by Jeff Shaara
He looked back, saw his staff alert, waiting for his instructions, and said, “Did we get confirmation from General Rosecrans what kind of supplies we have?”
Colonel Hough rode up close to him, said, “I spoke with General Garfield this morning. He believes that the first estimates are correct. We can hold out here for about ten days without assistance.”
Thomas stared out again, nodded slowly. “Alfred, we’re in a serious pickle here.”
“Yes, sir. General Rosecrans seems convinced of that.”
Alfred Hough had been Thomas’s friend long before the war, served now as a staff officer with no real authority beyond what Thomas required of him. But Hough brought the kind of loyalty Thomas appreciated, an effective sounding board, unafraid to give Thomas his honest opinion. Even more, Thomas knew that any conversation between them would remain theirs alone. It was dismaying to Thomas that throughout the command of the Army of the Cumberland, few secrets were kept, too many seeming to delight in gossip. Even now, as rumors flowed out as to Rosecrans’s uncertain state of mind, Rosecrans’s own staff seemed far too willing to reveal those things a commander had to keep private. Old Rosy’s not being served well, if those boys can’t keep their mouths shut.
“It’ll be cold tonight. Let’s ride back along that last defensive line. I want to be sure the engineers know what they’re doing. There might still be a fight here.”
He moved the horse, Hough still beside him, the half-dozen aides spreading out in file behind him. Hough said, “You don’t think we’re in trouble … that the men won’t run again?”
Thomas didn’t look at his friend, said, “The men? Nope.”
“What about General Rosecrans? There’s talk he’s planning on retreating, pulling us out of here completely.”
“You keep that kind of talk to yourself, Alfred. Old Rosy is a man of the Catholic faith, devout, as dedicated to his religion as any man I’ve ever seen. Every day he’s been here, he’s asked for divine strength. Let’s just hope he finds it. As long as he doesn’t decide to … run, these boys won’t, either.”
THOMAS’S HEADQUARTERS—
ARMY OF THE CUMBERLAND—
CHATTANOOGA—SEPTEMBER 26, 1863
Charles Dana had arrived at Rosecrans’s headquarters a few days before the great confrontation at Chickamauga, and Thomas knew only that he was the assistant secretary of war, a lofty title that meant he answered only to Edwin Stanton, in Washington. Rosecrans assumed Dana’s purpose for being there was to report back to the War Department just how Rosecrans was managing the Army of the Cumberland. That alone would have put the entire command on edge, but the failure at Chickamauga only made Rosecrans’s suspicions of Dana more intense. Dana had made every effort to reassure Rosecrans that his purpose was simply to observe. There was no subterfuge, no hidden agenda, no urgency to put someone else in Rosecrans’s place. But that was before the disastrous rout on September 20. Dana was no soldier, had reacted to the terrifying stampede by firing off numerous telegrams to Washington, graphic descriptions of just how bad the chaos had been, and how completely the Army of the Cumberland had been crushed by Bragg’s forces. Once Dana had spent a full day in the safety of the Chattanooga defenses, the telegrams had grown more tempered, and thus more accurate. But Rosecrans was still not convinced that Dana wasn’t there to find a replacement more agreeable to Stanton, or even to President Lincoln. Thomas could see for himself that, regardless of Dana’s motives, Rosecrans was doing nothing to help his own cause. No matter how secure the army might now be in Chattanooga, Rosecrans continued to show signs of instability and a complete lack of confidence. His own messages to Washington seemed to emphasize a disturbing lack of faith in the army, and much more certainty that whatever happened next was a product of God’s will. It was not the kind of message Washington wanted to hear.
Thomas had no real animosity toward Dana, saw him as a reasonable man, sent out to do a job that didn’t include a chaotic pursuit by a deadly enemy. If it had taken Dana a couple of days behind the army’s defenses at Chattanooga to find his composure, this was no surprise to Thomas. He knew there were fighting men in this army who still weren’t finding much sleep, knowing that every maneuver they might make was being clearly observed from at least two directions. If that made Dana nervous as well, it just meant he was paying attention.
