Gone for Soldiers

by Jeff Shaara

  Lee sat quietly, felt a powerful mix of emotions rising inside him, knew it was a moment he would remember, a wonderful compliment. After a long moment he said in a low voice, “Thank you, sir.”

  Scott sat back now, stared away for a moment. Lee waited, saw Scott focus again. “All right, Mr. Lee, let’s have a look at those maps.…”

  39. LEE

  JUNE EIGHTH, 1848

  THE SHIP HAD PULLED AWAY FROM THE WHARF, MOVED PAST THE walls of the great old fort of Uloa. He stood far in front, near the point of the bow, could hear the sails above his head rolling into full bloom, pushed hard by the wind. He was alone now, had heard the call to dinner, knew most of the men were below deck, had thought, Just a while, stay up here, watch the shoreline.

  He focused on the old fort, could still see the guns that had never fired on the invaders. The memories were already fading, the details of the great siege, his siege, the sight of the walls of Vera Cruz coming apart under the heavy shelling of the guns he had positioned. He tried to hear the sounds, remember the deafening roar, the great clouds of smoke that rolled over him, choking him in sulfur. But he stared instead at calm water, the slow, quiet movement of the big ship, stared at a city that showed little of the damage now, a city that might never have seen a war at all.

  He moved to the other side of the bow, looked out to sea where the sky was growing darker, the sun falling away behind him. The scene before him was calm and empty, no fleet, none of the great men-o’-war that had controlled these waters for two years. Most of the fleet was already moving north, as he was, the sailors returning to duty close to their own ports.

  He had seen Scott leave the city, watched with enormous sadness as he climbed the great horse, moved slowly through the gathered troops. There were cheers, as there had always been, but this was no celebration. They were astounded that Scott had been recalled, his position taken away by a President who insisted this man was the enemy.

  With the coming of the peace, all the focus had been on the politics, the disease of ambition. Lee had testified at the Court of Inquiry, a circus of charges and countercharges between Scott and Pillow and Worth. The court had convened in January, while the delicate negotiations of the treaty were still fragile and uncertain. Lee had tried to stay far away from the ridiculous name calling, Scott’s arrest of the two commanders, their countercharges against him, inspired by Polk’s own need to pull Scott down, to remove the commanding general from any of the bright lights swirling around victorious Washington. There was even an attempt to implicate Lee in some kind of vague conspiracy, as though by his loyalty to Scott he too was dangerous to the administration. In the end there had been no finding of guilt for anyone involved, the court merely an exercise in rhetoric and excuses. But the damage had been done to Scott’s reputation.

  Now, Scott was already gone, and Lee thought, He’s already in Washington. He must already be enduring more of the same political horror that caught up with him even this far away. It was never right. It never should have come to this, to take him away from his troops. The treaty was so close, and after all, it was his. The treaty belonged to him, not just the glory of the battlefield, but the completion, the final acceptance. He had earned that, to see it through, to march out of Mexico City leading his men to the ships, not leaving them behind.

  He did not know William Butler, the most senior commander after Scott, who had been sent to Mexico City to replace Scott, but Lee thought he was at least a decent man. General Butler seemed uneasy, moving into that position. But he understood, knew better than to stir things up, or even make changes. That was smart. The treaty was so close, and he could only have done harm.

  The Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo had been signed in late February, and though not yet ratified, the terms were clear and final, and no one believed the government would allow patent stupidity to stand in its way. Lee had hoped to hear of ratification before he left, had thought it was important to all of them, leaving Mexico feeling as though the job were done. He felt the familiar anger now, the frustration, stared at the growing darkness, the night sky wiping the horizon away, thought, Must General Scott continue to endure this? Must this army go home now to such pettiness, such ridiculous arguing over issues that will be so quickly forgotten? The troops know better, they do not care about Courts of Inquiry and the vanity of politicians. No matter what happens to General Scott now, history will tell his story. These soldiers will make sure of that.

