by Jeff Shaara
“Certainly, sir.”
Grant kept his stare at them, rocked back and forth, the nervous anxiety pulling his stomach inside out. “Do what you must. Just keep me informed. I will not have good men put once more into starvation.”
The wagon trains had been kept away from Chattanooga for the past few days, the entire army beginning to suffer again from a lack of rations. It was one more of the ongoing frustrations for Grant, the slow arrival of supplies, made more difficult by the rebels’ uncanny success at wrecking the pontoon bridges. But it wasn’t just the rebels who played havoc with Federal engineering. The rains had swollen every waterway, and so the Tennessee River was in full roar, and even if the pontoon bridges held, the crossings could be treacherous. But they had not held, the main bridge into Chattanooga smashed by heavily laden rafts sent downriver by the rebels. The lightweight pontoons had been no match for the floating projectiles, nor could they withstand the swirling currents, Grant’s engineers scampering downstream in a frustrating attempt to locate and retrieve as many of the small boats as could be found. In the meantime, the flatboats ferried supplies across, but in the harsh current, it was slow going at best. The results were predictable. The food supplies had dwindled, the commissary forced to limit the men to less than a pound of meat per day. Worse for the horses, the forage was disappearing again, the already weakened animals now nearly useless. Grant had seen the reports from Thomas, that the Army of the Cumberland had lost more than ten thousand animals. That number was certain to grow. Grant knew that Sherman was equipped with nearly six thousand animals of his own. If forage was not brought quickly along the supply lines, starving horses would mean paralysis, what Grant had witnessed too often already.
Grant turned abruptly, marched noisily into his room, his eye settling on the dying fire. He felt a furious need to blister an aide for that, spun back around, was surprised to see the door closed behind him. Rawlins. Grant forced himself to calm, pounded one hand into the other. You know what is best, he thought, whether I want you to or not. I do not need my staff observing the spectacle of their commanding general screaming like a banshee.
He moved to the fire, reached for the iron poker leaning up against the stone, stabbed at the ashes. The flames responded, and he picked up a log from the wood box nearby, set it into the fire. He added one more, the fire taking hold, the warmth filling him, soothing, and he sat on the floor, close to the fire, stared at the flames. There can be no assault, he thought. Not on my schedule. You cannot fault Sherman. He hates waiting far more than you do. He would make his army swim that confounded river, if it would get them here any sooner.
He thought of his wife now, the soft image filling him, drawn by the warmth of the fire. Julia would insist there was some Design in this, some Hand that we cannot understand. But there is no curse upon this army, the Almighty is not casting plagues upon us. Have we not proven that? The greatest accomplishments of this army, the victories that will win this war … no matter what kind of success, none of those fights have been simple. How often do campaigns follow what is written on paper? If it was that easy, there would not be a war at all. We could just … plan it away.
The memories came now, Sherman, the others, salvaging success from disaster. Shiloh, he thought, such a close thing. We were very nearly crushed. And if that had been the outcome, where would you be now, Grant? What path would this army have taken with Buell in command, or Rosecrans? Burnside, Hooker? Men who lose battles. No mystery about that, I suppose. This war might be over, and not the way the president intended it to be. He thought of Julia, always with the devout blessing, the reliance on the Almighty. With all apologies to you, my dear, I am here by the hand of Lincoln, not the hand of God. He rubbed his chin, blinked at the fire. Or, perhaps they are one and the same. Lincoln would never take credit for his better decisions. But he will most certainly suffer the blame if this goes badly.
