A Message at Midnight
(or “A Hardscrabble Christmas”) By Ken Bradbury
A sitting room of the White House, December 24th, 1864. Author’s note: Christmas Eve of 1864 found General Grant in City Point, Virginia, but of course he was in close communication with Lincoln. For the purposes of this play I have put him in Washington.
MARY: (entering, a-dither) Late. . . . Late again. The two most tardy men in these United States and I stand here waiting. . . . again. If Robert E. Lee knew his business he’d schedule his battles to begin at precisely 8 o’clock and both Lincoln and Grant would show up late.
LINCOLN: (from offstage) Mother!
MARY: I’m in here! And hurry! The General’s to be here . . . well, a half hour ago.
LINCOLN: (entering) The room looks wonderful. I love Christmas.
MARY: The room is as welcoming as I can make it with a war going on.
LINCOLN: Did I ever tell you. . .
MARY: . . . probably.
LINCOLN: Did I ever tell you that among all your endearing traits. . . and they are manifold. . . that your ability to keep this place. . . this house. . . still a home in the midst of the turmoil? . . . Well, you delight and astound me, Mary.
MARY: We’re in the shank of Christmas. Is this called flattery?
LINCOLN: We’re in Washington. It’s called politics.
MARY: Are you sure he’s coming? I mean, Christmas Eve. . . we have things we should be doing.
LINCOLN: There are times when he’s all that’s held my army together, Mother. I won’t begrudge him a few ticks of the clock.
MARY: You won’t talk strategy all night, will you? I mean, the season and all . . .
LINCOLN: If you can convince Jeff Davis to declare a truce to eat a bit of chicken, then I’ll gladly reciprocate. I’m afraid war takes no holidays, Mary.
MARY: And Mrs. Grant?
LINCOLN: He’s coming alone.
MARY: Good.
LINCOLN: Mary. . . .
MARY: Forgive me. . . . . our history together has not been pleasant. You know she has here eye on this house as well. I told her that….that horrible day at City Point when we were relegated to ride in that nasty carriage simply because we were ladies.
LINCOLN: (a long beat, then) Mary…Mother. Just this one night. The General has take a long and risky journey to spend just a few moments away from the front. I ask of you kindly…one night….once Christmas Eve night.
(a long moment between the two, letting the time of silence ease the tension)
MARY: I remember the first Christmas of the war. We hosted such a delightful party.
LINCOLN: I wish it were time for a party again. But our second Christmas here. . .do you remember that?
MARY: I . . . it escapes me.
LINCOLN: The hospital.
MARY: Ah…I remember.
LINCOLN: We visited the soldiers….and then last year. .. .
MARY: Oh I remember last year. Tad won’t stop talking about it.
LINCOLN: He so wanted to do something for the soldiers….we took the books and clothing. I remember his face, running from cot to cot. . .. . .the soldiers. . . (he stops)
MARY: Abraham? (nothing…Lincoln is lost in thought) Father?
LINCOLN: I’m…I’m sorry, Mary.
MARY: You were thinking about Sherman.
LINCOLN: I . . .I’m afraid I was. Six weeks….nothing.
MARY: Perhaps that’s good news.
LINCOLN: Six weeks without a word. It’s crucial, Mary. This thing must be done and I . . . I’m afraid my faith is waning. I trust the man, but….62,000 troops without a supply line. . .without communication. . . but I did not interfere… I said, “nothing risked, nothing gained,” but now it seems. . .
MARY: Abraham?
LINCOLN: Sorry, Mother.
MARY: For just this one day. . . let it be Christmas.
LINCOLN: (referring to the newspaper he’s holding) Did you read this?
MARY: A southern newspaper? No, I most certainly did not. Why do you?
LINCOLN: There’s a bit of truth to be found anywhere. It says here that some children in the South are being told that Santa is a Yankee and the pickets won’t let him through this year. They have nothing, Mary. Nothing to give their children.
MARY: Oh Abraham. . .
LINCOLN: (reading) “Young William Nalle hurried to his grandmother’s farm which the Union cavalrymen were ransacking. Arriving, the boy witnessed, ‘a spectacle I shall not soon forget.’ All the stock and forage were snatched up by the Union troopers. Doors were ripped off during the greedy search for provisions and some of the troopers grabbed his grandmother’s collar demanding money.”
MARY: Rebel propaganda. The Richmond paper said that Santa wouldn’t be coming this year because the Yankees shot him.
LINCOLN: I thought you didn’t read . . . .
MARY: Maybe an item here and there.
LINCOLN: (reading) James Holoway, Dranesville, Virginia. “You have no idea how lonesome I feel this day. It’s the first time in my life I’m away form loved ones at home.”
MARY: The nation bleeds, Mr. President. And that is war.
LINCOLN: And the South is where we fight most of this war, Mary. To win, they only have to survive. For the North to win the Union must be restored. . and that means we must conquer. Even those few Southerners with money this Christmas find nothing to buy. Their slaves cut up potatoes and parch them for coffee. . . Their ports are all but gone. . . no sugar. . .The Charleston paper reports starving mothers digging the dirt from smokehouses and boiling it for the salt. . .
