The Way of All Soldiers (Gone For Soldiers)

by Jeffry S. Hepple

  “Frémont said that I was only authorized to make demonstrations, not to attack Polk or capture cities.”

  “What’s Frémont definition of a demonstration?”

  “I’m not sure. Apparently it’s not the same as a recon in force.”

  “How much resistance did you meet at Paducah?”

  “Not much. That’s why I took it. The rebels have concentrated their forces in Columbus and across the river in Belmont.” He leaned forward. “You should see the artillery they’ve got there, Robert. Three 10-inch Columbiads, three 11-inch howitzers and a 128-pounder Whitworth rifle they call Lady Polk; the biggest gun in the whole Confederacy.”

  “Makes sense that they’d defend the Tennessee and Cumberland Rivers vigorously. With their Atlantic ports being blockaded, losing the Mississippi would be devastating to the Southern economy.”

  Grant puffed his cigar and sat back in his chair. “Which is exactly why I want to take it.”

  “And Frémont doesn’t see the wisdom of that?”

  “I don’t know. He never shares his thoughts with me.”

  “Then you need to go around him to Lincoln.”

  “If you were in my boots is that really what you’d do, Robert?” Grant asked skeptically. “Go to the President?”

  “Yes, Sam, that’s really what I’d do. Frémont’s unstable and Lincoln knows it. The day after the battle at Wilson’s Creek, Frémont imposed martial law, ordered the confiscation of all private property belonging to secessionists and further ordered the immediate emancipation of all slaves. In an open, un-encoded wire, Lincoln asked me to rein Frémont in.”

  “How’d that work out?”

  “I tried to talk sense to Frémont, but all I accomplished was to get him furious. He refused to accept my argument that major generals couldn’t make or change laws. Since last I saw you, I’ve done nothing but race around, trying to clean up messes that Frémont’s made.”

  Grant laughed out loud. “I’ll write to the President tonight. Now I need a favor.”

  “Uh-oh.”

  Grant nodded. “Do you remember Cump Sherman?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Have you seen him lately?”

  “Yes. My nephew was in his brigade at Bull Run. I talked to him before the battle.”

  “Not since then?”

  “No. What are you getting at?”

  “Well, he may have gone crazy. After Bull Run, he asked to be assigned to a less stressful support position. Instead he was assigned to the Department of the Cumberland in Louisville under Robert Anderson and then he succeeded Anderson in October.”

  “Yeah, I think I knew all that. So what?”

  “Cump said he wasn’t fit for a combat command and asked to be relieved. His request was granted; he was replaced by Don Carlos Buell and transferred to St. Louis. When he got there, General Halleck relieved him of duty.”

  “Why?”

  Grant shrugged. “Halleck says that if Cump’s unfit for combat he’s unfit for any duty.”

  “Where’s Cump now?”

  “Home in Lancaster, Ohio,” Grant said. “Do you think you could go see him for me?”

  “Yes. If you’ll tell me what you want.”

  “Well, first I want to know if he’s crazy. If he’s not, I want to help him get back on his feet. Is that okay with you?”

  “Of course. Cump’s a good leader and a remarkable organizer. I’ll start for Lancaster first thing in the morning.”

  “Be careful. The politics swirling around Sherman are dangerous.”

  September 7, 1861

  Lancaster, Ohio

  Robert Van Buskirk was seated at the kitchen table across from Eleanor Ewing Sherman. “Thank you, Mrs. Sherman,” he said as she poured tea into his cup.

  “Please call me Ellen.” She filled her own cup. “My husband has told me so many stories about you and General Grant that I’ve come to think that I know you both.”

  “Thank you, Ellen. Cump has spoken of you so often that I feel the same.”

  “Do you know his brother?” she asked. “Senator John Sherman?”

  Robert nodded. “I met him once or twice when he was in the army.”

  “John says that this melancholy will pass in time. The family is subject to melancholy and insanity.”

  Robert nearly choked on the tea. “It might be best for Cump if you didn’t mention that to anyone else, Ellen.”

  “Oh dear. I see what you mean.” She put her fingers to her lips.