Grant turned from the hearth, stood, flexed the knee, almost no pain now, moved into the chair. Thank God she is not here, he thought. This would be an argument she would embrace. Stubborn woman, and I am in a foul way right now. A bad mixture. Yes, my darling wife, every fight has its mysterious ways, the turn of fate, for the want of a nail. Wisdom there. Who said that? Shakespeare? No, Ben Franklin perhaps. You have been fortunate, Grant. You haven’t lost many nails. We defeated a stubborn enemy at Fort Donelson, and it cost us casualties to both the army and navy. Vicksburg … it took a slap at my own stubbornness to turn that into a siege. Arrogance. I thought we could just march up close and push the enemy into the river. Sherman thought so, too. Hundreds of men paid the price for our mule-headed decisions. Now, here, we must struggle with rain and mud. Sherman’s probably out there at Bridgeport screaming his voice away. Grant imagined that scene, Sherman at the river’s edge, launching his epithets into every boat captain’s face, every officer who marched his regiment onto a quivering pontoon bridge. There is no defeating nature, he thought. But if Sherman says he’ll bring his people up as quickly as possible … he will. That’s all I need concern myself with. The attack will commence when it can. It’s as simple as that.
NOVEMBER 20, 1863
He had not expected to see Thomas, didn’t want to see him now. But the man was there, and Grant had a nagging itch that Charles Dana had come along with the general just to see what Grant might do.
The week before, Dana had been sent northward with Grant’s staff officer, Charles Wilson, to communicate directly with Ambrose Burnside. That gesture had been made more as an appeasement to the War Department’s ongoing panic regarding Knoxville than any real intelligence mission for Grant. With the telegraph lines to Knoxville still down, and the War Department clamoring for information, Grant had decided that the simplest way for Dana to report what was happening was to see it for himself. But Dana returned with news that dug hard at Grant, the one outcome Grant had feared. There had already been several days of fighting there, the rebel forces doing what they could to pin Burnside’s army hard into the city. The one enormous distraction that could remove him from Chattanooga was if Burnside was suddenly hemmed into an effective Confederate siege, facing starvation and, ultimately, a crushing defeat. Should Burnside collapse, surrendering his army and the city, the rebels would open up an enormous gash in the Federal hold on Tennessee and Kentucky. Grant knew full well that news of that kind of disaster would cause Henry Halleck to erupt like a volcano, the kind of chaotic response that could cost Grant his command. The best news from Knoxville was that, so far, the rebel efforts had seemed scattered, disorganized, a surprise to Grant. He expected more from his friend Longstreet. Regardless, Grant knew that it was only a matter of time before Longstreet would smooth out whatever problems he was confronting. It only added to Grant’s feelings of urgency, that his own plan at Chattanooga be put into motion as quickly as possible. But still, that depended on Sherman. When would his army arrive?
He motioned the two men into the room, Thomas doing the obvious, settling into the lone chair. Grant had observed that behavior more than once, Thomas rarely ever showing Dana even symbolic respect. Dana had seemed to accept that, kept back against the wall, and Grant studied the fire, a futile effort to ignore them both, an effort he knew wouldn’t last long.
After a long moment, Thomas said, “General Grant, I regret this intrusion. But there is something of a development here. A courier, under a flag of truce, entered my lines a short while ago. He presented me with … this.”
Grant glanced at Dana, saw a childlike eagerness, took the paper from Thomas. Grant saw that the wax seal was unbroken.
“You could have examined this yourself, General. It isn’t necessary to defer every communication to this headquarters.”
“I was not certain of that. I thought it best to err on the side of protocol.”
Grant sniffed, didn’t respond. He had grown increasingly annoyed with Thomas, even if there seemed to be no good reason why, nothing the man had done beyond preparing his own army for the ev
entual assault. Grant broke the wax, the paper sliding out into his hand. He was surprised to see the seal of Bragg’s Army of Tennessee.
“Well, this is somewhat unexpected.” He read for a brief moment, said, “It seems that General Bragg is making us a generous offer, or rather, an offer generous to the Southern citizens hereabouts. He salutes me in the usual way, and suggests rather pointedly that we remove the noncombatants from this town. The inference is clear. He is warning us of imminent attack.” Grant lowered the paper, looked at both men. “Now why on God’s earth would he do that?”
Thomas held out his hand. “May I, sir?”
“Absolutely.”
Thomas read, and Dana said, “It’s nonsense, sir! It’s a bluff! The audacity!”