“I apologize for the intrusion, General. Your Colonel Hough allowed me to pass. Please don’t find fault with him. I was rather insistent.”
“If Colonel Hough knew I wished to be alone, you would not be here. No matter, Mr. Dana. I can tell … there’s something on your mind.”
Dana looked toward a small chair, and Thomas pointed.
“Yes, sit.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Dana paused, seemed to gather his thoughts, and Thomas said, “It’s late, sir. Have you something to say?”
Dana nodded, still hesitated. “Sir, as you know, I am in regular contact with the secretary of war. He is insistent on that point. I must mention that this camp, this command is a very different … er … beast than what I encountered with General Grant.”
Thomas knew that Dana had first come west to accompany Ulysses Grant’s campaign through Mississippi, a campaign that had concluded with the complete success at Vicksburg.
“Mr. Dana, there will be no talk of competition between this army and the command of General Grant. Grant’s success in Mississippi was a sterling achievement. This army has accomplished much as well, though not the kinds of victories that make for attractive headlines.”
Dana had been a newspaperman before the war, a fact no one took for granted. Thomas assumed, as did many, that Dana’s correspondence with Washington would most always carry a flair for the dramatic.
Dana seemed to appreciate the insinuation, nodded, a slight smile. “General Grant is an interesting study, sir. His response to my presence was hostile, certainly. But he was at least polite about it. I went to great lengths to assure him that whatever campaign anyone in Washington might be waging against him, whoever his detractors might be, none of that was of concern to me. By the time the Vicksburg campaign concluded, I’m certain he believed me. General Sherman … well, I’m not so certain. He has a striking dislike of newspaper reporters.”
“So do I.”
“Yes, I have heard that. I am not here to offer headlines to anyone, General. Not at all.”
The room was small, low ceilinged, the headquarters a fairly nondescript house, the hearth part of a crude kitchen. Thomas enjoyed the warmth of the fire, a soothing balm to the ever-present pains in his back. He shifted in the chair, adjusted a pillow beneath him, and Dana said, “I understand you were injured. Before the war.”
“A newspaperman, yes, Mr. Dana? Observant, catching every detail.”
Dana looked down, said, “Yes, quite so, I’m afraid. One is taught to notice the trivial, that great messages lie in those things most people might miss.”
“Makes you good at your job. Yes, I understand. Injured myself around the time the war began. Was a passenger on a train, heading to one of my early assignments. Train halted, I took a walk, slipped down a hill. Bad fall. Colonel Hough refers to it as my personal train wreck. I’m supposed to find humor in that. Nothing humorous about pain, Mr. Dana. In two years, there has been little relief.”
“Very sorry, sir. I would never make light of such a thing. Nor would I make casual remarks about a man’s chosen loyalties.”
Thomas was becoming annoyed, the pains in his back sapping his patience. “If you mean to question my upbringing, sir, and the hostilities I have endured from my own family, save that for another time. Yes, I am a Virginian. As is, I might add, General Winfield Scott. There are others in this army whose place of birth is in the South, who considered their oath of allegiance to the United States to be paramount. I believe even a newspaperman would consider that a sign of honor.”
Dana put a hand on his face, rubbed slowly. “I do not wish to agitate you
, sir. Forgive me for straying from the point. I am here because I must seek your counsel.”
“For you, or for Stanton?”
“Oh, this is my own journey, sir. But certainly, the secretary is seeking some input from me about a matter of utmost urgency. Two matters, actually.”
“Get to it, Mr. Dana.”
“Yes. There is a consensus in this camp that the army can be maintained here as long as necessary, if we can bring in supplies in a consistent manner. As you know, sir, the quartermaster general, Mr. Meigs, arrived here only a few days ago with a most pessimistic forecast, that the route the supply trains must travel is difficult at best. His report inspired considerable despair from our commanding general. The supplies are out there, no question, a lengthy wagon train, so I’ve been told.”
