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"I wish," said Mary Todd Lincoln from behind her silver tea service, "the newspapers would leave the war to Mr. Lincoln."

"So do I, cousin Mary," said John C. Breckinridge, late Vice-President of rather more United States than his successor was Vice-Presiding over. "With Mr. Lincoln in absolute charge, Mrs. Davis will be pouring tea in this room by the end of the month."

"Oh, cousin John! How you tease me, sir! Sugar?"

Breckinridge indicated two lumps. His return to the Senate had caused a sensation. Although Kentucky was being held in the Union, its new Senator Breckinridge was suspected of favoring secession. "I've already had several pleasurable meetings with President Davis, cousin Mary," he said.

"I don't know of any president called Davis, cousin John."

"Oh, there's such a president, all right."He looked appreciatively around the newly papered and gilded Oval Room. "He'll be much in your debt for going to all this expense. Or at least Mrs. Davis will. You know what they're saying all over the South now? 'Onward to Washington.'"

At the other end of the room prickly London Times correspondent William Howard Russell was chatting with Senator Elihu B. Washburne.

"I do want you people to win,"said Russell, "But you've got to train your men better. They are rabble. Not like the Southerners. I was impressed with them, let me tell you."

"You've been to the South - lately?" Washburne was surprised.

"I've only just got back. Pleasant chap, Mr. Davis. But looks sickly. Even so, they're spoiling for a fight."

"We are the same, sir."

"No, sir, you're not. That's the problem. Of course, the North is more populous, more rich. But where are your soldiers to be found? Mostly Germans and Irish, who've only just arrived from Europe. Nothing to fight for except the pennies you pay them."

Since this was exactly Washburne's private view, he was obliged to object strenuously, as befitting an American statesman.

Russell genially changed tack. "You know what I heard in Charleston?" He chuckled at the memory. "A group of quite serious people told me that if we'd send them a send them a royal prince or princess as sovereign, they would rejoin our Empire."

"I never thought the rebels had that much sense of humor." But this was something new, and Washburne wondered if some capital might not be made out of the South's treason to the great republican principle itself.

"They have no sense of humor, as far as I can tell. They are serious, like you."

There was a stir as President Lincoln entered the Blue Room.

"He looks somewhat ... "Russell paused.

"Tired," said Washburne, not about to allow the Englishman an adjective that might look disagreeable in the hostile columns of the London Times.

"That, too," said Russell, with a smile.

"Many of those supporting Bush were literally afraid to make their preference known to family and friends, because emotions - particularly hate - were running so high. At a public dinner I attended a week after the election, five people separately came over to me as I was eating my lamb chops and whispered, 'Don't tell anyone, but I voted for Bush.'"

The President reined in his horse. They were now opposite a large farmhouse on whose porch a dozen wounded men lay on pallets. Lincoln turned to his Colonel-escort. "What's this, Colonel?"

"Confederate prisoners, sir. Wounded at Sharpsburg. We'll be sending them on to Washington once we've finished shipping our own wounded back."

"I think I'd like to take a look at these boys," said Lincoln. "And I'm sure they'd like to take a look at me."

"No, sir!" Lamon was firm.

"Yes, Ward." Lincoln was firmer. You stand outside with Mr. Pinkerton, while Mr. Washburne and I, two harmless Illinois politicians, pay these southern boys a call."

Lamon cursed not entirely under his breath, but did as he was ordered. The colonel led Lincoln and Washburne up the steps and into the house, which consisted, at this level, of a single large room lined on both sides with cots. At least a hundred men and boys lay on the cots, some missing arms or legs or both. Some were dying, others were able to limp about. The smell of flesh corrupting was overpowering; and Washburne tried not to breathe. But Lincoln was oblivious of everything except the young men who were now aware that a stranger was in their midst. The low hum of talk suddenly ceased; and the only sound in the room was the moaning of the unconscious.

When the colonel started to call the men to attention, the President stopped him with a gesture. Then Lincoln walked the length of the room, very slowly, looking to left and right, with his dreamy smile. at the end of the room, he turned and faced the wounded men; then slowly he removed his hat. All eyes that could see now saw him, and recognized him.