  Lee thought of the letter to his brother Smith, long sent now, his anger spilling out, something he rarely allowed to reach the written page. He had written to Smith of some of the ridiculous arguments, the petty claims of the generals, the grab for headlines, for some piece of glory. Beyond that, Lee had felt offended at the outrageous lack of respect to the campaign itself, to the accomplishment of Winfield Scott. He wondered now, Should I have written that? Smith will be discreet, after all. He is my brother. But still, the letter was unwise, I should have tempered the words “with all their knowledge, I will defy them to have done better.” It is not my place to defy anyone. I’m just … an engineer.

  He had received word from Colonel Totten that he was to report to Washington for a new assignment with the Engineering Corps. There was no surprise there, and Lee thought, General Scott does not need such a large staff anymore. I had no reason to believe I would stay close to him. He has his son-in-law, and Colonel Hitchcock, some of the others will certainly stay in Washington with him. I can be of more value somewhere else, certainly.

  He remembered Scott’s words, always a soldier, but it didn’t seem so important now. He had spent so much time thinking of home, of Mary, the children, thought, For a while at least, the soldier will become the husband, the father. The memories of this place will have to sit quietly for a while. There must be time given to children, to all of them. It can never be like this again, being gone for so long. Just because I have been a soldier … what kind of father does that make me? No, there will be time now, no matter what duty Colonel Totten assigns me. I will find a way, stay close to them, watch them grow.

  He moved to the point of the bow, leaned out, tried to see down to the water, the ship cutting through. He caught a glimpse of silver, a small reflection, a flying fish, leaping away from the great ship. He watched it curiously, saw it skip along the top of the water, then just as suddenly dive away, disappearing. He stared down again, hoping to see another, but the water was growing darker. He waited, his eyes adjusting, but there was nothing to see. He could feel the ship rising slowly, then dropping in a slow rocking rhythm, stared into darkness and suddenly thought of his name. Colonel Lee. He smiled, felt self-conscious, turned and looked behind him, but the deck was still empty. He looked back along the ship. Far astern the sailors stood coiling the ropes, men moving with quick efficiency. A good commander, he thought, good officers. Colonel Lee. He was still smiling. I do like the sound of that. Maybe someday it will become official, and there will be some duty, some place far away from the horrors, where death is not so much a part of the plan. Colonel Lee, Commanding. He could see his name on an office door, gold lettering, Colonel Lee, Engineer, in Washington, perhaps, some fine office overlooking the Potomac, a view of Mary’s home, Arlington. Perhaps one day it could be … General Lee.…

  He shook his head. There is no time for this. You have no right to daydream, to fantasize about your own glory. And none of it is official, and might never be. Brevets are handed out to anyone who catches a commander’s eye. The official promotions come from Washington, from hidden rooms where papers are shuffled, not from anyone’s headquarters in the middle of a battle. Even General Scott can’t change that.

  He looked up, could see stars now, looked ahead to the darkness. How brave … how much courage it took men to do this when they didn’t know what was out there. How long ago was it, when there were no instruments, only the stars? Now, there is no uncertainty at all. We sail to New Orleans, and none of us is even concerned about that. Amazing changes. He thoug
ht of the young soldiers, some below deck enjoying the evening meal. What changes will you see? It was not so long ago … war with axes, clubs, spears. Now it is war with cannon, muskets. Every man came down here, even the volunteers, each man with his own idea of how this war would be. How many of them are changed now? Some were changed right away, like the San Patricios, or others, men who simply quit, disappeared. But so many more stood up and faced it, could never have known what they would see and hear and smell, some with no idea what a violent death was like. I didn’t know … could never have known what to expect. And General Scott believes I’m a soldier. I’ve seen the worst of what war is, the worst things we do to each other. And I don’t feel changed. But … he is probably right. The memories may not sit quietly after all.

