The Smoke at Dawn: A Novel of the Civil War

by Jeff Shaara

  “NAIL HOUSE”—BRAGG’S HEADQUARTERS—

  MISSIONARY RIDGE—OCTOBER 4, 1863

  “I do not have a copy of the petition, sir. It would have been unwise for me to attempt to procure one, not having affixed my own signature. But its meaning requires no special interpretation. Please understand, sir, that I come here knowing that it is inappropriate for an officer of my subordinate rank to bypass my own commanding officer.”

  Bragg waited for more, had heard only fragments of gossip about the document General Liddell was now revealing to him. He didn’t completely trust Liddell, knew that Liddell had been one of those noisy annoyances from the field, speaking out against Bragg’s decisions during several engagements. Bragg had little regard for brigade commanders who assumed to know more than their commanding general. But still … Liddell was here now. And the message he was offering to Bragg might be placing Liddell in a compromised situation within his own command. At the very least, Bragg was intrigued by the courage, or the backhandedness required for Liddell to address him at all.

  “Is it not true, Mr. Liddell, that you have been a critic of mine in the past? Have you not done your own share of spouting out? Now you tell me others are doing the same, and you come here … why? From a sense of outrage?”

  Liddell seemed to understand his predicament, chose his words carefully. “Sir, I admit that I have often disagreed with your command decisions, or your methods of maneuver. I have however been discreet within the bounds of my station. My concern is that others … including many who outrank me … are not so discreet. There are boundaries of protocol. Those boundaries are being grossly violated.”

  Bragg stared at Liddell with a hard scowl, waited for more, could see that the man was extremely uncomfortable. “You said a petition. Who signed it?”

  Liddell looked down. “I did not, sir.”

  “I assumed that you are not both indiscreet and stupid, General. If your signature was on that petition, you wouldn’t be here, correct? You’d be out there, scurrying about your headquarters like the other rats who claim to support this vessel of an army, all the while abandoning it.”

  “I cannot recall every name, sir. Numerous officers were present. Most all outranked me, though there were some regimental commanders who signed as well.”

  “Longstreet?”

  “Yes, sir. Most definitely.”

  That was no surprise to Bragg. Any petition condemning Bragg that was being circulated through his command would most likely originate with Longstreet.

  “What does it say, precisely? As precisely as you can recall.”

  “I … prefer not to attempt to quote such seditiousness, sir. Suffice to say that a dozen or more general officers in this army have petitioned President Davis to remove you from command. Your abilities are being soundly dismissed. Must I say more?”

  “Hill? Buckner? Breckinridge?”

  Liddell took a long breath. “I believe so, sir. Cleburne, Randall, Preston. No, not Breckinridge.”

  “No, of course not. Ever the politician. One’s name on a piece of paper can’t be so easily denied should that piece of paper one day become inconvenient. But, General, tell me, why is your signature not on that piece of paper? I am well aware of your lack of respect for this chair.”

  Liddell seemed to ponder the question. “Sir, I have revealed to you the details of a subject which has caused me, and will cause this entire army, considerable anxiety. My own feelings are well known within my own camp, and no further. Two weeks ago, the fruits of victory were right before us. All we had to do was grab them. I believe an opportunity was lost. But I would not voice that opinion to any public forum. It is unbecoming an officer. I was outraged that these men would be so blatant in their efforts to remove you from command. It is no less than an act of mutiny.”

  “And by that you are outraged. And you would perform an act of indiscretion by approaching me directly to let me know just how outraged you are. You, who have been quick to question my decisions, who may perhaps believe with those others, that I am not fit to command this army.”

  “I would not sign, sir. I would not go so far as to question your abilities for command.”

  “Go as far as you wish, General Liddell. By signing this ridiculous petition, my enemies have made themselves known to me. They have revealed their cards, as it were. But I am not concerned by this. Not at all. For every critic, I have a voice of authority who speaks out on my behalf. Already I have received the heartiest congratulations for my success from Joe Johnston, from General Lee, from a great many of those loyal to me in Richmond. This kind of chicanery cannot be tolerated, and it will not be tolerated. Leave me, General. The pretense of your loyalty is noted, as is your lack of decorum, and your unwillingness to document what you say.”