When Lincoln spoke, the famous trumpet voice was muted; even intimate. "I am Abraham Lincoln." There was a long colective sigh of wonder and of tension and of ... ? Washburne had never heard a sound quite like it. "I know that you have fought gallantly for what you believe in, and for that I honor you, and for your wounds so honorably gained. I feel no anger in my heart toward you; and trust you feel none for me. That is why I am here. That is why I am willing to take the hand, in friendship, of any man among you."

The same long sigh, like a rising wind, began; and still no one spoke. Then a man on crutches approached the President and, in perfect silence, shook his hand. Others came forward, one by one; and each shook Lincoln's hand; and to each he murmered something that the man alone could hear.

At the end, as Lincoln made his way between the beds, stopping to talk to those who could not move, half of the men were in tears, as was Washburne himself.

In the last bed by the door, a young officer turned his back on the President, who touched his shoulder, and mutmered, "My son, we shall all be the same at the end." Then the President was gone.

"I asked to see you alone," Lee said quietly. "I wished to speak with you alone, away from other officers. That has not been possible until now. I am sorry to keep you up so late."

"Sir, I was not asleep," (Cavalry leader Jeb) Stuart drawled, smiled, gave the sunny impression that sleep held no importance, none at all.

Lee thought: here's one with faith in himself. Must protect that. And yet, there's a lesson to be learned. He said, "Are you aware, General, that there are officers on my staff who have requested your court-martial?"

Stuart froze. His mouth hung open. He shook his head once quickly, then cocked it to one side.

Lee said, "I have not concurred. But it is the opinion of some excellent officers that you have let us all down."

"General Lee," Stuart was struggling. Lee thought: now there will be anger. "Sir," Stuart said tightly, "if you will tell me who these gentlemen ... "

"There will be none of that." Lee's voice was cold and sharp. He spoke as you speak to a child, a small child, from a great height. "There is no time for that."

"I only ask that I be allowed - "

Lee cut him off. "There is no time," Lee said. He was not a man to speak this way to a brother officer, a fellow Virginian; he shocked stuart to silence with the iciness of his voice. Stuart stood like a beggar, his hat in his hands.

"General Stuart," Lee said slowly, "you were the eyes of this army." He paused.

Stuart said softly, a pathetic voice, "General Lee, if you please ... " But Lee went on.

"You were my eyes. Your mission was to screen this army from the enemy cavalry and to report any movement by the enemy's main body. That mission was not fulfilled."

Stuart stood motionless.

Lee said, "You left this army without word of your movements, or of movements of the enemy, for several days. We were forced into battle without adequate knowledge of the enemy's position, or strength, without knowledge of the ground. It is only by Gd's grace that we have escaped disaster."

"General Lee." Stuart was in pain, and the old man felt pity, but this was necessary; it had to be done as a bad tooth has to be pulled, and there was no turning away. Yet even now he felt the pity rise, and he wanted to say, it's all right, boy, it's all right; this is only a lesson, just one painful quick movement of learning, over in a moment, hold on, it'll be all right. His voice began to soften. He could not help it.

"It is possible that you misunderstood my orders. It is possible I did not make myself clear. Yet this must be clear: you with your cavalry are the eyes of the army. Without your cavalry we are blind, and that has happened once but must never happen again."

There was a moment of silence. It was done. Lee wanted to reassure him, but he waited, giving it time to sink in, to take effect, like medicine. Stuart stood breathing audibly. After a moment he reached down and unbuckled his sword, theatrically, and handed it over with high drama in his face. Lee grimaced, annoyed, put his hands behind his back, half turned his face. Stuart was saying that since he no longer held the general's trust, but Lee interrupted with acid vigor.

"I have told you that there is no time for that. There is a fight tomorrow, and we need you. We need every man, Lord knows. You must take what I have told you and learn from it, as a man does. There has been a mistake. It will not happen again. I know your quality. You are a good soldier. You are as good a cavalry officer as I have known, and your service to this army has been invaluable. I have learned to rely on your information; all your reports are always accurate. But no report is useful if it does not reach us. And that is what I wanted you to know. Now," He lifted a hand. "Let us talk no more of this."

Stuart stood there, sword in hand. Lee felt a vast pity, yet at the same time he felt the coming of a smile. Good thing it was dark.

Stuart had too much respect for Lee to speak. He began to move slowly away. Lee saw him stop before going back into the night and put the sword back on. A good boy. If he is a man, he will learn. But now he will be reckless, to prove himself. Must beware of that.