“Yes. It’s no secret. Eight hundred wagons, at least. Just beyond the mountains to the west. That should give us time, sir, and more trains will be forthcoming. The high command of the Federal army is not forsaking us, no matter what rumors you might hear. Or, you might originate.”
Thomas regretted the insult, could see the wound in Dana’s expression. “Please, General, I am here only to observe. I hoped you would confirm what I have heard from your staff. Washington will certainly do what General Meigs requires of them to sustain this army.”
“Yes. The second matter?”
Thomas saw the hesitation again. He adjusted his back in the chair, but there was gravity in Dana’s expression, and Thomas put off his impatience. After a long pause, Dana looked at him, said, “Sir, I am of the opinion that it is no longer appropriate that General Rosecrans remain in command of this army. Mind you, I have no personal animosity toward the man. But I have observed … things.”
“I do not wish to hear your observations. I know Rosy well, and I will not entertain disparagement against an honorable man.”
Dana lowered his head, then looked up at Thomas with a slight nod. “As you wish, General. But you are not deaf, dumb, or blind. Your loyalty to your commander is admirable. But my loyalty is to events as I see them. General Rosecrans is demonstrating a lack of fitness for command. You may not enjoy hearing that. But the secretary has already heard it, believes it, and the president is in agreement with him. A decision has to be made.”
“I wish no part of that discussion. I am his subordinate, after all.”
“You also outrank him. I have done my research, sir.”
“Are you suggesting … are you intending to report to Washington that my name should be considered—”
Dana held up a hand. “Let’s not go that far. I can offer suggestions, certainly. But I have no influence on what is decided in Washington.”
Thomas felt something turn over in his stomach, the cold reality that Rosecrans might truly be relieved of command. “I will not be a part of a conspiracy, sir. I will not campaign for a position I have not earned, not at the expense of my commanding officer.”
“Very honorable. Events are in motion already, General, events that neither of us control. General Grant has been called upon for reinforcements, and orders have been given to Sherman’s command for troops to march this way. General Burnside has been given those same orders. And, let us not forget, sir, there is an enemy out there who might make his own contributions to our … decisions. I just thought it important you know what kinds of considerations are being made. My reports must continue, and your name is mentioned with some frequency. If that’s more than you wish to hear, I will abide by that. If General Rosecrans shows himself to be in control of our situation here, if he regains the confidence of the War Department by his actions, then so be it. I will report that as well.”
There was a sharp knock at the door, a voice: “General? Are you awake, sir?”
He knew the voice, one of his aides, Lieutenant Ramsey.
“What is it, Roger? You may enter.”
Ramsey ducked through the low doorway, seemed surprised to see Dana, made a short bow toward him, said, “Um, sir … we received word … General Rosecrans is considerably agitated, sir. His aide, Captain Stiles—”
Another voice burst through from outside the room.
“Where is he? Thomas? You in here?”
Thomas was surprised to see Rosecrans, the man bursting in, pushing aside the young lieutenant. Thomas pulled himself out of the chair, saw the wild glare from Rosecrans, the man’s eyes darting about, as though searching for something. He seemed to notice Dana now, pointed a finger at him.
“You might as well go to your precious telegraph. Washington will be utterly delighted with today’s events. Delighted.”
Thomas knew Rosecrans was being sarcastic, said, “What has happened? The enemy isn’t moving from those heights. I have heard nothing.…”
“You weren’t outside. We heard it, a while ago, didn’t know what it meant at first. Artillery fire to the west, carried on the breeze, I suppose. A long way off.” He sat heavily in Dana’s chair, leaned his hands on his knees, stared at the floor. “We’re in a serious way, George. A serious way. Riders came in a short time ago. That artillery came from rebel cavalry. We knew they had sent horsemen out north of the river, tried to keep an eye on them. But they had a purpose, one purpose. They hit the wagon train. Riders say we lost most everything. Rations, ammunition. Most of the train was burned, men captured.” He paused, put his head down in his hands. “We are in a serious way, George. That train … was our salvation.”
