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had been written.
    The die had been cast.

ARMS OF WAR
    When the presidential train had stopped to fill the engine's water tanks in Jersey City, the latest messages and reports were put aboard: the President's personal secretary brought them to him. Abraham Lincoln, away from the constant press and demands of the White House, stared out at the frosty winter beauty of the Hudson River. A radiant coal stove kept the cold at bay. Simon Cameron, the Secretary of War, dozed in the seat opposite. This was a peaceful refuge from the White House where favor seekers besieged him every moment of the day. He was relaxed and at ease for the first time in weeks. Even the sight of the thick bundle of paper did not disturb him.
    "I see that the war still follows me everywhere, Nicolay."
    "The war with the Secesh and with the Congress. I sometimes think that the latter is worse. The congressmen in..."
    "Spare me the politicians for the moment. Shot and shell seem kindlier."
    John Nicolay nodded agreement and shuffled through the new reports that Hay passed over to him. "Now here is one that should please you. The landings on TybeeIsland in the Savannah River were most successful. The commander says that FortPulaski will be attacked next. Once that is reduced, Savannah will surely be taken. Next, our undercover agent in Norfolk reports that more armor plate for the Merrimack has arrived. Guns as well. They've renamed the ship CSS Virginia."
    "We won't worry about her for awhile yet. But see that a copy of the report gets to the Monitor people. That should keep them working around the clock."
    The President leafed through the newspapers. The press seemed to be uniformly against him and his administration these days. The abolitionists were in full bay after him again—anything short of killing every Southerner and freeing every slave was a worthless goal. An item caught his eye and he smiled as he read it, then smacked the paper with his hand.
    "Now this is real journalism, Nicolay. Our guardians of law and order have made a famous victory on a steamer at Baltimore. Listen... 'Their suspicions were aroused by a lady who appeared nervous and desirous of avoiding them. When her reticule was searched a quantity of gloves, stockings and letters were found, all intended to the South. As well a small boy was discovered to be carrying a quantity of quinine. Both were allowed to pass after their cargo had been confiscated.' Our protectors never sleep."
    By the time they had gone through the files the train was pulling into the West Point station, the locomotive's steam whistle announcing their arrival. Lincoln pulled on coat and scarf, clapped his stovepipe hat onto his head before descending to meet the army officers and foundry officials. Cameron and his secretaries followed. They all walked together to the ferry that would take them across the river to Cold Spring. It was a chill but brief crossing and carriages were waiting for them at the dock when they disembarked. The horses were stamping their hooves, with their breath rising like smoke in the still, cold air. A serious, frockcoated man stood beside the first carriage as they approached.
    "Mr. President," Cameron said, "may I introduce Mr. Robert Parker Parrott, inventor and gunsmith, proprietor of the West Point Foundry."
    Lincoln nodded as Parrott shook his hand, then Cameron's.
    "A great pleasure, Mr. Lincoln, to have you visit my foundry and see for yourself what we are doing here."
    "I could not refuse the opportunity, Mr. Parrott. My commanders cry for guns and more guns and their wishes must be respected."
    "We are doing our best here to grant those wishes. I've prepared a test of our newly completed 300-pounder. If you find it agreeable we will go to the test site first—then on to the cannon works. I can assure you that this gun is the most impressive and powerful that I have ever built."
    And indeed it was. Secured firmly to the massive cannon-testing platform, it was a black and