  “Like all high-ranking officers, Cump has political rivals. General Grant and I both believe in him and we’d never do anything to harm him but…”

  “Except maybe lure me back to the Army,” Sherman said from the kitchen door. “Didn’t mean to sneak up on you, Professor, but I saw your horse in front and – well – I snuck up on you.” He chuckled.

  Robert stood up and shook Sherman’s hand. “You look pretty good for an old warhorse, Cump.”

  “I feel good. You’ve met my Ellen, I see.”

  “Yes. Mrs. Sherman has been keeping me entertained while we waited for you.”

  “Good, good. She knows about you of course. I’ve mentioned you many times.”

  Ellen Sherman nodded her agreement and smiled.

  “How’s young Quincy doing?” Sherman asked.

  “He still has headaches, but his memory seems to be fine now. If all goes well he’ll return to active service in the spring. Maybe Sam Grant can work out something where he can be in your command.”

  “I don’t have a command, Robert, and I don’t want one. Besides. Sam can’t help me. Technically I outrank him.”

  “I think if Sam and I talk to General Halleck…”

  “Halleck was born with a burr under his saddle,” Sherman interrupted.

  “Maybe. But it’s been my experience that, if you can get him to listen, he’s a reasonable man.”

  Ellen poured a cup of tea for her husband, then slipped quietly out of the room.

  “Did she say that I’m insane?” Sherman asked, sitting down on the chair that Ellen had just vacated.

  “Nobody thinks you’re insane, Cump,” Robert replied, avoiding a direct answer to Sherman’s question.

  “The Cincinnati Commercial thinks I’m insane. They said so on their front page in bold type.”

  “My sister can fix that.”

  “How?”

  “She’s got connections with every major newspaper in the country.”

  “Your sister writing that I’m not insane isn’t going to make me sane.”

  “Are you insane, Cump?”

  “I lost myself back there at Bull Run, Robert. The reason my brigade ran was my poor leadership. The first thing I saw on that battlefield was our colors in retreat and then the color bearer was shredded by a round shot. I panicked and the men knew it. They ran and I couldn’t stop them. I never regained control of the brigade. They wouldn’t listen to me because they knew I was just as scared as they were. Ever since then I’ve walked around like a normal person, but I’ll never be normal again.”

  “Yes you will, Cump. Fear’s like a disease. It spreads fast and then it’s over.”

  “It leaves some insane.”

  “When everybody’s running away from murderous gunfire, only an insane man would charge.” Robert got up. “Relax and get your head right. I’ll be in touch with you around Christmas.”

  Sherman stood up too.

  “Sam and I’ll catch Halleck in a good mood and get you a rear-echelon command to start with,” Robert said. “Once you’ve got the bit between your teeth again, you’ll be able to improve your command. Trust me.” He gave Sherman his hand, then walked out the front door to mount his horse. From the second floor window, Ellen Sherman waved.

  October 2, 1861

  Waco, Texas

  Jane Van Buskirk put her hand to her throat, gasped and took a step backward from the front door.

  “It’s really me, Jane,” Jack said, raising his hand
s as if to surrender. “I’m not a ghost. I’ve been living with the Apaches since Mother and Clem were – killed.”

  “Oh, Jack.” Jane rushed to him and threw her arms around him. “Tom will be so happy.” She kissed him on the mouth noisily and squeezed him again. “And I am too.” As she released him, she noticed the woman who was standing behind Jack with her eyes downcast. “Hello,” Jane said.

  Jack stepped back and took the woman’s arm. “Jane, this is Prudence Johansen. She prefers to be called Flower, but I’m working to convince her that her Christian name will suit her best. Flower was captured by the Sioux, in what we think was Illinois, when she was a little girl.”

  Jane offered her hand. “Hello, Flower.”

  The woman looked at Jane’s extended hand, then up at Jack.

  “Flower doesn’t trust white people,” Jack said. “This is all going to be very new to her.”