MARY: (hearing a noise off, going to the imaginary window downstage) I hear something. . . There he is. . .his carriage is pulling up. Is that the best shirt you have?
LINCOLN: (still distracted) . . . Mother?
MARY: Grant is here. Is that the best shirt you have?
LINCOLN: At the moment it’s the only shirt I have. Would you have me great the commander of the Union Army bare chested?
MARY: (as she does a last-moment “straightening” on her husband) We can at least be presentable.
LINCOLN: I wish you could have seen her, Mary.
MARY: Who?
LINCOLN: Mrs. Patterson this morning . . she was from Illinois, you know.
MARY: I don’t know any Mrs. Patterson.
LINCOLN: Of course not. Her son David. Wounded at Trevilian Station, Virginia. She said he’d been ill since the moment he entered the Army. She said he doesn’t have the strength to live much longer and wants to spend his remaining days with his mother.
MARY: And?
LINCOLN: What can I say? I’ve asked Congressman Farnsworth to look into it. So. . . am I presentable enough for a General?
MARY: You are presentable enough for this General.
LINCOLN: Mary. . .
MARY: Must he smoke that awful cigar? The draperies. . . the carpet. . . The last time he visited I had to have my dress fumigated.
LINCOLN: That cigar smoking little General is the best hope for this Union.
MARY: Of course. Of course he is, Abraham . . . it’s just that. . .
LINCOLN: And no talk of Mrs. Grant? Let’s avoid your unpleasant relationship.
MARY: Mine?
LINCOLN: Mary. . .
MARY: It’s just that. . .
LINCOLN: He’s coming down the hallway.
MARY: I hear him. Who else would wear spurs in the White House? Now, there’s no need to spend the entire evening.
LINCOLN: I promise. He’s tired and only came at my insistence. Tomorrow he returns to the war. (he moves to the door)
MARY: Abraham! He hasn’t knocked! This is the house of the President!
LINCOLN: And when he meets Lee on the battlefield some day, I hope Lee will knock first. (opening the door or greeting him at the door) General!
GRANT: (entering and removing his hat) Mr. President. Mrs. Lincoln.
LINCOLN: An honor. Always.
GRANT: The honor is mine. Mrs. Lincoln, your home looks quite splendid for the holiday.
MARY: Thank you, General. We are so pleased to have you with us on the eve of Christmas Day.
GRANT: I leave tonight.
MARY: And how is Mrs. Grant?
LINCOLN: (quickly, as he stares at Mary) Please…please sit down, General. (Grant sits, followed by Lincoln) And feel free to smoke.
GRANT: (reaching for a cigar) Thank you, I. . . (sees the look Mary is giving Lincoln) . . I think I’m all right for the moment.
LINCOLN: Mary, do we have something to offer the General?
MARY: I’ll send for coffee. (she exits)
LINCOLN: (a very long beat as Lincoln looks to Grant and Grant stares at the floor. . . both men know the situation, but how to begin?) (finally) Have you. . . ?
GRANT: No. Nothing. Six weeks.
LINCOLN: Six weeks. (another long beat, then) What do you think this means?
GRANT: Any other General? Well, there’d be cause for a great deal of worry. . . and very little hope.
LINCOLN: . . but this is Sherman.
GRANT: This is Sherman. (a beat, then) When Halleck removed me from active command . . . Corinth, Mississippi. . .
LINCOLN: I remember.
GRANT: . . . over twenty-three thousand casualties. . you stood up for me. You said, “I can’t spare this man. He fights.” But I was going to resign my commission. It was Sherman who convinced me to stay.
LINCOLN: I know. And you went on to win the day.
GRANT: And now he’s. . . I don’t know. I just don’t know.
LINCOLN: What’s known for certain?
GRANT: We know he captured Atlanta. . but the rebel armies of Hood, Forrest, and Wheeler are still in the area. All they had to do was cut his supply lines. We know he sent part of his army back to Nashville to deal with Hood. .
LINCOLN: And his line of supply?
GRANT: He cut them loose himself. Headed east across Georgia destroying everything in his path. He’s either near Savannah or . . . .well, I’d rather not think about the other.
LINCOLN: Our general wants to stab at the heart of the South.
GRANT: I know…I know…but in doing so, he’s cut himself off. . . . supplies . . . reinforcements. . .
LINCOLN: Six weeks.
GRANT: Six weeks and no word. (reaches for a cigar, lights a match, and. . )
MARY: (entering with tray and coffee, noticing the mood) Someone has stolen the Christmas from his room. (Grant blows out the match and hides the cigar.)
LINCOLN: Mother.
MARY: I had to fetch it myself. Every staff member in the White House is home with his family this evening. Nothing new from Sherman?
GRANT: I’m afraid not.
MARY: We owe this coffee to Sherman, you know.
