission in France. He’d received the appointment from the president shortly before the assassination attempt.

Dear John,

I’m exceedingly thankful I and my beloved will be facing a Parisian summer rather than one in the Old Swamp, as we used to say. Regardless, as soon as this Mexican business resolves itself, we plan to vacation for at least a month in Normandy at Le Harve. The sea air is positively invigorating…

Hay smiled at the detailed descriptions of the Normandy coast. He missed Nicolay, but he remembered how the man had disdained the capital’s summer climate even more than Hay did, to the point he’d disappear on vacation for a month or two at a time. When Lincoln appointed him to a consulship, his friend had to restrain himself from dancing with joy at the news.

Despite missing his friend’s company, Hay had to admit the country was fortunate to have someone of Nicolay’s capabilities in the French Consulate at this point in history. The United States had long had to suffer the presence of French troops in Mexico propping up their puppet emperor, Maximillian, who had usurped the lawfully elected president, Benitez. With the end of the Civil War, diplomatic pressure and the threat of troops at the Mexican border had persuaded Napoleon III to withdraw his troops. Now Maximillian and his remaining loyal Mexican troops were besieged in city of Querétaro, his capture by Mexican rebels imminent. And in this and recent letters, Nicolay had advised the president of the deteriorating relations between France and Napoleon III and Prussia and its chancellor, Bismarck.

He was glad for men like Nicolay and Secretary Seward being on top of foreign affairs. Even with the end of the conflict in the South, there was little rest for the government even now.

Of primary importance during the past couple years had been the administration of the former Confederate states. While the territories nominally controlled by the rebels were now comfortably under federal control, efforts to bring the states back under full control of the government were a work in progress.

In Hay’s opinion, the prohibition of the former Federal officers turned Confederates holding federal and state offices had helped mollify the situation. It had reduced the number of hostile politicians, or at least the most radical of the old Dixiecrats, as southern Democrats were starting to be nicknamed, to be let back into Congress and the state legislatures. Thanks to federal supervision of the 1866 elections by a combination of US marshals and troops, the highest number of Negro officials ever had been elected to Congress and state offices.

As a result, there had been a distinct lack of continued armed resistance against occupation. A group named the Knights of the Ku Klux Klan had attempted to try and bushwack troops in Georgia and South Carolina, but they were swiftly suppressed by a cavalry force led by Gen. Phil Sheridan. Hay remembered reading Sheridan’s report after the fact hypothesizing many of the leaders who might have led such an uprising had either been hung or were in federal prisons. The entire uprising lasted six weeks – not even as competent as the Fenian Raids in Canada.

Despite the Negroes receiving more freedoms than ever before, there was still resistance to the new ways being implemented through the South. There were no restrictions on the former officers and government officials holding local offices – too many politicians considered it a restriction too far on local rule, so many of them had won elections as county supervisors, judges, and sheriffs. These men became known as The Old Counts – a nickname that stuck. I wonder what we’ll have to face when some of the former non-commissioned officers and regular soldiers – the ones not affected by the political bans – gain enough experience to be a force in American politics.

The efforts toward Constitutional reform that had begun with the near-run passage of the Thirteenth Amendment continued. Hay knew Lincoln and Republican leaders in Congress were attempting to put together at least one new amendment specifically spelling out that any people born in the United States were citizens from birth and codifying the previous restrictions placed on those who had violated their previous United States oaths in serving with the Confederacy.

But tonight, Hay was waiting for word on another initiative of The Old Man’s that in his opinion, might be a key to helping the whole process of Reconstruction.

“Mr. Hay?” He looked up. It was one of the other secretaries, a junior man named Ralston. “The clerk of the Senate is here.”

“Show him in.”

It was an older man in formal dress which appeared wilted in the late spring heat of Washington. “Mr. Hay?”

“I am.”

From a leather satchel, he produced a piece of parchment and gave it to Hay. “The Senate approved final passage an hour previous.”

“We’d heard. The margin was six votes in favor?”

“Six votes, yes, Mr. Hay.”

He nodded as he glanced at the heading on the parchment: The Land Reform Act of 1867. “A bit wider margin than I anticipated. Well, thank you, sir. I will present this to the president.”

The Senate clerk nodded before departing the room.

The office Hay now occupied had been Nicolay’s before his departure, and Hay having a room on the opposite side of the hall for his purposes. Now Hay’s old room was now occupied by his two deputies, so all Hay had to do was exit into the hall, step to the right, and enter the president’s sanctum.

The Old Man was there, past the table used for Cabinet meetings and in his favorite armchair, feet propped up on a padded footstool, reading what appeared to be a small pamphlet while facing a fireplace packed with glowing coals. He looked up as Hay entered. The lines on his face seem shallower than at the end of the war.