  Liddell hesitated, said, “Sir, before I leave this office, I must mention that there are others who would not be a party to this scheme. Not every general officer in this army is so eager to express their disloyalty, or demonstrate such flagrant disrespect. It would be an error on your part to assume such.”

  “It is a little late for you to kneel down, General.”

  “Sir, I only …”

  Liddell stopped, seemed to run out of words. He made a short bow, marched noisily from the office. Bragg felt his heart racing, ran the names through his head, the faces of Longstreet, Buckner, Cleburne, thought, They would test my resolve? They would urge the president to remove me, after such successes as we have had? They have made a serious tactical error, one that will cost them dearly.

  Mackall was in the doorway, said, “Excuse me, sir. It was impossible not to hear General Liddell’s report. If I may inquire, sir, what are you going to do?”

  Bragg felt energized, the familiar ailments swept away. He looked out toward the open ground beyond the Nail House, the rain blowing past in a steady torrent, several days of that now. He heard a distant thump of thunder, and Mackall looked that way, said, “It is just the storm, sir. There is no movement, no activity.”

  “Oh, there is activity aplenty. They wish a war, they shall have a war.”

  Mackall started to protest, then stopped, seemed to understand what Bragg was saying. “Sir, if I might offer, with deepest respects—”

  “Later. There is much to be done. Plans to be made, correspondence to be sent. Have the secretary prepared with pen and paper. I must think about this, put into words the best strategy.”

  “You are not speaking of the Yankees.”

  Bragg made a small laugh, as much joviality as he permitted himself. “I am speaking of the enemy, Mr. Mackall. We have a war, and I mean to fight it. President Davis will expect something from me very quickly. I must not hesitate.”

  Mackall said nothing, stared at him for a long moment.

  “Be selective with your comments, Mr. Mackall. I might assume you to be among the conspirators.”

  Mackall waited, then said softly, “Does this affair, this confrontation with your subordinates … bring you joy?”

  Bragg was surprised by the question, thought a moment. “There is never joy in disloyalty. I did not ask for this controversy, but I will confront it. Those who dismiss my willingness to fight shall pay for their mistake.”

  “I know of no one in this army who questions your fight, sir.”

  “I suppose I should thank you for your blindness. No good, Mr. Mackall. I am like the serpent who has been tread upon. I will rise up and smite my enemies.”

  “You’re referring to your own commanders, sir. No one is your enemy. They are critical, they have different opinions of what we must do. They are impatient. They seek to correct errors. If we devote too much energy to this kind of squabble, it can only harm us, harm our cause.”

  “This is far from a squabble. There is great danger from those who oppose this command, who would seek to remove me from this office at the moment of a great triumph.” Bragg tilted his head, examined Mackall’s stoic expression, had grown weary of that. “Have you nothing to a
dd, Mr. Mackall? Do you not see opportunity here? Finally, I may rid the army of those who seek to defeat us.”

  Mackall turned away, then paused, stood in the doorway, said in a soft voice, “What of the Yankees? We must put our attentions there.”

  “The Yankees are of little concern right now. This rain could last for days, and with every creek overflowing and every road a sea of mud, there will be little activity on the front lines. Would you at least agree with that?”

  “They have thus far shown no activity in our direction, sir.”

  “And they will not. Not while we have the good ground. They are content to cower behind their defenses, and even now, they must be contemplating their own starvation.”

  Mackall looked his way again. “If that is true, surely we can expect them to act. They will not just sit still while they exhaust their rations.”

  “Then they will leave. Either way, our victory is secure. Do not talk to me of such details, Mr. Mackall. You may choose to support my efforts, or you may resign from my service. Those are your options.”

  Mackall looked down, and Bragg saw a glimmer of despair on the man’s face, felt a surge of relief from that. Yes, he is loyal. He does not stand up like some rooster and defy me. “Go on, Mr. Mackall. You have your duty.”

  Mackall nodded. “I shall bring the secretary … when you order it.”