GRANT: Ma’am?
MARY: Had he not taken Atlanta. . . well, we’d be drinking this coffee back in Springfield with a new President in the White House.
LINCOLN: Thank you for the reminder, Mary. . . and for the coffee. Feel free to smoke, General. (Grant again reaches for a cigar, sees the consternation on Mary’s face and withdraws his hand.) The week of my inauguration he warned me. . .
GRANT: Sir?
LINCOLN: Sherman. He warned me that we were unprepared for what was to come. I’m afraid I was less than responsive.
GRANT: He was my senior officer at the siege of Fort Donelson, but he wrote me saying, “I have faith in you. Command me in any way.” And I so well remember sitting under that Oak Tree at Shiloh. . . We ‘d been caught unprepared. I know that retreat was on his mind, but he had the courtesy not to mention it. He simply said, “Well, Grant, we’ve had the devil’s own day, haven’t we?”
MARY: And you said?
GRANT: “Yes. Lick ‘em tomorrow, though.” Then he was wounded twice in the battle and had three horse shot out from under him.
LINCOLN: And that’s the man we’re waiting on tonight.
GRANT: I hope it’s the same man.
LINCOLN: I’ve often found a kindred spirit in Sherman. We’ve both suffered our bouts of the sadness. Both lost sons to the typhoid within a year of each other. .
MARY: Father. . .
LINCOLN: Grant knows me, Mary. There’s nothing to hide or be ashamed of tonight.
GRANT: The man is impatient. . . headstrong. . . often irritable . . .
MARY: (to Lincoln) You are alike.
LINCOLN: (an awkward beat at Grant looks to Lincoln for his reaction, but Lincoln finally chuckles) . . . but a soldier. His men swear by him.
GRANT: A final story….something only Sherman and can tell.
MARY: Should I leave the room?
GRANT: No.. . no. I beg your pardon, Mrs. Lincoln. It was late in ’57. I was looking for work on the streets of St. Louis and met another West Pointer…equally down on his luck. Sherman and I hadn’t seen each other in sixteen years. We commiserated over our failed careers. He’d left the Army to become a banker. . . just before the crash. He said, “Grant. I am a dead cock in pit!” We both agreed that West Point and Regular Army were not good training schools for farmers, bankers, merchants and mechanics.”
LINCOLN: I’ll confess. I’d never heard that one. . . . and look where you sit tonight…
GRANT: Having the devil’s own time with Lee.
MARY: You’ve heard about the bill introduced. .
LINCOLN: Mary. . .
MARY: He’d might was well know.
GRANT: I do know. They want to replace me with Sherman. He promised to “make Georgia howl” while Lee’s army frustrates mine at every turn.
LINCOLN: May I read you something?
GRANT: Sir?
LINCOLN: (taking a newspaper clipping from his coat) “General Grant is a great general. I know him well. He stood by me when I was crazy, and I stood by him when he was drunk; and now, sir, we stand by each other always.” General William Tecumseh Sherman.
GRANT: I . . . no. No, I had not read that.
LINCOLN: And reading further. . .his infant son has died during this present campaign. He’d never even seen the child.
MARY: (a long beat, then) Gentlemen. No matter the situation, this remains Christmas.
LINCOLN: I’m sorry, Mother.
GRANT: My apologies.
MARY: You would think that a gracious Creator could grant us this one day. . . this single evening with a bit of peace.
LINCOLN: Mary frequently wrestles with the Creator. I’m left with the harder opponent.
GRANT: Sir?
LINCOLN: Congress. Isn’t it. . . peculiar, General. A strange turn of Providence. . . that the fate of this great nation should rest so precariously in the hands of the son of an Ohio tanner and a young farm boy from the woods of Kentucky? And Sherman. . .?
GRANT: Also Ohio. His father was a lawyer…died when the boy was nine. His mother had eleven children and no inheritance.
MARY: Oh my.
GRANT: He was raised by a neighbor. He told me he averaged a hundred and fifty demerits a year at West Point.
MARY: Not a refined dresser. That I know.
GRANT: Not by a long stretch. He said that’s what kept him a private for all four years at the Point.
LINCOLN: But what a strange quirk of fate that the three of us . . . all with such meager beginnings should be given this momentous task.
GRANT: My grandmother died when my father was eleven. His father couldn’t support six children so he was sent out on his own to make a living. And that’s the way he raised us. He expected us to pay our own way.
MARY: Your father was a tanner?
GRANT: A tanner. Hard work. . . and the house stunk to high heaven. I preferred horses instead.
LINCOLN: But he allowed you to attend West Point?
GRANT: Allowed? He. . . insisted. He saw I had no head for business. I was only sent to the Army to keep from starving.
MARY: And your mother?
GRANT: Hannah is a quiet woman. She seldom speaks. . . even to her children. . . and certainly not to reporters.
MARY: I can see your mother’s reticence in you, General.