“Hay, good to see you again,” the president said, lighting up with a smile from ear to ear.

“Mr. President,” Hay said with a nod.

“I trust the correspondence in your hand comes from Capitol Hill?”

“Yes, Mr. President. The clerk confirmed your estimate on the vote.”

“Thank the Lord for small favors,” Lincoln said, reaching out for the paper. “Best I sign this before those boys on Capitol Hill decide to change their minds.”

“Of course, sir,” Hay said, handing over the document.

Lincoln placed it on his desk and scratched his signature at the bottom with a fountain pen. “Make sure to tell them first thing tomorrow we’ve got it signed.”

“Yes, Mr. President.”

The Old Man gestured to one of the two armchairs facing him. “Come now, sit down for a moment, Hay.” He nodded to the carafe of water on the Cabinet table and glasses there. “I would have the chefs bring up coffee, but it might not be for the best this late in the evening.”

“Water will be fine, sir.” Hay poured himself a glass before sitting back down.

“I am aware, Hay, that you were slightly suspicious of this endeavor when I first mentioned it, as was Nicolay before he left for France.”

“Perhaps I was, Mr. President, but with time I’ve come to see the sense in it,” he responded.

Lincoln nodded. “We needed to provide the Negroes with compensation for their unpaid labor and injustices done them. This is something that could provide them an economic advantage, just as important as the advantages of law we try to provide them with.”

“I was surprised to see whites receiving land grants as well, however,” Hay responded.

Lincoln shrugged. “Well, both black and white have been overlooked in favor of the planter class down South since the beginning of the nation. I recall one Confederate sergeant I talked with during a visit to one of the prisoner of war camps three years previously who insisted up and down he could endure any discomfort for the Confederacy as long as he knew he was of higher status than the Negroes.” He chuckled at the memory. “I recall trying to argue the point that if their status could be raised higher than ever before, regardless of the Negroes’ status, then it would be for the best. I would like to think my persuasive powers changed his mind, but perhaps it had more to do with the bottle of whiskey I had the guards slip him at the time.”

Hay nodded. “If the whites see their prospects raised, that could only be good for you.”

“And I did something old Jeff Davis never did for them, may his soul rest peaceful.”

Hay glanced at the pamphlet in the president’s hands. “Pardon me, Mr. President, what are you reading?”

He held up the book: Manifesto of the Communist Party, by Karl Marx and Fredrich Engels. “You’re familiar with Marx?”

“Slightly, yes, sir.”

“I had not realized people could be philosophers and economists simultaneously. “Brave new world,’ indeed.” He thumbed through the initial pages. “Marx wrote me from London upon our re-election to offer congratulations and praise of our efforts to eliminate slavery, on behalf of their international Communist group. Once word spread of our efforts to pass the land reform act, he sent along another letter and this English edition of the Manifesto.

“Apparently, he is releasing a new volume of economic theory later this year, in his native German,” Lincoln continued. “I might have some German-speaking officers in our army or perhaps staff from the State Department see if they can find a copy. My fear at this point is he’ll attempt to dedicate the volume to me, which wouldn’t trouble old Thad Stevens and the rest of the Radical Republicans, but might raise a few eyebrows among pretty much everyone else,” he concluded, beginning to chuckle halfway through the last sentence.

The president turned to Hay. “I wanted to take some time to talk with you tonight, Hay, and ask you about the future.”

“The future, Mr. President?”

“Not to get into many details, good Hay, but I will not be living in this mansion for the rest of my days, in one method or another. You have been a rock for me during these past six years, but … have you considered what your future will be like?”

“My future, sir?” Hay asked.

“I’m sure a future administration, at least an administration of our party, would be interested in someone of your experience serving in some capacity, if that matched your wishes,” Lincoln said.

“Well, that’s a good question, Mr. President,” Hay began. “I’m sure there might be some diplomatic possibilities like with Nicolay …”

“I could see you in a future Cabinet someday, in all fairness.”

Hay nodded. “And Mr. President, I take that for the fine compliment it is. Regardless, I’d like to go out for a while, see the possibilities in the world. Greeley and Whitlaw Reid said they would be interested in having me be an assistant editor at the New York Tribune.”

“With your gift for the written word, it might be a good fit, at that.”

“And I would like to settle down with a good woman who could be my wife, of course. I’ve not had enough time in years past to do so.”

“And I’d not stand in your way for either of your desires, Hay,” Lincoln chuckled. “However, I would hope you might keep your mind open in regards for serving a future Republican administration, regardless of your working for Greeley or not.”

“I’d always be open to a call from you or for my country, regardless of my circumstances,” Hay said.

“Tis well,” Lincoln replied. “Speaking of service to the country … I was hoping you could go down to the first floor to welcome a late evening guest to the People’s House.”