  “I’m half Montauk. Not exactly a white woman.” Jane withdrew her hand and stepped back further into the entry hall. “My name is Jane. I’m Jack’s sister-in-law. I’m married to Jack’s younger brother, Thomas.” She gestured toward the interior of the house. “Won’t you come in?”

  The woman looked questioningly at Jack.

  “Yes, thank you, Jane.” He took Flower’s arm and urged her forward. “I need to see to our horses.”

  “No, no,” Jane said. “Pablo can do that.” She turned and called over her shoulder. “Consuelo. Can you ask Pablo to see to my brother-in-law’s horses? We’ll put him and his lady friend in the guest house.”

  “No, Jane,” Jack said. “Flower and I aren’t – together. I mean…”

  Jane nodded. “I understand, Jack. The guest house has three bedrooms. She’s not going to be comfortable here with me or away from you until she gets used to us. The guest house is best. It has a big porch along the back and a nice view of the river.”

  “Oh.” Jack smiled. “I should have known that you’d be one step ahead of me.”

  “Oh, come in, come in. I can’t wait to tell Tom.” Jane clapped her hands.

  “Is he here?”

  “No, he’s in Richmond, but I’ll send him a telegram as soon as you’re settled. And I’ll send one to Robert and Anna as well. I’m so excited.”

  Jack pushed Flower ahead of him into the house. “Your boys?”

  Jane closed the door. “Johnny’s with Lee in the South. Pea is with Buford in the North.”

  “Damn. Both sides. What a shame. Quincy?”

  “With Sherman in the West. Robert’s there too. With Grant. Anna and Nancy are in Washington. I’m not quite sure what they’re doing.”

  October 3, 1861

  Washington, D.C.

  Nancy met Anna at the door. “Jack’s alive.” She took Anna’s umbrella and gave her the telegram.

  Anna read it quickly, then let Nancy help her take off her raincoat and read it again. “Jane doesn’t mention Mother or Clementine.”

  “No.” Nancy hung Anna’s raincoat and umbrella on the rack. “They must be dead, Anna.”

  “Yes.” Anna dropped the telegram into the trash bin and walked into the living room. “Where do you want to go for dinner?”

  November 2, 1861

  Cairo, Illinois

  Robert sat up in his bunk, cocked his pistol and shielded his eyes from the lantern’s glare with his other hand.

  “Don’t shoot. It’s me.” Grant put the lantern down on the camp table. “Lincoln removed General Frémont from active duty and replaced him with Henry Halleck. Halleck’s orders are to attack the Confederates wherever they are whenever we have an opportunity.”

  “What time is it?” Robert rubbed sleep from his eyes.

  “About 05:00. Get up. Opportunity’s calling.”

  “Tell somebody to bring us some coffee.” Robert groped for his trousers.

  Grant stuck his head out of the tent and called to one of his aides asking for coffee.

  “It took Lincoln long enough,” Robert complained as he pulled on his boots.

  “The war in the east’s going badly. He needs a victory and I intend to give him several, starting with Fort Belmont.”

  “Halleck may be worse than Frémont,” Robert warned. “He’s very political.”

  “He can have the glory and the headlines. All I want him to do is to untie my hands and let me prosecute the war.”

  “Give me one of those cigars and help yourself.” Robert pointed at a box on his camp desk.

  Grant handed him a cigar and took one. “I want to try an attack from the water.”

  “What about those big guns at Columbus?”

  “We’ll debark at Hunter’s Farm. I think that’s out of range.” He looked around. “Where are your maps?”

  “Map case.” Robert pointed. “But I’m not looking at any maps until I’ve had some coffee.”

  “Lieutenant Dexter,” Grant bellowed. “Where’s that coffee?”

  November 5, 1861

  Washington, D.C.

  John Nicolay opened the door. “The President will see you now, Colonel.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Quincy Van Buskirk got to his feet and brushed some imagined lint from his new dress uniform.

  “He’s an easy man to talk to,” Nicolay said encouragingly, sensing Quincy’s nervousness.

  “Thank you, sir,” Quincy said again.

  “Right this way.” Nicolay led him toward a small door and opened it.