GRANT: Were she here in the room she’d be sitting in the corner…silent. And of course father would be trying to sell you a saddle. (a beat, then. . .) May I speak frankly?
LINCOLN: Please.
MARY: By all means.
GRANT: You know they call me a butcher.
LINCOLN: Unfair words from a frustrated enemy. Your detractors are mainly gathered south of the battle lines.
GRANT: But the northern press has been equally unkind.
MARY: Only when you lose a battle. Mr. Lincoln and I have learned which newspapers to ignore.
GRANT: My home state paper…The Cincinnati Gazette said, “Our noble army of the Mississippi is being wasted by the foolish, drunken, stupid Grant. He cannot organize or control or fight an army. I have no personal feeling about it; but I know he is an ass.”
MARY: (a long beat as the Lincoln’s digest this bit of coarseness) You…uh…you do choose the most remarkable passages to commit to memory, General.
LINCOLN: (laughing) I’m glad the editor had no personal feelings about it.
MARY: I have found, General, that it’s often a matter of our enemies being better writers than our friends.
GRANT: But you stood by, sir. When even Congressman Washburn who claimed to have discovered me asked for my resignation, you stood by me.
LINCOLN: And you took Vicksburg.
GRANT: And I took Vicksburg.
LINCOLN: General, I’d not even met you by that time.
GRANT: Which makes your faith in me even more remarkable. (a long beat as Grant walks away a bit) War is hell. Those are Sherman’s words. War is hell. If there were a way to beat hell without kindling an even hotter fire, then. . .
LINCOLN: General, I do not dispute your tactics in any way. You sit where you sit because of your strategies. We…you and I . . .look back upon times when a more fierce pursuit might have ended the war. . .
GRANT: . . .Lee escaping across the Potomac.
LINCOLN: . . and so many other missed opportunities before you took charge.
MARY: This June…Philadelphia…How did you put it?
LINCOLN: “War at the best is terrible, and this war of ours, in its magnitude and its duration, is one of the most terrible.” And another specter looms on this Christmas Eve.
GRANT: Sir?
LINCOLN: My coffee has turned cold. Mother?
MARY: Why do I begin to feel like an errant child being sent out of the room? (Lincoln looks at her cup, then at her helplessly and shrugs) Very well. General, might I . . .
GRANT: No. You’re most kind. (she leaves the room) A determined woman.
LINCOLN: A remarkably determined woman. And how is Julia?
GRANT: I was thinking about her just this week. . .
LINCOLN: (carefully checking to see that Mary’s out of earshot, then) Something about battle that makes one think about marriage.
GRANT: Her brother was my classmate at West Point and I traveled home with him to meet the family in St. Louis. She said he dreamed of me. Not many women have said that. She agreed to wear my West Point ring.
LINCOLN: And you proposed?
GRANT: Yes.
LINCOLN: Good.
GRANT: Four times.
LINCOLN: Four. . .
GRANT: And on the fourth she accepted. We were sitting on the front steps of her childhood home.
LINCOLN: . . .and then married.
GRANT: . . No…..four years of the war in Mexico.
LINCOLN: Raised by a woman of patience and married to an equally long-suffering lady.
GRANT: Neither of our fathers approved.
LINCOLN: Sir?
GRANT: My military prospects looked bleak and her father owned slaves. My parents refused to even attend the wedding.
LINCOLN: I’m sorry. But there was never a more loyal wife.
GRANT: Never. She’s been with me throughout the war, traveling to near many fields of conflict. You think the history of such women will ever be written?
MARY: (entering with more coffee) If it is, we’ll have to write it.
LINCOLN: (moves to DS “window”) I keep listening for hoof beats. . . for some word from Sherman.
GRANT: When he abandoned his own supply lines he also relinquished his communication.
LINCOLN: General… What if….just surmising… what if. . .?
GRANT: I’ve purposely chosen not to think about it and as a result, that’s all I think about. 62,000 troops without supplies…without a way to communicate for help. . .
LINCOLN: Don’t second-guess this one, General. The Savannah port is the last major port open to the Confederacy. He plans to break their link with the rest of the world.
GRANT: More than that. I know Sherman. He plans to break the South’s morale. He knows where this war must be won.
MARY: The troops in Virginia are decorating their Christmas trees with salt pork and hardtack. (a long beat as the two men look at her…finally…) I’m sorry, but I insist on somehow bringing a little Christmas into this gathering.
LINCOLN: Thank you, Mother.
GRANT: Ninety Union soldiers…from Michigan, I believe. Led by their captain in Georgia. Have you heard this?
MARY: No…please.
GRANT: They tied tree branches to the heads of their mules, dressed them as reindeer. . . then delivered food and supplies to the poor citizens of Georgia.
LINCOLN: Thank you both. We all need words like that on this Christmas. The Philadelphia papers told the story of Sallie Brock Putnam…a little girl in Georgia. She plotted a course that Santa could take to avoid the Union blockade.
MARY: Read the poem, Mr. Lincoln.
LINCOLN: Mother?