  Word of Joe Wheeler’s October 3 cavalry raid on the Federal wagon train had come back to Bragg’s headquarters in a rush of celebration. With a long stretch of the Tennessee River useless to Federal boat traffic, the only supply route that Rosecrans’s commissary officers could use came over the mountains, the kind of ragged narrow passageway that was difficult for horses and wagons even in good weather. If his siege was not a complete encirclement of the Federal camps, Bragg had confidence that this single lifeline left to the enemy was woefully inadequate to supply their needs. Wheeler’s resounding success in crushing the Federal supply train seemed to Bragg to be one more nail in Rosecrans’s coffin. More important to Wheeler, who had a simmering dislike of the more flamboyant Nathan Bedford Forrest, Bragg allowed himself to be convinced that Forrest was simply ineffective, Wheeler persuading Bragg that Forrest should be ordered to give up most of his strength, and transfer those horsemen directly to Wheeler. In effect, Bragg had elevated Joe Wheeler to overall command of the cavalry throughout this entire theater of the war.

  Bragg expected this powerful force of horsemen to fight off any confrontation with Federal troopers, allowing Wheeler to maintain a strong force in the Federal rear that would crush any attempt to resupply the Federal troops in the town. But Wheeler had overplayed his hand.

  The plan was to reinforce Wheeler by additional cavalry units under the commands of Stephen D. Lee and Phillip Roddey, who were ordered to join Wheeler from their bases in Alabama and Mississippi. But Wheeler’s impatience pushed him into action before Lee and Roddey could reach him. Undermanned for such an ambitious raid, Wheeler was now in danger from rapidly gathering Federal cavalry. His only choice was escape, which meant a retreat back across the Tennessee River. As gleefully as Bragg had received word of the blow to the Federal supply train, his own prejudice against the vainglory and haphazard efforts of cavalry blossomed once more. What he did not expect was that one of those men, Nathan Bedford Forrest, would not meekly accept the order to strip himself of manpower just to fuel the ambitions of Joe Wheeler.

  NAIL HOUSE—BRAGG’S HEADQUARTERS—

  MISSIONARY RIDGE—OCTOBER 7, 1863

  Bragg heard the commotion outside, saw Mackall backing into the room, pushed by heavy boot steps, the man now pushing past him. It was Forrest.

  Bragg sat motionless, saw a look he had seen before, a red fury, but this time, Forrest’s anger wasn’t directed at any Yankee. Forrest spun toward him, ignored the pair of aides who stood back to one side, papers in their hands. Bragg tried to avoid Forrest’s glare, stood, said, “General Forrest … it is late.”

  Another man scrambled in behind Forrest, and Mackall said something, a hesitant greeting, the man unfamiliar to Bragg. He moved up close behind Forrest, put a hand on Forrest’s shoulder. Forrest shook the hand away, and the man looked at Bragg with obvious concern, made a short bow, quick, soft words.

  “Sir, I am Dr. James Cowan, General Forrest’s surgeon. We regret the sudden intrusion.”

  Bragg made a brief nod to Cowan, his eyes still on Forrest, a quick glance toward the pistol at Forrest’s side. “Doctor, is it? Welcome to my headquarters. General Forrest …”

  Bragg held out a hand, as though Forrest should take it, but it was a gesture born of fear, nothing friendly in Bragg’s mind. Forrest ignored the hand, stared hard at him, no ebb in the man’s temper. Bragg sat down again, felt pushed backward by Forrest’s anger, and Forrest spoke now, slow and deliberate, his words slicing the air between them like the blade of a knife.

  “You have pursued a cowardly and contemptible persecution of me since Shiloh, and you have kept up such behavior ever since. You take me to be your foe because after every fight, my reports contain facts, while you only tell Richmond damned lies. You have robbed me of my command before, and now you do it again. I have trained and equipped my men from the spoils we have gained against the enemy, and because I will not fawn upon you as so many others have done, you offer me only revenge and spite. You have made every attempt to ruin my career, and now you are doing so again. I command a brigade of men who have never been bested, men who have sacrificed themselves, men who have won a reputation for successful fighting second to none in this army. You take advantage of your position as commanding general, and in order to further humiliate me, you take these brave men from me. I have stood your meanness as long as I intend to. You have played the part of a damned scoundrel and are a coward, and if you were any part a man I would slap your jaws and force you to resent it. You may as well not issue any more orders to me, for I will not obey them, and I will hold you personally responsible for any further indignities you endeavor to inflict upon me. You have threatened to arrest me for not obeying your orders promptly. I dare you to do it! And I say to you that if you ever again try to interfere with me or cross my path it will be at the peril of your life!”

