The Last Full Measure

by Jeff Shaara

  Grant looked at the man's uniform, felt suddenly awkward, and he climbed down, stared at the boy's empty sleeve, thought, They are not all soft.

  He looked around, realized now that many men had quietly moved closer, watching him, and no one spoke.

  Rawlins stepped forward, scanned the uniforms for rank, said, "You... Major, this is General Grant. We are seeking General Meade."

  The man was looking at Grant now, said, "Yes, Sir. Welcome, Sir. General Meade is back here, in his tent-"

  "I'm right behind you, Major."

  Grant saw Meade emerge from the tent, his wide black hat clamped down on his head. Meade stepped through the men, moved up to Grant, saluted. Grant returned the salute, saw Meade quickly scan him up and down with the look of a man whose stomach hurts. Meade said, "Welcome to the Army of the Potomac, General."

  Grant nodded, glanced at the men watching him.

  "Thank you, General. This is Colonel Rawlins, my chief of staff." He turned to Rawlins, said, "Colonel, I wish to speak to General Meade. Introduce yourself and the rest of the staff to General Meade's people. Get acquainted."

  Rawlins snapped his boots together, exaggerated formality, and said, "Yes Sir! Right away, Sir!"

  Grant looked at him for a brief moment, thought, This may be more difficult than I thought. We have no need for posturing. He looked at Meade again, saw the same sour expression, and a small hint of impatience. Grant said, "General, might we have a word?"

  Meade turned, held out an arm toward his tent, said flatly, "At your convenience, General. After you."

  Grant moved to the tent, Meade followed him, and Grant stopped, looked back at Rawlins, who was still standing stiffly.

  "Colonel... at ease."

  He moved into the tent, saw two chairs, a small desk. He sat in the smaller chair, leaned back, removed his hat, laid it on his knee, pointed to the larger chair, said, "General, please, take a seat. It isn't necessary for us to be... so formal. The air in this camp is thick enough as it is."

  Meade sat, kept his hat on, said, "General Grant, this army is quite familiar with your successes in the West. Your promotion was applauded, by this command as much as anyone's. I hope you are able to do what Washington expects you to do. We all hope for that."

  There was no enthusiasm in Meade's voice, and there was a silent moment. Grant said, "I assure you... there will be a fundamental change in the way we operate. Washington... the President is aware of the failure of the policy of allowing each army to operate independent of the others. There has been no coordination, no plan that involves all theaters of activity. That will change."

  There was another silent moment, and Meade said, "I welcome... any changes the commanding general may wish to make. We have already made many changes here. I have tried to put the best men where they need to be. We have some good men in this army, the best... the best in the East. I am certain the general has his own strong feelings about his commanders in the West."

  Grant felt suddenly annoyed.

  "General Meade, may we dispense with the rehearsed speeches? I don't care to be referred to in the third person.

  Meade seemed surprised, glanced at Grant's hat, removed his own, put it on the desk, ran his fingers around the rim, and Grant saw something new in his face, relief. Meade said, "Then Sir, if I may say-"

  "Yes, General, you may say whatever you please."

  "Thank you, sir. Washington has made it clear that they place little value on the ability of the Army of the Potomac to hold its own with your people In the West. There is the feeling in this camp that the Secretary, even the President, has sent you here to teach us how to fight. If my people seem a bit testy... it's because they don't care to be judged against your... against the army in the West. These men have fought some pretty hard fights. We haven't always done as well as we might have, but it is not the men. Washington must pass judgment on my leadership. I am prepared for that. But there has been a great deal of reorganization since Gettysburg. It has been my priority to put the best commanders where they can do the most good. We do have good people in this army. Good commanders are good commanders no matter where they happen to be fighting. This army sits under the shadow of Washington, and Washington can be... impatient. Most of what they know of your command is what they see on paper. Here, a week doesn't pass without some bloated dignitary parading through the camp asking my people how long it will take us to end this war. They go back to Washington and tell the newspapers we are sitting around doing nothing while our enemies boast of their great victories." Meade stood now, put his hat on his head, and Grant sat back, waited.

  "Forgive me, Sir. But if I don't... if you don't hear this now, you may never hear it. You may find out the hard way. The enemy here is not the enemy out West. I know something of command. Robert E. Lee is not Pemberton, he is not Bragg. No disrespect... your success out West is to be commended. But what flows through here from Washington, all we have been hearing is that we only need General Grant, and old Bobby Lee will turn tail. Well, Sir, now you are here. Now you will find out what this army has known for a long time. It will take more than a few new corps commanders to march us into Richmond!" Meade was red-faced, breathing heavily.

  Grant pointed to the chair, said, "Thank you, General. Please sit down Meade seemed surprised, looked at the chair and sat. Grant reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a cigar, then another pocket, moved deliberately, pulled out a small metal box, and Meade could see a piece of flint, Grant now striking it against a piece of steel. The sparks began to ignite a twist of cloth, and there was a plume of black smoke, the cloth began to burn, and Grant slowly lit the cigar. Meade watched him intently, seemed to calm down, and Grant held out the cigar, looked at it, said, "I don't know many of your people, but that will change. Some of the names are familiar, I knew some of them at the Point, some in Mexico. What I am depending on is coordination, that your army will work with the forces in the West. General Sherman has succeeded me in command of those forces, and I will be informing both of you what our new campaign will involve."