MARY: The one I gave you. Our poet, Mr. Longfellow wrote it just this season. It’s new…please, Abraham…a bit of Christmas.
LINCOLN: Where did I. . .? (searching his pockets)
MARY: (going to the table lifting his hat and searching through it) Here…in your files.
LINCOLN: (withdrawing the poem) Longfellow’s wife recently died in a fire…his son Charles was severely wounded at New Hope Church. The poet had urged him not to sign up, but the boy insisted.
MARY: Read….just read us a bit of it.
LINCOLN: “I heard the bells on Christmas Day, Their old, familiar carols play, And wild and sweet the words repeat, Of peace on earth good will to men.” (he stops)
MARY: Go on…just a bit more…
LINCOLN: “ . . . Then from each black, accursed mouth the cannon thundered in the South, And with the sound the carols drowned, Of peace on earth, good will to men…” (he stops…not quite able to finish)
MARY: (taking the poem from him) “And in despair I bowed my head; There is no peace on earth, I said; For hate is strong and mocks the song of peace on earth good will to men.” (looks at both men, then) But then this. . “Then pealed the bells more loud and deep: ‘God is not dead, nor doth He sleep; The Wrong shall fail, the Right prevail, With Peace on Earth good will to men.”
GRANT: (a long beat, then) Thank you, Mrs. Lincoln.
LINCOLN: (suddenly bursting into laughter)
MARY: Mr. Lincoln!
LINCOLN: I’m sorry, Mary. And I thank you for Mr. Longfellow’s offering. . but I was thinking of the General’s first visit to the White House. When was it?
GRANT: March. March 8th of this year.
MARY: (not a pleasant memory) I remember.
LINCOLN: You hadn’t planned on coming.
GRANT: No, no…not at all.
LINCOLN: You were staying. . .
GRANT: I was staying at the Willard Hotel…my son Fred and I.
LINCOLN: They tell me you’d planned on a quiet dinner.
GRANT: That was our intention…
LINCOLN: . . and then you were discovered and the diners took up the chant.. “Grant! Grant! Grant!”
GRANT: I was . . . surprised. We couldn’t even finish our meal. . .had to hurry up to our room to avoid being crushed in the crowd.
LINCOLN: So much for the ass from Cincinnati.
MARY: Mr. Lincoln!
GRANT: Times change.
LINCOLN: Then who went to your room? I never heard.
GRANT: Congressman Moorhead and a couple of others…and they insisted on hustling to us to the White House.
MARY: It was one of our weekly receptions.
LINCOLN: Yes..yes. To be a small affair.
MARY: That was my intention.
LINCOLN: But when you arrived. . .
GRANT: When I arrived it seems as if throngs of people had followed me.
LINCOLN: “Grant!” They shouted, “Grant’s to be there!” We could hear them streaming through the door.
GRANT: I’m truly sorry, Mrs. Lincoln.
MARY: We ran out of food.
LINCOLN: Everyone ran to congratulate the conquering hero!
MARY: Most uninvited.
LINCOLN: And they began crowding in on you and you had to stand up on the sofa…
GRANT: I apologize, truly…
MARY: The new sofa.
GRANT: I could hardly move in the crowd and was simply trying to keep from getting crushed.
MARY: Just purchased from Philadelphia at considerable expense.
LINCOLN: Mary!
GRANT: I’m afraid that the East Room was a melee.
MARY: It was covered in the most delicate crimson.
GRANT: I feared for the ladies. Their laces were torn and their crinolines mashed so many climbed upon chairs and tables to get out of harms way.
MARY: Also new. All the furniture was new.
LINCOLN: I remember thinking. . . I’m the President and no one seems to notice!
GRANT: I apologize.
LINCOLN: No! No! You were our hero! But the look on your face…
GRANT: Sir?
LINCOLN: The man who had spent the last years facing down the hordes of rebels intent on cutting your throat and there you stood on that sofa.. .
GRANT: Frightened near unto death.
LINCOLN: (roaring with laughter) What joyous evening! (then his gaze falls upon Mary, not partaking of the hilarity) (a long, awkward beat between the three of them, then) Mary, my coffee simply will not stay warm.
MARY: (a beat, then) They tell me cold coffee is good for the digestion.
LINCOLN: (his attention back to Grant) And the next day you were installed as General of the Union Armies.
GRANT: I was.
LINCOLN: And I was not spared a single day’s criticism. The Chicago paper chastised me for not asking your plans.
GRANT: I read that, Mr. Lincoln. But I was off to the war that very day.
LINCOLN: They said, “When will the army move?” I said, “Ask General Grant.” The said, “Grant will not tell us.”
MARY: There’s where you should have stopped.
LINCOLN: I know. I said, “Neither will he tell me.” (a beat, then he moves quickly to the DS window) (SFX: Carolers)
MARY: Abraham?
LINCOLN: I thought I heard someone approaching.