Thomas looked at Dana, said, “You will report none of this until we confirm what has happened. Panicked men bring rumors, exaggeration. Until we know what the rebels did …”
Rosecrans looked up, and Thomas was shocked to see tears on the man’s face.
“They have us, George. There is nothing we can do.”
“There is never nothing we can do. It was a cavalry raid. We have cavalry of our own. Gather them up, push them out along the supply routes.”
Rosecrans shook his head. “They’re scattered. I’ve sent out word, but it could take days to bring them together, rest them, put them back into the field. I just wasn’t certain where the rebels would hit us, thought they might try to get between us and Knoxville, so I ordered our horsemen to watch over most of the river crossings up that way.”
Thomas felt sick, thought, The wagon train was a ripe target. Did you not think of that? He said nothing, knew the rebel raiders would be long gone, their mission completed.
“Are we certain they did that much damage to the wagon train?”
“Four couriers made it out, George. Four. Same report. The smoke from what they left behind was visible on the ridges to the west. What do we do now? How do we feed the men? I will order three-quarter rations in the morning. That will help. Or perhaps half rations. I must speak to General Meigs. He might know of some means of securing another train. Surely there will be more supplies.”
Dana said softly, “And more rebel cavalry.”
Dana moved to the door, looked back at Thomas. “I will do as you ask, sir. I will send nothing of this on the wire yet. By morning we will know our situation with more clarity.”
Thomas nodded, waved him away, the pains in his back pulling Thomas down into the soft chair. He looked at Rosecrans, the man’s face in his hands again, heard words, soft, pleading. It was a prayer. Thomas looked toward the fire, thought, Yes, pray all you must, Rosy. I’m quite sure that somewhere out there, Bragg is saying a prayer of his own.
Bragg’s dislike and distrust of his subordinates had begun to boil over. No one disputed that Chickamauga had been a resounding Confederate victory, but Bragg was hearing a growling sentiment throughout his command that another victory had been squandered, the enemy allowed to turn the tide, or escape from what might have become complete destruction. Bragg had known of that criticism as far back as the vicious fight at Murfreesboro the first of the year, noisy rebukes drifting toward him from several of his generals, Leonidas Polk in particular. Polk had been outspoken in the extreme against Bragg, a lack of respect
that Bragg took as outright defiance. As the voices flowed back to Bragg’s headquarters, Polk’s voice seemed most grating of all. But Bragg finally found a way of striking back. On September 20, the climactic day’s fight at Chickamauga, Polk had failed to push forward the attack as Bragg had ordered. On September 29, after Polk had failed to adequately respond to Bragg’s criticisms, Bragg ordered him suspended from command. Polk was ordered to remove himself from the army and retire to Atlanta.
Leonidas Polk was an Episcopal bishop from Louisiana, held the respect of nearly every commander in the army, and had been a special favorite of Albert Sidney Johnston. Worse for Bragg, Polk was extremely close to Jefferson Davis. Davis responded to Bragg’s order by pointing out to Bragg that suspending Polk meant that Polk would have to be tried for the alleged crimes Bragg had accused him of, a process that the president made clear he was not likely to pursue. Bragg had to be satisfied merely to have Polk elsewhere. But there had to be a replacement, someone of equivalent rank and experience, and the most logical choice was General William Hardee, who had served alongside Bragg at Shiloh. Hardee was highly respected as a battlefield commander, even more so than Polk. Bragg could not dispute the logic of Hardee’s selection, despite the fact that Bragg despised Hardee almost as much as he did Polk. To Bragg, President Davis’s “solution” was a poor compromise, but one he had to accept.
Polk had no choice but to obey Bragg’s order, and he immediately relocated his headquarters to Atlanta, but his own campaign against Bragg continued. There were vitriolic letters to his friend Davis, to others in Richmond, and an ongoing communication between Polk and several of the other senior officers now entrenched around Chattanooga, including Longstreet. Though Bragg had purged his army of one significant enemy, a tempest continued to build around him.