  He stopped, saw Meade's expression change, saw surprise.

  "What is it, General?"

  Meade removed his hat again, looked down.

  "Forgive me, Sir, but it was my assumption that this command... that I would not be a part of your plans. It is no secret that the President has been impatient with my efforts."

  "General Meade, you were in Mexico. Do you recall how rumors affected the army then?"

  Meade looked at Grant now, and Grant could see the memories, Meade's own experiences in Mexico, coming back to him. Meade said, "We were cut off from the coast, from Washington, from everybody. General Scott's decision... to move the army inland on its own... we went through a different panic every night." Meade smiled now, the first change in his expression.

  "There were supposed to be ten thousand Mexicans waiting for us around every turn."

  Grant nodded, smiled as well.

  "And behind us, and above us... Santa Anna was on top of every mountain, every water hole was poisoned, they moved like ghosts in the night."

  They sat in silence for a moment, absorbed the sudden rush of memories. But Grant focused, pushed the thoughts of Mexico away, looked at Meade, and Meade was serious again, said, "I had thought the reports were reliable... that General Sherman would be assuming command of this army."

  Grant was surprised, said, "Really? And where are you going? Tennessee?" Grant felt a sudden twinge of impatience.

  Meade said, "I assumed... because of Washington's lack of enthusiasm for my performance... I would be relieved. I would only request... that you inform me without delay. Washington has always had a policy of dragging these things out, letting the commanders... sweat a bit. There seems to be some delight on the part of the Secretary to maintain suspense, and General Halleck has a habit of launching surprise attacks on his subordinates."

  Grant felt a surge of anger, thought of Halleck, took a deep breath.

  "There
is no surprise attack here. I have no intention of replacing you. We cannot run this army by trial and error. I know your record, I know how you command. I have no doubt you will continue to serve this army well. I have experienced the impatience of the Secretary. He makes grand judgments based on what he reads, not what he sees. And General Halleck is now..." He paused, had not thought of this before, of all the implications of his promotion.

  "General Halleck is now my subordinate. What pleases Washington is no longer to be your concern. What pleases me..." He paused, thought of his own words, felt the anger slip away, was suddenly embarrassed, surprised at himself.

  "Perhaps I should say that differently...."

  Meade slapped his hand hard on the desk.

  "No Sir! You have made yourself quite clear. I am greatly relieved to hear that. We heard... the word was that your promotion might be... political. Something... for the newspapers to play with. I had thought, if you moved to Washington, you would probably... " He paused.

  "You would probably become one of them."

  Grant looked at the cigar again, said, "I have been advised to maintain my headquarters in Washington. I have no intention of doing so. I had thought... perhaps I would go back out West, Nashville. But General Sherman knows me well, he knows what I expect of him, and he knows his opponent there. Here... it is different. I believe you are correct about General Lee. How we deal with your opponent will determine the outcome of the war."

  Meade nodded, and Grant saw the enthusiasm building. Meade Said, "Yes Lee is all that stands between us and Richmond. If we can maneuver him away, move on Richmond again-" Grant abruptly stood up, and Meade stopped, watched him. Grant tapped his hat against his leg, freeing a cloud of dust. His mind began to move, rethinking the plan he had sketched, hammered, and Picked at for weeks. He paced for a moment, then stopped and looked at Meade.

  No. Our objective has always been Richmond. That is not our objective now. They are not beaten until he is beaten. If we seize Richmond, they will just move their government somewhere else. We will tie up our army occupying a place of small value and this war will go on for years. Richmond is a symbol, and three years ago this war was all about symbols. Symbols are for politicians and newspapers, something emotional to rally around. But if we have learned anything, it is that war is about fighting, about armies and guns and the death of men. As long as there are armies, there will be a war. I don't care about symbols. Our objective is Lee."

  AS THE SPRING MOVED INTO VIRGINIA AND THE ROADS hardened, Grant began to put his plan into words. In the West, Sherman would press Joe Johnston, and as in Virginia, the goal was Johnston's army, to draw him out into battle where Sherman's numbers could prevail. If Johnston were defeated, Atlanta would fall, and the Confederacy would be divided even further, the great railroad connections cut. But Grant understood that merely confronting Lee would not make Lee fight on anyone else's terms but his own, and so the plans in Virginia were more complicated. On the Virginia peninsula, a large force was assembled under the command of Ben Butler. Butler was no one's friend, had not distinguished himself as a great leader of troops, but he was a powerful political force in Washington, a man Lincoln could not afford to antagonize. If Grant did not place much value on Butler's abilities, Butler himself did, and so his influence and his ability to intimidate Washington meant that Grant had no choice but to put him in charge of a sizable command. Butler's objective was to move up the James River, pressuring Richmond from the east. If Richmond was too heavily defended, then Butler could move south of the James and assault the valuable railroad junction at Petersburg.