MARY: (Xing to him at the window) Carolers. It’s Christmas Eve, Father. (to Grant) He awakes at every sound in the night. . . thinking it’s a message from Sherman.
GRANT: I share his anxiousness. It startles messengers riding into my encampment to be met by the General running from his tent to see if news has arrived.
LINCOLN: Surely…surely a single rider . . .somehow…would have brought word by now.
GRANT: I suppose there’s some consolation that if Sherman’s been defeated the southern papers would be filled with the news.
MARY: The President spends half his life in the old library at the War Department.
(SFX: Carolers out) GRANT: Reading what?
MARY: Telegrams. That’s where Stanton put the telegraph office. But what did he mean about raisins?
LINCOLN: Raisins?
MARY: Stanton said you dig through the drawer reading the new dispatches then when you’re finished you say, “Well boys, it’s down to the raisins!”
LINCOLN: Oh. That. It’s just a story.
MARY: A story you’d keep from me?
LINCOLN: I didn’t think you’d want to hear it, Mary.
MARY: It’s Christmas Eve. Perhaps a story would take our minds of General Sherman.
LINCOLN: (to Grant) Remind me that I gave her fair warning. There was a little girl back in Illinois. She celebrated her birthday by eating freely of a great many things, topping off with raisins for dessert. During the night she was taken violently ill, and when the doctor arrived she was busy casting up her accounts. The doctor noticed some small, black objects that had just appeared, and remarked to her anxious parents that all danger was passed, as the child was just down to the raisins. When I got down to the messages I’d already digested I knew I’d read them all.
MARY: Abraham, that was most vile.
LINCOLN: (to Grant) Did I give her warning? Mary, if you’ll fetch fresh coffee I promise to drink it this time.
MARY: Very well. (just as she’s about to leave) Would you care for raisins in your coffee? (she exits)
LINCOLN: Do you miss life as a civilian, General?
GRANT: I miss my wife. I miss my family. There’s nothing about war that I shall ever miss. So. . . yes. Yes, I suppose I do. It seems strange that I’d want to abdicate the only job in which I’ve had any success.
LINCOLN: And when this is over. . .what then?
GRANT: Give me the sword of Robert E. Lee and then I’ll have time to think about it.
LINCOLN: You’ve been mentioned as a candidate.
GRANT: I’m a soldier, Mr. President. Nothing more.
LINCOLN: So tell me. . . tell me about a Christmas before the war. . .a Christmas that sticks tight in your memory.
GRANT: A Christmas? Oh many. .
LINCOLN: But sure there was one. . .
GRANT: Yes. Yes, there was. The Hardscrabble Christmas.
LINCOLN: Hardscrabble?
GRANT: The first home I ever built. The only home I ever built. Back in Missouri.
LINCOLN: I’ve never heard you speak of it.
GRANT: That’s because Mrs. Grant has usually been in the room. It’s not a memory she cherishes.
MARY: (entering) Who’s that?
LINCOLN: Mrs. Grant.
MARY: Oh.
LINCOLN: Sit down, Mother. The General’s about to tell us about Hardscrabble.
MARY: What on earth?
LINCOLN: The first house he built.
GRANT: House? Hardly. A cabin. Just out of the Mexican War and no more income from the Army…Sir, it was the lowest point of my life…those seven years after the Mexican War.
MARY: I’m sorry, General…but I mean…how so?
GRANT: I was destitute…living in the old Astor House in New York with no way of paying my bill. Buckner paid my way and urged me to write my father for funds…which he sent. But most of all. . . .(he stops)
LINCOLN: Sir?
GRANT: I didn’t know if I was welcome back in Missouri. Until one day Julia’s letter arrived.
MARY: I do admire the closeness you and Mrs. Grant share.
GRANT: Sometimes it has been her presence…her letters….her… Her love for me that has sustained me.
LINCOLN: (reaches out and clasps Mary’s hand)
GRANT: I need not explain such strength to the Lincolns. So in late summer ’54 I rejoined the family to find a son I’d never seen. My wife had sixty acres of uncleared land near St. Louis. We spent the first year clearing the land…one team of horse, one field hand…and Hardscrabble….a pitiful Pioneer dwelling.
MARY: And what did Mrs. Grant. . . . ?
GRANT: She did not like at all. It was homely and crude. We had no money to buy seed so I wrote my father asking for a two-year loan. He never answered my letter.
LINCOLN: I knew nothing of this history, General.
GRANT: I hope you understand why I don’t make it a part of my official biography. I chop wood then haul it into St. Louis, setting up shop on street corners…a peddler. But perhaps the most painful….
MARY: You don’t have to finish.
GRANT: Thank you, but we are friends. The most painful was when I would happen upon my former army comrades and they’d say things like, “Great God, Grant! What are you doing?” I’d say, “I’m solving the problem of poverty!” Lieutenant Averell was leaving St. Louis with his 3rd Infantry. I took of riding and caught them fourteen miles west of the city, asking for a job as a commissary clerk. They could not employ me.