  Forrest turned quickly, marched from the room, the doctor taking a last hesitating glance at Bragg. Then he, too, was gone, and Mackall stared toward the doorway, his mouth slightly open.

  “What … should I do, sir?”

  Bragg felt frozen in his chair, realized his uniform was soaked with his sweat. He tried to speak, his voice held by the tightness in his throat, and he coughed, forced a response. “You will do nothing.”

  “Sir, he … that was … he risked his life saying such things. He threatened you!”

  “You will do nothing, do you hear?”

  Bragg felt his hands shaking, worked the cold out of his fingers, sat straight, fought to breathe. He wanted to stand, to show Mackall he had the strength, but there was no power in his legs. He heard the hoofbeats, Forrest riding away, and Mackall said, “It was unwise of him to bring a witness … or to speak such things in our presence, in the presence of your aides.”

  Bragg felt a bolt of fire through him, stood now, his fists on the small desk, looked at the other two men, young, standing silently with wide eyes, their backs pressed against the wall.

  “You will say nothing about this! Nothing! Do you understand?” He fought to stay upright, the cold deep in his gut, his hands steadying on the rough wood of the desk. He forced the words out slowly, the fear subsiding, the image of Forrest’s glare fading. “Nothing more. It is merely … the solution I have searched for. General Forrest has done us a service. He knew certainly that his days in this army were few. No doubt he will remove himself from this command. That is … a convenience. Think nothing more of it.”

  Mackall made a silent gesture, ordering the aides away, the two men responding gratefully, a quick exit. Mackall sat on a small camp stool, still stared at the open doorway. Mor
e aides were there now, word spreading through the headquarters, and Mackall said, “Away! All of you! There is nothing of concern here!”

  The men obeyed, quick glances at Bragg, who sat back, his hands still quivering. He planted them in his lap, tried still to calm himself, said to Mackall, “There is work to be done, yes? The staff shall be kept busy. Do your duty, General. In the morning … the sun shall rise on this army, and it shall be a new day. We shall put our minds to work on solving what troubles us. Nothing further will be heard from General Forrest. And so, I am confident that this one … trouble … has been handled quite nicely.”

  NEAR NATCHEZ, MISSISSIPPI—SEPTEMBER 25, 1863

  He had never been so bored in his life. The daily walks had become a drudgery, and he forced the pains from his legs, shoved through the weakness, pushed air in and out of his lungs, fighting the temptation to stop, to rest on some moldy tree stump. For all the boredom, he knew better than to complain, accepted easily that doing anything out of doors was far more satisfying than more dismal conversation with the doctors. And in their insistence that he take the lengthy walks, Bauer understood the message the doctors were giving him: After several agonizing weeks, he was finally healing.

  The illness had come to him at the end of July, and Bauer was one of many. It had to do with the swamps, the summer heat, the lack of clean drinking water from the lack of rain. The army seemed to plant the troops in a place guaranteed to create sickness. In Bauer’s case, what had seemed to be dysentery had turned even uglier. A fever spread through the entire brigade, long nights of drenching sweat, his joints stiff and swollen, which seemed to mystify the doctors. And there were deaths, Bauer absorbing the unavoidable sadness of a man beside him suddenly taken away, the tearful reaction of silent nurses, the dull stares from overworked stretcher bearers. The glorious mansions around Natchez had become crushingly depressing places, the finest homes now pressed into service as hospitals. To some, the death of the man beside you was welcome, a silent farewell as the man was taken away, the most devout reassuring themselves that one more man was now in that “better place,” their suffering ended. To Bauer, it just meant that, once again, death had missed him.