  To the west of Lee's army, in the Shenandoah Valley, Grant assigned Franz Sigel to command a smaller force that would move south, up the valley, confronting whatever forces Lee had there. Early in the war Sigel had led the Eleventh Corps, made up mainly of New Yorkers and Pennsylvanians of German ancestry. He was a graduate of the German Military Academy, an experienced fighter who had emigrated himself because he happened to pick the wrong side in a brief revolution. He had seemed to be a natural choice to lead his former countrymen in the Eleventh, was an inspiration to the many Germans who had now taken up the Union cause. But he was undistinguished as a field commander, and he was replaced early in 1863 by Oliver Howard. It was Howard who would then carry the stain of the Eleventh, the men who would panic at Chancellorsville, collapsing from the surprise flank attack from Jackson, a failure that would always be theirs.

  Since Howard had performed no better than Sigel, Sigel's removal had angered many of the immigrants even more, and Grant understood that Sigel's presence had value in drawing immigrants into the army. If he was undistinguished, at least he was already in place, in western Virginia. Sigel's assignment in the valley would be to prevent Lee from reinforcing himself from the Confederate troops there. If Sigel moved hard into Virginia's most fertile and productive farmland, it was a threat Lee could not ignore.

  Grant made one more major change. The Federal army had never made the best use of its cavalry, and Jeb Stuart had embarrassed his blue counterparts consistently. As the war had gone on, the blue horsemen learned more about their enemy and his successes, and gradually they changed the way they fought. But the high command had still not understood fully the value of cavalry, and often they were held in the rear, guarding wagon trains or sent far off on useless raids. Grant intended to change that. In the West there was one division commander, a man who led infantry, who Grant believed could be given the new responsibility of commanding horsemen. The man had built a reputation.

  Despite the advice of many in Washington that the new genera ling-chief remain in the capital, and despite the advice from his friend Sherman that he return to the West, staying as far from Washington as possible, Grant moved his headquarters alongside the Army of the Potomac. He would accompany Meade's army as it sought out the one man who stood in the way of the war's conclusion, the one man whose army must be destroyed,

  8. LEE

  MAY 1864 The COURIERS CAME NOW AT REGULAR INTERVALS, STUART'S messengers bringing a steady stream of information. The hard words for Stuart's failure at Gettysburg had long faded from the newspapers, and if they mentioned Gettysburg at all now, if the papers still had a bitter need to find fault, the focus was shifting more in Longstreet's direction. Stuart was the great and gallant hero, the mention of the name always painting an inspiring picture in the minds of the people, the dashing cavalryman, the plumed hat, mocking and humiliating the enemy's inept horsemen. What had flickered through the newspapers, the hint of improper behavior, a brief public scolding for the playful ride around the enemy, was forgotten now by the reality of what the new year would bring.

  The papers now gave more energy to new outrage against Lincoln, whose call for seven hundred thousand new troops demonstrated the aggressiveness of this unrelenting man who would still send his armies into their country. There was growing frustration with the length of the war, the casual confidence of a quick victory long erased. If blame had to be placed for that, then the angry headlines and political speeches were growing openly hostile toward Jefferson Davis as well, as though Davis himself was responsible for the great disparity in strength, the increasing void between the vast power and fertility of the North and the creeping starvation and emptiness of the South.

  But there were some who did not pay much attention to the rants in the papers, who knew something of tactics and strategy, who remembered Gettysburg as more than some vague and horrible disaster. The conversations were brief and private, and even in Stuart's camp the men understood that this brash and self-assured cavalier had for once let his commander down.

  Stuart never spoke of it, but his staff knew something was different, noted something more serious, that he was more sober, his playful moods less prevalent. It had been nearly a year, but Stuart kept the memories fresh in his mind. His cavalry had finally returned to Lee's army late in the fight at Gettysburg, but the damage had been done, the ground chosen for them by an enemy Lee was n
ot ready to fight, the tide already turned against them. Had Stuart been where Lee needed him to be, the fight around Gettysburg might not have happened at all; they could have kept Meade at bay, moved farther into the enemy's country, into the rich farmlands where the army could have sustained itself as long as it had to. Then, they could have struck in any direction, Philadelphia, Baltimore, and the panic in the northern cities, the reality that the bloody fields would be their own, could have put enough pressure on Washington to make the peace.

  Stuart did not dwell on politics, but he had heard the talk, the bruises on his reputation. His anger at the "Insults" had quickly faded. It was that one night that stayed with him, and he would lie awake staring up at bright stars, would focus on that, riding into Lee's headquarters with all the boisterous pageantry that always swept along with him. He'd expected the face of a relieved parent, the fatherly warmth Lee had shared with him since he was a cadet at West Point, the enthusiasm for the return of the favorite son, but he saw instead a hard redfaced anger, a look he'd never seen before, Lee fighting himself to hold it down. The warmth was replaced by the deep chill of disappointment. It was something Stuart would never forget.