Thomas returned the paper to Grant, who said, “Of course it’s a bluff. But there is meaning here. He is attempting to distract us from whatever his true intentions might be.”
Thomas stood, took a few paces to the wall, turned slowly, returned, stopped beside his chair. “Knoxville. He’s intending to reinforce Longstreet, and wants us to sit still while he does so. He must believe we shall accept this as truth, and hold our position here. In the meantime, he must intend to shift more units northward, adding to his forces now facing Burnside.”
Dana seemed to energize, and Grant watched him, thought he might suddenly dart around the room like a housefly. Dana said, “It’s devious, no doubt about that! I shall inform Washington of his plans!”
Grant shook his head. “Not yet. We don’t know his plans. If he is sending troops northward, he is weakening himself here even more than he has done already.” He looked up at Thomas. “He has not been reinforced from any other direction, has he?”
Thomas shook his head. “No reports of any railcars, no additional troops. The cavalry scouts report that much of his army is in a rather bad way. I do not see how he can launch an effective attack in any quarter, whether here or at Knoxville.”
“But he might try. He has the rail line that way. If he can assist Longstreet in a major assault, he must assume it will bring him victory. If Burnside is defeated, he will retreat, which will allow Bragg to return most of his troops back down here.” Grant paused. “Or it is possible that Bragg has made the decision to abandon this ground completely. If there is troop movement on the rail lines, it could be a general retreat. That would be … extremely unfortunate.”
Dana seemed confused, said, “But if he is retreating, it means we have achieved great victory here! We can then secure Burnside’s position! The enemy must retreat southward, which means he is not expecting a major assault at Knoxville. If he retreats to the east or north—”
Grant punched a fist into his hand. “If he retreats in any direction, it will mean that all our preparations are worthless. I did not bring Sherman this far just so we can play the role of housecat, chasing a mouse all over this part of the world.”
Dana’s words seemed to burst out of the man. “Then we must attack him right now! If he is weakened and in the act of retreating, he could be extremely vulnerable!”
Grant glanced at Thomas, saw the man’s usual frown, and Grant said, “Mr. Dana, this is why you do not have free access to the telegraph wire without my permission. Most of Sherman’s people are still en route, and until he is in place out to our left flank, there will be no attack. As long as we do not know what Bragg’s intentions are, we do not know where to attack, or what we are attacking.”
Thomas’s expression did not change, but there was no critical comment from the man, a gesture Grant appreciated. Dana began to pace now, new thoughts seeming to roll out in a flood of words.
“This could be very bad. Very bad indeed. If the enemy reinforces his army at Knoxville, and we can do nothing to prevent that, it only adds to that crisis. If he is retreating, we must know where. He might not be retreating at all! That message is no doubt a ruse of some sort. I must relate this to the secretary, sir. Even if you do not approve. With all respects, General.”
Grant pointed a finger at Dana, silencing him. “I said … not yet. There are couriers moving back and forth on various routes from here to Knoxville. If there is a disaster there, we will know of it quite quickly. There is nothing else we can do to assist General Burnside, not while we are facing Bragg’s army right here. If Bragg is pulling away, we must know that. That will change … everything.”
Thomas pointed to the letter in Grant’s hand. “Perhaps we should answer those mysteries ourselves, let Bragg show us what he’s up to.”
Grant saw a flash of energy in Thomas, another surprise.
“What do you propose?”
“Reconnaissance in force.” Thomas moved to the wall across from the hearth, a map hung there by Grant’s staff. Thomas looked at the map, said slowly, “If I move a large body of troops out toward these low hills in the plain, it may prove valuable. We will first determine if the enemy is still holding that ground with an intent on keeping it. If we remove him, or he removes himself, and we occupy these hills, it will give us a far more practicable observation point from which we may observe Missionary Ridge. If Bragg is moving people away from here, thinning out his lines, we should be able to see that. If he has indeed slipped away, we will know that pretty quickly.” Thomas paused. “The next move would of course be up to you.”