  He felt the rumble of hunger, thought, All right, enough of this. God is trying to tell me something. Less thought, more food. He stood away from the railing, felt the motion of the ship, glanced up at the stars again, thought, No, not just yet. This is so rare … to feel so … alone. He moved again to the rail, stared out. Will we do this again? Perhaps here, or maybe somewhere else? If the politicians have their way, it will certainly happen again, some other dispute, some other opportunity. And the army will go out again, young men just like these, maybe the same men, sooner than we could ever predict, marching in line again to face the guns of more men like these. And surely God will judge us for that. Whether wars start from politicians or generals, from broken treaties or disputed boundaries, whether the weapons change or death becomes more horrible, no man can be made to do this unless he believes it is the right thing to do. If I am to be a soldier again, that path, that destiny, is already laid out. But for now … I’d just like to go home.

  AFTERWORD

  MAJOR GENERAL WINFIELD SCOTT

  Scott’s departure from Mexico City on April 22 is heralded by another of the glorious tributes he receives both from his men and the citizens of the city, who acknowledge the extraordinary fairness of his policies and his generous behavior toward the Mexican civilians. He sails from Vera Cruz on May 4, but cannot escape a final insult from the hot climate of the Mexican coast. He endures the three-week journey home suffering from a case of el vomito.

  He reaches New York on May 20, joins his wife and three daughters in his home in Elizabeth, New Jersey, soon settles in New York City. He avoids Washington, remains quietly in the background as Zachary Taylor is elected President in November 1848.

  Scott is disappointed with the country’s lack of appreciation for the amazing success of his army in Mexico, but he is not ignored by the men he commanded. He is celebrated in a number of rallies and parades, and even Washington cannot ignore his prominence as a national hero. Congress awards him a special gold medal for his achievement on the field of battle.

  Though still active as General-in-Chief of the army, he stays away from Washington, but his supporters pull him out of his quiet office, convince him that generals make good candidates, and better Presidents. He is chosen the Whig nominee in 1852, but his inability to turn the soft phrase plagues him yet again. He loses the election to Franklin Pierce, who had served in a mediocre capacity as a brigadier general under Scott’s command.

  In 1855, Scott is promoted to Lieutenant General, the only man to hold that rank since George Washington. He remains in New York, more a symbol than an active participant in the army’s day-to-day affairs, but in 1859 he is given the opportunity to travel to the Pacific Northwest, to intervene personally in the controversy with the British over possession of San Juan Island in Puget Sound. In one of the nation’s final displays of the heavy-handed application of Manifest Destiny, General William Harney, Scott’s disagreeable old cavalry commander, has seized the island, despite British objections. Harney is supported by his subordinate, Captain George Pickett. Scott soothes the ruffles of the British, negotiates a compromise, and returns home with the satisfaction of victory, which few will notice.

  As General-in-Chief of an army with no war to fight, he watches his own time passing, is held inactive by an administration helpless to confront the issues tearing at the country. As the angry talk in the South inevitably gives way to secession, Scott urges the War Department and President Buchanan to strengthen the army’s forts around southern seaports, as well as outposts in all parts of what will soon become the Confederacy. The request is ignored.

  He observes the election of Abraham Lincoln with curiosity, knows nothing about the man from Illinois, and though he never becomes close to Lincoln, he immediately understands the vital importance of protecting Lincoln’s authority over the Union. Despite the strong pull of his native state of Virginia, and the resignation of most of the army’s southern officers, Scott never hesitates in supporting the Union cause. As the new President struggles to confront the explosive events of April 1861, Scott formulates his own plan for the quick defeat of the rebellion. Called “Anaconda,” the strategy calls for strong occupation of the Mississippi River, and the blockade of southern ports. The strategy eventually becomes reality, though Scott receives little credit for devising it.

  He is considered a thorn in the side of the new powers in Washington, Stanton and Halleck, who believe him far beyond usefulness and an obstacle to their own ambition. Thus, in July 1861 when the North is shocked by their army’s first momentous failure, the first great bloodbath at Bull Run, Scott considers the outcome with a stoic detachment. He is not surprised that of the South’s fifteen general officers on the field, eleven had combat experience under Winfield Scott.