(a long beat, then)
LINCOLN: Please…please go on….if you would.
GRANT: I don’t mean to bring more gloom to any already anxious Christmas Eve.
MARY: General, your story….how do I say this, Mr. Lincoln?
LINCOLN: We are both getting a needed education tonight, Mother.
MARY: Yes….we are indeed. But surely…your crops?
GRANT: (chuckles, then) The oats? Bountiful! The corn…the best I ever raised. The potatoes, cabbages and melons …bumper crops!
MARY: Splendid!
GRANT: That was 1857.
MARY: Yes? (and then it dawns upon her) ’57, you say. (Grant nods.) Oh, I’m so sorry.
LINCOLN: The Panic . . .
GRANT: . . . The Panic of ’57. Indeed…the most splendid crops I’d ever raised….now worth nothing.
MARY: Your Christmas?
GRANT: I remember the date exactly… December 23rd of 1857 I pawned my last valuable possession…my gold watch.. . so my family might have money to celebrate Christmas.
MARY: (a long beat…what is there to say?) So. . . Mrs. Grant. She didn’t care for Hardscrabble.
GRANT: Julia is the soul of kindness….
LINCOLN: Admirable.
GRANT: And . . honesty.
LINCOLN: I see.
GRANT: I picked out an elevated spot about a hundred feet from the road and started cutting logs.
MARY: And Mrs. Grant?
GRANT: Oh, she helped. I set about digging a cellar and setting stones for the foundation and we had a house raising.
LINCOLN: But you did it yourself?
GRANT: With the help of friends and slaves.
LINCOLN: Slaves?
GRANT: Not the proudest part of my history.
MARY: But Mrs. Grant. . . . ?
GRANT: She’d come from a fine stone house built by her brother Louis, and she wanted “a nice frame house.”
MARY: So.. . .
LINCOLN: . . so he built a log cabin. Let him finish, Mother. Good things do sometimes come from log cabins.
GRANT: September of ’56, we moved in.
MARY: Oh dear.
GRANT: Julia did everything she could to disguise the fact that it was a cabin. Four rooms…two upstairs and two down with a hallway running through each floor. She covered everything with pretty covers, baskets and books. . .tried her best to make it look home-like and comfortable, but in her mind it was no use. That’s when we started calling it Hardscrabble.
MARY: I can well imagine.
LINCOLN: Mary. . .
GRANT: We moved in in September and moved out in January. But that Christmas… that’s the one I’ll remember most. We both laugh a good deal about it now. We moved to her family place, White Haven, when her mother died in ’57.
LINCOLN: I like that story. I like that story very much, General.
MARY: Drink your coffee.
LINCOLN: (smiling and taking a sip) Yes, mother.
GRANT: But it’s . .. peculiar, almost.
LINCOLN: Sir?
GRANT: That Hardscrabble Christmas…those years of crops with no prices, of killing weather…of hardship.
MARY: Yes?
GRANT: We grew. Julia and I…the family. We grew together. It was a time of testing.
LINCOLN: “And there shall arise . . . seven years of famine. . .
GRANT: “ . . . and all the plenty shall be forgotten in the land of Egypt.”
LINCOLN: . . and two short years ago at Shiloh you would defend the Union’s overrun position with the same determination.
GRANT: I have thought of that often, Mr. President.
MARY: Men of greatness are molded by their times. . . . and I’m speaking to both of you.
(They all stop a moment…hearing something…Mary hurries to the window.)
MARY: A passing ambulance.
GRANT: I must be getting back.
LINCOLN: Please, Sir…
GRANT: This evening has been my pleasure, Mr. President. Mrs. Lincoln, I wish you the very best Christmas blessings. Mrs. Grant sends her love.
MARY: She does?
LINCOLN: Of course she does. (to Grant) And if you receive a telegram. . .
GRANT: No telegrams, I’m afraid. All communications are cut to Savannah. . . in fact, most of the South.
LINCOLN: Then it must be by messenger.
GRANT: That’s all that’s left. Mr. President, if I might be so bold. . .
LINCOLN: Please.
GRANT: We are cut of the same cloth, you and I. Although your charming wife has managed to run a genteel White House during the war, you are the same plain-spoken young Congressman who first walked out of the Kentucky Hills. We are neither of us comfortable in the presence of much pomp and ceremony.
MARY: I beg to. . .
LINCOLN: Mary…please.
GRANT: I have cared nothing for the frills and brocades of my predecessors. I learned the art of war from Zachary Taylor in Mexico. We are both blessed with wives who are our greatest strength and encouragement. But unlike you, I have never mastered the art of politics.
LINCOLN: Sherman told you. . .
GRANT: Sherman told me, “Don’t go near Washington. It’s a nest of thieves.” Mr. President, you carry with you a modesty that is often at odds with your surroundings. I had no intention of entering the military.
LINCOLN: Providence?
GRANT: Some would call it so.
LINCOLN: You’re a man of prayer?
