Judah Benjamin rubbed it in: “Perhaps we should wait to see how your patron fares come November, gentlemen. A Democratic administration might well prove more reasonable.” Any administration with Vallandigham in it was likely to be reasonable from a Southern point of view; he had favored accommodation with the Confederacy even when its prospects looked blackest.
But Ben Butler said,” No matter what happens in the election, I remind you that Abraham Lincoln ‘Shall remain President of the United States until March 4 proximo.”
“A point well taken,” Lee said. Though reluctant to agree with Butler on anything, he found a half-year’s delay unconscionable. “The sooner peace comes, the better for all, North and South alike.”
“A man bolder than I would be required to presume to disagree with General Lee,” Alexander Stephens said. “Let us continue, then.” Lee could not tell what went on behind Judah Benjamin’s smiling mask. But Benjamin did not say no.
Secretary of State Seward said, “Having set forth the areas where we disagree, I think we would be hard-pressed to do much more today. In any case, I should like to telegraph a statement of your position to President Lincoln, and to receive his instructions before proceeding further. May I propose that we adjourn, to meet again on Wednesday the seventh?”
Lee found both Stephens and Benjamin looking at him. It should not have been that way; the other two commissioners outranked him by virtue of their places in the civil government. But they were looking at him. He would not show annoyance in front of the men from the United States. “That seems satisfactory to me,” he said, adding, “We shall also have to consult with our President as to our future course.”
“Simple enough for you,” Stanton said. “We, though, are like dogs tethered by a wire leash.” His voice had a rumble in it that made it sound like a growl. Lee smiled at the conceit.
Butler said, “Better dogs tethered by a wire leash than a dog running loose from a wire leash, as Forrest did last June.”
“I trust the gentlemen in this room will not permit General Butler’s opinion to go beyond it,” Lee said quickly. Butler was no gentleman; he’d made that plain by his every action during the war, and again by his slur aimed at Judah P. Benjamin. But Nathan Bedford Forrest, by all accounts, was no gentleman either. If he heard what Butler had called him, he would not bother with the niceties of a formal challenge. He would simply Shoot Butler down…like a dog.
The Federal commissioners rose, bowed their way out. When they were gone, Alexander Stephens said, “If you will forgive me, General, Mr. Secretary, I shall leave the consultation in your no doubt capable hands. The President and I, while always preserving our respect for each other, have not been in agreement often enough of late for us to find it easy to speak together without friction. Good day to you both; I shall see you on Wednesday.” Getting out of his chair took a struggle, but he managed, and walked out of the Cabinet room.
Benjamin and Lee walked up the flight of stairs to Jefferson Davis’s office. “Ironic, is it not,” the Secretary of State said, “that four years ago Benjamin Butler did everything in his power to gain Davis the Democratic nomination for the Presidency. I wonder where we should all be today had he succeeded.”
“Somewhere other than here, is my guess,” Lee answered, admiring the dispassionate way in which Benjamin spoke of the man who had insulted him. He also wondered if Benjamin knew the true origins of the Rivington men; his own thoughts, since the day when Andries Rhoodie set forth those origins to him, had frequently dwelt on the mutability of history. Before he could find a way to ask that would Cover him if the answer was no, he and the Secretary of State reached the President’s door.
Davis listened to their report, then said,” About as I expected. Maryland would cost us another war to win, and would make the United States our eternal enemy even if we took it. Likewise Virginia’s departed counties.” He did not mention the troubles Lee had had in what was now West Virginia early in the war. Every Confederate general there had come to grief.
“I think we will win the Indian Territory in the end, for whatever it may prove to be worth,” Benjamin said.
“As to what, who can say? Kentucky was worth little when I was born there.” Davis frowned. “I should like to gain possession of New Mexico, and Arizona and California with it. A railroad across the continent will surely come soon, and I would have it come on a southern route. But again, that will prove difficult. The Federals currently hold the land, and we should be hard-pressed either to conquer it or, given the present unfortunate state of the Treasury, to buy it from them even if they were willing to sell. Perhaps we shall be able to make arrangements with the Emperor Maximilian for a route from Texas to the Pacific coast of Mexico.”
“Better that a transcontinental railroad should lie entire within our own territory,” Benjamin said.
“Not if we have to fight to make a thousand-mile stretch of that territory our own,” Lee replied. “Stanton had the right of it earlier today; our logistics are poor, and we have as yet few repeaters in the Trans-Mississippi. Besides which, no war with the United States would remain confined to the western frontier.”
Jefferson Davis sighed. “I fear you are probably right, sir. And even with the repeaters, we desperately need to restore ourselves before we contemplate further combat. Very well; if we cannot talk the Federals out of New Mexico and Arizona, we shall have to go on without them. The same cannot be said of Kentucky and Missouri.”
“The United States will not yield them,” Lee warned. “Lincoln said as much when I was in Washington City, and his commissioners were not only firm but also vehement on the subject this afternoon.”
“I shall not tamely yield them to the North, either,” Davis said. “With them, we should be a match for and independent of the United States in all respects. Without them, the balance of power would tilt the other way. We should find especially valuable the manufactories which have sprung up in Louisville and elsewhere along the Ohio. I reluctantly infer from the war that we may not remain a nation made up solely of agriculturalists, lest in a future conflict the United States overwhelm us with their numbers and their industries.”
“We have the Rivington men to set against their factories,” Benjamin said. “But for the Rivington men, I gather we should have been overwhelmed.” He does know, then, Lee thought.
Davis said, “The Rivington men are with us but not of us. Against the day when their purposes and ours might diverge, I would have the Confederate States capable of proving a match for and independent of them, as well as of the North.”
“That seems a wise precaution,” Benjamin agreed.
Davis was not really interested in the Rivington men at the moment; the talks with the United States were his principal concern. He pulled the conversation back toward those talks; “How did the Federals take the demand for two hundred million?”
“Noisily,” Benjamin answered, which made the President laugh. The Secretary of State went on, “Stanton claimed a fourth of that would be—extravagant was the word he used.”
“Which means the United States might pay that fourth, or more,” Davis said. “Even fifty million in specie would be more backing than our paper now enjoys, and would greatly boost confidence in that paper’s value, which in turn would help bring prices down to a more realistic level. Gentlemen, I rely on you to wring as large a sum from the Northern coffers as you may.”