  “Come in, come in,” Lincoln said, getting up from behind his desk and coming around to offer his hand to Quincy. “How are you, young man? Are you fully recovered from your wounds?”

  Quincy was surprised to see that the President was wearing carpet slippers and made an effort to look him in the eyes as he shook hands. “I’m very well, thank you, Mr. President. Other than the occasional headache, I’m a hundred percent.”

  “Have a seat.” Lincoln gestured toward several comfortable chairs set around a coffee table. “I appreciate you helping me out.”

  “My pleasure, sir.” Quincy went to stand in front of a chair and waited until Lincoln was seated before sitting down.

  “General McClellan is refusing to report to General Scott and that’s making things a bit difficult for me,” Lincoln said.

  “Yes, sir.” Quincy nodded. “My mother explained it to me, sir.” He took a small notebook from his breast pocket. “I’ve spoken with General McClellan.”

  “You have?”

  “Yes, sir. He was very cordial and personally showed me his drawing of the city’s fortifications and then he sent me on tour with an aide. I must say that what he’s done is a remarkable achievement. Washington is nearly impregnable.” He referred to his notes. “There are now forty-eight forts or strong points ringing the city with four hundred eighty guns manned by seventy-two hundred, well-trained artillerists.” He looked up to read Lincoln’s face, but saw nothing. “We were an army of fifty thousand in July when we crossed Bull Run, sir. General McClellan’s army now numbers over a hundred sixty-eight thousand. It’s beyond a doubt the most colossal force ever assembled.”

  “That last you said may be the key.”

  “Sir?”

  “You said it’s the most colossal force ever assembled.”

  “Yes, sir.” Quincy looked confused.

  “General McClellan insists that the Confederate forces are larger than his.”

  Quincy took a moment to reply. “Could you have misunderstood him, sir?”

  Lincoln shook his head. “He told me that they have a hundred and fifty thousand facing us right now with that many in ready reserve. I take it he didn’t tell you that.”

  “No, sir. And if you’ll forgive me, sir, it’s preposterous. They could have as many as sixty thousand but I’d guess it’s closer to thirty-five thousand. There aren’t three hundred thousand trained troops in all of the Confederacy, let alone Virginia.”

  “Could you prove that?”

  “No, sir. Not without a good deal of reconnaissance and a
number of skirmishes.”

  “What’s your opinion of General Scott’s Anaconda Plan, to squeeze the Confederacy and crush them into submission in one grand campaign?”

  “The idea is sound, sir. After all, it’s really just a siege and sieges have been successful for centuries. But the South is not a fortress nation like Troy, and as long as they control the Mississippi and its tributaries, they can’t be effectively besieged. What we have now is a naval blockade that will create discomfort, but as long as they control the rivers, we cannot strangle the South, sir.”

  Lincoln nodded. “Those pesky rivers.” He looked away, then back. “General McClellan favors the idea of one grand battle in the style of Napoleon.”

  “He’s beginning to believe his press clippings,” Quincy grumbled. Then he suddenly remembered where he was and to whom he was speaking and blushed. “Forgive me, please, Mr. President. I shouldn’t have said that.”

  Lincoln waved his hand. “I appreciate plain talk above everything. I get fed more horseshit on any given day than a crop of fishin’ worms.”

  Quincy stifled a laugh.

  “McClellan’s opposition to emancipation is a big problem too,” Lincoln said. “He just can’t keep his mouth shut on the subject.”

  “I’ve heard him say that slavery’s an institution recognized in the Constitution, and entitled to Federal protection wherever it exists, Mr. President, but I’ve never heard him say that he’s in favor of it.”

  “The Radical Republicans keep me informed of every word he says and he’s come out against emancipation on numerous occasions. I’m like a man on a high wire without a net. The abolitionists are on one end and the pro-slavers are on the other. Both of ‘em keep jerking the wire trying to pitch me into the abyss.”

  Quincy couldn’t think of a response so he just nodded.

  “If you were in General McClellan’s boots, what would you do?” Lincoln asked.

  “Sir, I’m not qualified to answer.”

  “You’re more qualified than I am, and the country expects me to answer,” Lincoln said.