GRANT: All my life. My parents were staunch Methodists but never insisted I attend church. . . I suppose you’d say that I’ve created my own.
LINCOLN: Let us trust Providence, then.
MARY: And if Providence should not favor General Sherman?
GRANT: (a long beat, then) I left for West Point in ’39…a short, blond-haired, freckled boy heading into the world for the first time. I took a canal boat then a railroad to Philadelphia. I spent too long there, I suppose. . . I was more interested in the hubbub of cities than the glories of war. Then to New York City where I procrastinated as long as possible.
MARY: You didn’t want to be a soldier?
GRANT: I had little idea what I wanted to do. I planned to get an education then become a teacher of mathematics.
LINCOLN: That’s quite remarkable…but Providence…
GRANT: . . .but Providence had other designs. That and my inability to do well in anything other than horsemanship. West Point… West Point taught the philosophy of war. . . not the humanity. Napoleon was the conquering hero who had “perfected” the art of war. That’s the way they taught us…the “perfect” war. You make the perfect plan, you gather the perfect resources, you train the perfect army and you win the war . . . perfectly.
LINCOLN: But you, General. . . ?
GRANT: I never developed Napoleon’s detached view of warfare.
MARY: You’ve been compared to Napoleon.
GRANT: . . . and I smile and act as if it was a compliment. It’s not. While my classmates at the Point were planning their perfect wars I was plagued by the What-If’s.
LINCOLN: Sir?
GRANT: What if? What if these plans don’t work? What if you fail? War is not a mathematical theorem. It’s the most human of human endeavors and if it’s human, then it cannot be predicted in a West Point classroom. I speak to my generals and I say, “This must happen!” and “We cannot fail!” then I retire to my tent to consider the unthinkable. . . the unmentionable. . . the defeat. Forgive my meandering answer to your question, Mr. Lincoln. But I have thought much about the “what if” of Sherman’s campaign. The hand of Providence overcoming what our friend Burns called the best laid plans of mice and men.
LINCOLN: (a beat, then) And. . .
GRANT: In a word? Disaster. I continue to hold Lee at bay so Sherman can do his work. How did you put it?
LINCOLN: “Grant holds the leg while Sherman takes off the skin.”
GRANT: But if Sherman does not succeed….and Lee has full access to the South’s remaining resources, then. . .
MARY: . . . then?
GRANT: Then his war is far from over. (a beat, then) Mr. President. . . Mrs. Lincoln. Thank you for welcoming me on this Christmas Eve. It’s. . . well, a far cry from my home and family, but it far outweighs the luxuries of an army tent. I must take my leave. . . (Begins to move for his coat and Lincoln X’s to assist him. As he does so, Grant pulls a cigar from his coat and holds it in his hand.)
LINCOLN: And we are the grateful recipients of your kindness, General. (Mary hears something on the front lawn…moves to the window) Please know, Sir. . . you remain in our prayers.
MARY: (looking out the window) Abraham?
LINCOLN: You know that you have not only my best wishes, but my absolute confidence.
MARY: Abraham, come here.
GRANT: And the first news I receive. . .
LINCOLN: Yes..yes.
MARY: Mr. Lincoln!
LINCOLN: A moment, Mary. . .I’ll see the General out.
MARY: Not yet! (Both Grant and Lincoln pause at this bit of brashness)
LINCOLN: (a beat, then) Mother?
MARY: A rider. . . a solitary rider.
LINCOLN: What? (both he and Grant rush to the window)
GRANT: Military issue.
MARY: A messenger. He’s coming this direction.
LINCOLN: He’ll never make it this far! (and Lincoln hurries out of the room)
MARY: Oh….please…please let it be.
GRANT: (a beat, then) Thank you.
MARY: For what?
GRANT: For being the strong right arm of our President. My Julia. . . I know you’ve had your differences, but my Julia has been away from me no more two weeks for the entire war. She follows my army in most of its travels. I know…I know how comforting such devotion can be. So…. thank you.
MARY: (begins to speak then sees Lincoln standing in the doorway) I. . . . .Abraham?
GRANT: Mr. President? (Lincoln slowly walks to them holding a message) Is it?
LINCOLN: . . From Sherman.
(a long beat…we and the other actors cannot quite read what Lincoln’s feeling….)
MARY: (finally) Read it.
LINCOLN: “December 22nd, 1864…” two days ago. “I beg to present you as a Christmas gift the city of Savannah with 150 heavy guns and plenty of ammunition and also about 25,000 bales of cotton.”
(A long beat, each in his or her own thoughts as the moment speaks for itself. Finally, Grant offers his hand to Lincoln. Lincoln looks at the extended hand for a moment then takes it.) (after a long look into Grant’s eyes.) Merry Christmas, General Grant.
GRANT: (another beat, then) Merry Christmas, Mr. President.
LINCOLN: Mary?
MARY: Father?
LINCOLN: Listen…the bells.
(And in a final gestures, Mary takes a match and lights Grant’s cigar as the lights dim out.)