“Who are you expecting, Mr. President?”

“Someone who has served me, and more importantly, his country well and with grace,” Lincoln responded. “Someone who, I hope, is open to another call to duty, or I might be like a riverboat captain with only one serviceable boiler to my credit.”

“I’ll be happy to, Mr. President.”

---

Grant

Hay led him up the staircase, through the reception area and into the private offices of the president and his staff. As he entered the main hallway, he passed two hard-looking men in dark suits and string ties, armed with Henry repeating rifles and Colt revolvers, and wearing the stars of US deputy marshals.

Neither the president’s nor my staff are taking any more risks after three years back. He recalled the three sergeants who now trailed his every move, who now waited on the first floor of the mansion, also carried Colts at all times as well.

Hay went to the president’s door. “Mr. President, General Grant is here.”

“Very well, Hay. It does appear you are overdue for a night’s rest. The general and I should get along by ourselves.”

“Thank you, sir.” With a bow to the president and to him, Hay took his leave.

“Well, now, Grant, thank you for coming at such a late hour.” He saw the president resting in his armchair, feet up on his favored cushioned stool. “I don’t have much in the way of refreshments, sadly, although I’m sure we can send for some…”

Don’t want to put the man out. He reached into his pocket as he sat down in one of the armchairs opposite the president. “Thank you, but no. If you wouldn’t mind…?” He withdrew a cigar from it.

Lincoln scoffed at that. “You’d not be the first to have lit a cigar or pipe in this room, if you’d note the ceiling.”

He struck a match and lit up. “So, Mr. President, what is it you wished to speak to me about? I understand the Senate finally approved the Land Reform Act?”

“Indeed it did, but that’s not why I called you here tonight,” Lincoln said. “I’ve come to a decision regarding my own circumstances, and I felt it was important to let you know of it before it became common knowledge.” He took a deep breath and then glanced out his window toward the under-construction Washington Monument. “Wherever the Republican Party chooses to meet next year for their national convention, I will be informing them I will not seek or accept a nomination as their candidate for President of the United States for a third term.”

Grant took a long pull from his cigar as he absorbed his words along with the calming cigar smoke. “You sure about this, Mr. President?”

He leaned back into his armchair. “Well, if a mere two terms were enough for General Washington and General Jackson, among others, who am I to think I need more than them?” He giggled for a moment. “In fairness, I might have reconsidered if we faced more dire circumstances than we face now. For example, if the fight against the rebels for some reason had extended until now, I would be wary of leaving this office before the job was done, but considering the situation in 1864, likely the voters would not have given me a third chance at it.”

“I’m not sure about that, sir.”

“If it were not for Sherman seizing Atlanta, Farragut seizing Mobile Bay, and Sheridan chasing the rebels from the Valley, I’d have been back in Springfield two years prior and you’d have to suffer McClellan.”

“Lord forbid.”

“More likely, if Napoleon III had decided he wished to squat in Mexico and try and build an empire, I might have reconsidered leaving before a war with France. But thanks to your generals and our brave boys, and Seward’s powers of persuasion, we avoided that. So, I think I will be able to return to Springfield with a clear conscience.”

“Go back to Springfield? Practice law once more?”

The president shrugged. “Well, I did promise old Bill Herdon that if I was alive at the end of all this, we’d go back to practicing law as if nothing ever happened.”

Grant had to take another pull on his cigar as a feeling of dread started to settle into his shoulders. “So, why tell me about all this?”

There was a nod and a chuckle. “Ah, there’s the question, Grant. I will have served in this office for eight years by the time I catch the train back to Springfield, but what is nagging my mind is not the length of those years but how short they seem. Our administration has accomplished much, but what I think of is how much there needs to be finished. And thus, the need for a good man to succeed me in my position is foremost on my mind.”

Grant thought for a moment. “Your Vice President, Mr. Johnson. He is not up for consideration?”

Lincoln dismissed the idea with a wave of his hand. “He might attempt to undo or at the very least mollify the actions we have taken to pacify the South and protect its Negro population,” he began. “On a practical level, I selected him in 1864 as a member of a unity ticket and platform. In 1868, the Republicans would reject him outright as not being Republican and the Democrats would reject him outright for not being enough of a Democrat. In addition, he doesn’t seem to have the sand to try for a presidential nomination. Depending on the circumstances, I believe he’s more interested in regaining his old Senate seat or returning to Nashville and the governorship.

“No, Grant, he is not up for consideration,” Lincoln concluded, staring at him. “You are.”

A measure of the cigar smoke entered his throat unexpectedly, which prompted a fit of coughing. “Me, Mr. President? No … why?”

“At this point, I trust no one else as much as a leader as you,” Lincoln sighed. “It is true you have no political leadership experience, but considerable military leadership experience. Even though it is not a precise exchange of skills, it is close enough to be of use to your country.