  His official command of the army is terminated on October 31, 1861, and his administrative duties in Washington are given to Henry Halleck, with overall command in the field passing to George McClellan.

  Aging and increasingly weak, Scott spends the remaining war years in New York City, suffers the death of his wife Maria in 1862. He passes his final years eagerly offering the grand stories of his life to frequent visitors, and maintains a passionate grip on the details of the progress of the Civil War. He is often heard to remark on the accomplishments and rise to prominence of his favorite subordinate, Robert E. Lee. But his sentiment does not diminish his admiration for the new Union commander, the man he remembers vaguely from the great fight at the San Cosme gate, Ulysses S. Grant.

  He visits West Point frequently, unannounced, walks the grand halls, surprising instructors and cadets alike, enjoys the captive audience the Point provides him. He travels to the Point in May 1866 to observe the graduation ceremonies, but falls ill, and dies on May 28. He is eighty years old.

  It is a little known tribute to his lasting influence on the military culture of the nation that the uniforms of the cadet corps of West Point are fashioned after the same gray pattern that Scott’s troops wore in 1812.

  THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON, BRITAIN’S MOST FAMOUS SOLDIER of the nineteenth century, the man who defeated Napoleon at Waterloo, upon hearing that Scott had cut himself off from his base at Vera Cruz, remarked:

  “Scott is lost! He has been carried away by successes … He won’t leave Mexico without the permission of the Mexicans!”

  Upon learning of the capture of Mexico City, the duke had a change of heart:

  “His campaign was unsurpassed in military annals. He is the greatest living soldier.”

  CAPTAIN ROBERT E. LEE

  “Robert E. Lee is the very best soldier that I ever saw in the field.”

  —Winfield Scott, 1858

  Lee reaches New Orleans, travels up the Mississippi, and finally reaches Washington in late June. Along the way he begins to see the newspapers, and experiences firsthand the controversy of the war and the terms of the treaty. Though he remains fiercely loyal to Winfield Scott, he grows uncomfortable with the political results of the war, believes that Mexico was indeed bullied into submission.

  Still officially part of the Corps of Engineers, Lee is assigned by his friend Joseph Totten to Baltimore, to supervise construction of what will later become Fort Carroll.

  In
1849, Lee is approached by representatives of the Cuban government-in-exile, offered the command of an insurrectionary force to overthrow the Spanish authority in the island country. Lee considers the post briefly, understands ultimately that his duty lies with his own country, and rejects the offer.

  As Fort Carroll nears completion, Lee travels to Florida, surveys sites for additional forts along the lower East coast, is entirely absorbed with his duties as an engineer. He is thus surprised in the spring of 1852 to receive orders for a post he had not sought, that of Superintendent of West Point. He lobbies for the appointment to be passed on to someone else but is unsuccessful and finally accepts graciously, then moves his family from Virginia to New York. His tenure at the Point is mostly free of turmoil. He brings an efficient sense of discipline and dignity to the academy, which many believe had become diminished. He serves in the post for three years, graduates men with names that later become far more than merely familiar: John Bell Hood, Philip Sheridan, and the young man who will become his favorite cadet and close friend, James Ewell Brown (“Jeb”) Stuart.

  Despite his good work and the labor of administrative life, the peacetime inactivity of the army is difficult, and Lee feels himself growing older in a military system that fills the higher ranks with men who have no incentive to retire. Thus, he accepts a unique opportunity, becomes second-in-command of a new regiment of cavalry, under the command of Albert Sidney Johnston. The duty is in the wilderness of central Texas, and for the second time he will leave his family in Virginia with no expectation of seeing them for many months. But he accepts the duty with an enthusiasm his friends and family do not understand, and in April 1855 he arrives in Louisville and assumes command of troops in the field for the first time.