Lincoln had liked some sections of the design; the blockade had become a reality in April. But the complete plan, which the press had somehow learned about and christened "Scott's Anaconda," drew sharp fire from radicals like Chase — they were numerous in the Republican party — who favored a swift, single-stroke triumph. The kind summed up in "Forward to Richmond!" — the slogan heard everywhere, from church pulpits to brothels, or so Stanley was told. Although he constantly craved sex and his wife seldom granted it to him, he was too timid to visit brothels.

Would the Union press on to the Confederate capital? Stanley had little time to speculate because Cameron returned quickly after seeing his visitors out. He gathered Stanley and four other assistants around him and began pulling oddly shaped little papers out of every pocket and rattling off orders. The scrap on which the secretary had jotted the President's firm command fluttered to the floor unseen.

"And you, Stanley —" Cameron fixed him with those eyes gray as the winter hills his Scottish forebears trod — "we have that meeting late today. The one in regard to uniforms."

"Yes, Mr. Secretary."

"We're to meet that fellow at — let's see —" He patted his hopsack jacket, hunting another informative scrap.

"Willard's, sir. The saloon bar. Six p.m. is the time you set."

"Yes, six. I don't have the head for so many details." His vinegar smile said he wasn't excessively concerned.

Shortly before six, Stanley and the secretary left the War Department and crossed to the better side of the avenue.