“And to be completely honest, Grant, there are few others I trust at the moment for the task at hand,” he continued. “Both of your top subordinates, Gens. Sherman and Sheridan, would reject the idea of elective office out of hand. Perhaps this is for the best, since we’ll need good leadership in the army if you are to succeed to the presidency.”

“Still, why do you need me? And why now?”

Lincoln glanced back at the Washington Monument. “Even though it seems the past two years have been not as strenuous as the years when we fought against the rebels, my administration has worked hard to try to set things right. Over these past couple years, I’ve concluded we have far more to repair than the damage from the war of rebellion.”

“What do you mean, Mr. President?”

“When the Founding Fathers created our Constitution, they did so while attempting to mollify those who owned slaves,” Lincoln responded. “This needed to be done to ensure the passage of the Constitution. Now, however, slavery is a dead issue, and we are left with attempting to rectify an inherently flawed system as we encounter it, so to speak. In my heart, I believe our current system of government is not precisely calibrated to meet our current day’s circumstances. Exactly what should replace those circumstances… in all honesty, I am not sure. It will take a great deal of thought from more than one capable man, and I know surely I will not be able to sort out all these problems in the time I have remaining in office. It will be up to you, Grant, to at the very least begin this process.”

“You know exactly what is to be done, Mr. President?”

“In all honesty, I do not. I have a semblance of an idea, but not much more than it. I will say I continue to consider the problem at all hours of the night and trust in the counsel of good friends and capable men.”

Lincoln waited for him to respond. Grant knew he’d have to say something right away, to buy himself some time to think, but he knew what he would eventually say. A soldier recognizes when he has been ordered to do something, even if those words were never used. This was an order from his commander in chief. Look out for our country.

“I do thank you for considering that I could be a possible successor to you, Mr. President,” Grant half-declared, half-mumbled. “It is a serious undertaking, as you have said, and I have to give it long and considerable thought – though I know you will need an answer sooner rather than later to put your plans in motion.”

Lincoln nodded. “You’d have to present this to Mrs. Grant, as well, to get her advice, of course.”

He shook his head and took another couple of drags from his cigar. “In all candor, Mr. President, she may find the prospect easier on the mind than it lays with mine. She has adjusted to Washington well and has appreciated the opportunities for travel we have already had.”

“Of course. Make sure to listen to your wife, regardless of her feelings – they are usually right, of course. Speaking of family, how is Fred?”

“Doing well at West Point. He ended up viewing the end of Davis, Lee, and Bragg along with the others. ‘Good riddance,’ is what he wrote me afterward. He was a bit disappointed to not be ready for the big war, but I wasn’t in the slightest. I’m not sure how I would have handled it if he would be asking me for a combat posting … but then you know how it is.”

Lincoln nodded. His eldest son Robert had taken a leave from Harvard to volunteer and serve on Grant’s staff. The president was beside himself with worry, but he sensed Robert would have never forgiven him if he’d opposed his signing up. “And the others?” he asked.

Grant nodded. “Buck” – Ulysses Jr. – “is off studying at Exeter in New Hampshire. Nellie and Jesse are still quite young and will stay with us for a time, but I’ll have to consider what their schooling will consist of. Yours?

“Robert’s finished his studies at Harvard and is in Chicago now, studying for the Illinois bar exam. Tad will stay with us when we return to Springfield, although eventually he will likely join Robert in Chicago to seek his education.”

“How has Tad been coming along? I’d heard he’d had some sort of operation a few months back.”

“Ever since he was a child, he’d had difficulty with the palate of his upper jaw, gave him problems with swallowing food, and speaking at times. A doctor who teaches at Princeton said he would be able to finally sort out Tad’s difficulties. It took time to heal, but his health and confidence have greatly improved. Robert … I missed out on much of his youth as a lawyer on the riding circuit. Tad has been … excitable since he was a small boy, and it will be for the best Mary and I can keep him close for a while before he joins Robert in the wider world. Treasure any time you get with them, Grant – it goes so fast.”

That was as much of an order as the run for president. “Absolutely, Mr. President.”

Lincoln stood up and brushed some lint off his trousers before extending his hand. “Well, then, Grant, I’ll leave you to the rest of the evening. You can talk the matter over with Julia and we’ll meet again, perhaps next week.”

Sir, yes sir. Grant took his president’s hand. “I’ll look forward to it, Mr. President.”

---

So, Grant is running for the presidency in 1868, as he did in real life … although this time with the endorsement of the legendary Lincoln and a more quelled South under a more harsh reconstruction.
When we come back for Part 3 next month, we’ll see what happens when a still relatively young Abe Lincoln’s life will be like after the White House and how Grant adjusts to the presidency.
See you then.

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