Grant weighed the man’s words, climbed out of the chair, moved to the map. The more prominent of the smaller hills was labeled Orchard Knob, the second called Indian Hill. Grant had observed the hills from the defenses outside Chattanooga, low rises bulging as much as a hundred feet above the plain, the two bare hills connected by a brushy ridge. The hills sat halfway between Thomas’s earthworks at the edge of Chattanooga and the base of Missionary Ridge.
Grant put his finger out to the larger knob. “There are rebels in force there, so I’ve been told. By you, I believe.”
“The rebels sent at least two regiments out there not long after our retreat. General Rosecrans did not see any value to a loss of life in making the effort to hold that ground, since the town gave us the defenses we required. We have since made no efforts in that direction. There just wasn’t any good reason. There might be now. We know their skirmish line is still in place. Whether those troops are willing to stand up to an attack will tell us a great deal.”
Grant still wasn’t convinced. “If Bragg values those hills more than we do, there could be a hard scrap. Just the sort of mess to bring on a general engagement. I don’t want that, not yet. Sherman has to move out into position, or be very close to it, before we can show Bragg what we intend.”
“Actually, sir, if Bragg is vacating the heights, this is the simplest way of finding out. Our advance will inspire some response. The strength of that response might tell us just who’s left on the heights. As for the low hills, advancing twenty thousand men out into that plain will be a display I would enjoy watching myself, were I on Missionary Ridge. I do not believe they will fight to hold those hills. The alternatives then are that Bragg will sit tight, expecting us perhaps to assault the heights. Or if he is leaving here altogether, he’ll be even more noisy about it. Either way, we can take those low hills as a better vantage point than we have now.”
“You believe you will require twenty thousand men?”
Thomas shook his head. “I don’t know what to believe, sir. That’s the point. If we wish to provoke a response, we must provide as much bluster and racket as my men can create. If Bragg is still in force in the ridge, and responds by launching a major attack of his own, we can easily retreat to our defenses here.” Thomas stopped, a glance at Dana. “General Grant, I have witnessed an army in retreat. I am here now because of the price General Rosecrans paid for such a move. General Bragg must certainly know that removing himself from our front will cost him his career. I understand your concerns that we have let him slip away. It is my opinion that, beyond the movement of troops toward Knoxville, I don’t believe the enemy has gone anywhere. If anything, he is at his weakest, whil
e we are stronger than we have been before.”
Grant couldn’t help being impressed, saw none of the surliness he had come to expect. “Bragg’s career is not the only one that might be in jeopardy. I cannot allow him to retreat, and I cannot allow him to move his forces en masse to Knoxville. General, you may proceed. If he is still in strength on those heights, let us find that out.” He studied the map again. “And, I agree with you that grabbing those low hills, with those patches of woodlands, could be most useful. We’re running low on firewood.”
With crippled pontoon bridges and roads that Sherman described as “ditches of rocks,” Sherman’s troops struggled to make their way to Chattanooga. To Grant’s dismay, Sherman’s sluggishness seemed to have come from the arrangement of the march itself. Sherman had ordered each division to march immediately to the front of its own supply and artillery train, the wagons and caissons that required so much extra effort to shove through the muddy misery of the washed-out roads. Each unit coming up behind had to wait for the slow progress of the cumbersome vehicles before they could make progress themselves. When Grant learned of Sherman’s dispositions, he responded with an order born of exasperation, a soft scolding to Sherman that was kept quiet even from Grant’s own staff. Sherman’s men were told to bypass their wagons, the clear priority being to move troops into position as quickly as possible. The supply trains would arrive in time. What mattered most right now were muskets.
As they marched past the numerous Confederate lookouts, Sherman followed another of Grant’s instructions, that his army make every effort to be seen by the rebels, a blue-clad parade that would most likely inspire couriers to ride hard from their perches on Lookout Mountain, keeping Bragg informed of Sherman’s arrival. But once across Brown’s Ferry, Sherman’s men would be put into camps far west of the river, in thickets and forest lands where no Confederate might see them. Thus, the seeds of uncertainty could be planted in Bragg’s mind just where Sherman was intending to go.
