The Way of All Soldiers (Gone For Soldiers)

by Jeffry S. Hepple

  They both listened as footsteps approached the tent and someone scratched on the door flaps.

  “Come in,” Grant said.

  “Message from General Halleck, sir.” He handed the envelope to Grant.

  “Thank you,” Grant said. “I’ll call if there’s a reply.”

  “Very well, sir.”

  Grant waited until the man had secured the tent flaps and moved away before he opened the envelope.

  “Bet I can guess what it says.” Robert grinned.

  “No bet. I’m to proceed to Savanna and replace Charlie Smith as commander of the Army of the Tennessee.”

  “The Army of the Tennessee? What are we to deduce from that?”

  “Somebody made a mistake?”

  Robert laughed.

  “I want you to go back to Cairo until that leg heals.”

  “I can ride with it in the splint.”

  “Ten weeks minimum, the doc said.”

  “Really, Sam. I’m fine.”

  Grant shook his head. “You’re on medical leave until April. That’s an order.”

  “How is it that I’m well enough to be here, but not well enough to be downriver in Savanna?”

  “Because nobody’s shooting at us here. They’re liable to down south.”

  March 17, 1862

  Washington, D.C.

  Captain Paul Van Buskirk was currying his horse when a major came into the stables carrying a grooming kit. “Good morning, Major Buford.”

  Buford stopped and squinted into the gloom. “My eyes aren’t adjusted. Who’s that?”

  “Van Buskirk, sir.”

  “Which one?”

  “Paul, sir. We’ve not met.”

  “No. But I know who you are.” Buford walked to the next stall, opened the gate and patted a horse that greeted him with a snort. “How are you liking the infantry, Van Buskirk?”

  “I suspect that I like it even less than you like your desk, sir.”

  Buford chuckled. “That’s not possible.” He removed a currycomb from his kit and began to work it in a circle on his horse’s withers.

  When Virginia had been on the brink of seceding from the Union, Paul, like all the cavalry officers in Robert E. Lee’s command, had been made a vague promise of being transferred into the First U.S. Cavalry under the command of John Buford. After Virginia seceded, when all the officers except Paul, and over two-thirds of the NCOs and enlisted men, had gone with Lee, Paul had been sent to the infantry and Buford had been appointed assistant inspector general.

  General McClellan, being of the opinion that cavalry was impractical in America, made no effort to replace the lost officers and men. Other high-ranking officers who might have disagreed with McClellan in principle supported his decision simply because most Union soldiers lacked basic equestrian skill, making the training of new cavalrymen too expensive and time-consuming.

  Instead of Buford, General George Stoneman had taken command of the First Cavalry. The First Cavalry, under Stoneman, continued to train as heavy cavalry in European tradition.

  “I don’t think these grooms know anything about horses,” Buford said.

  “The ones I’ve talked to are just farm boys whose experience is limited to caring for cattle and dray animals,” Paul replied. “They have no idea of how to care for a cavalry mount, especially their hooves.”

  “Is that your horse or the Army’s?”

  “Well, sir, I’m not perfectly sure. He belonged to me until I was commissioned, then I was required to donate him to the Army – if I wanted to ride him on duty, that is. When I was transferred to the infantry, I tried to send him home, but the quartermaster said he was Army property. On the other hand, my brother, Jeb Stuart and the others who went with Lee were able to take their horses with them. I’m not sure why.”

  “Well, one good thing about my riding a desk is that I can fix that little injustice,” Buford replied. “Your horse’ll be listed as private property on loan to the Army as soon as I get back. You can keep him here at Government expense or send him home, as you wish.”

  “Thank you, sir. That’s very kind. I think I’ll keep him here in hope that I can somehow get back into the cavalry.”

  “What did you think of Lee’s light cavalry?” Buford asked.

  “It’s the future, sir. Charging in line, hip-to-hip, like Napoleon and Wellington is a useless tactic against modern cannons, muskets and rifles. When Lee put him in command, Stuart added irregular scouts, galloper guns and threw the West Point book away.”

  “Stuart wasn’t much of a student of books anyway, was he?”

  “He graduated in the top half of the class and he distinguished himself in the West. Oh yes. And he invented the saber hook that we all use.”

  “You graduated at the very top of your class, didn’t you?”

  “No, sir. I was second in my class. Custis Lee was first.”

  Buford chuckled. “I can’t think of a more pretentious name than George Washington Custis Lee.”

  “His nickname is Boo.”

  “Boo?” Buford laughed out loud. “How’d he come by that?”

  “I don’t know. Oddly enough, I hardly knew him. My brother’s roommate was his cousin Fitzhugh Lee. He’s a fine man. I think Custis is on Jefferson Davis’s staff.”

  Buford nodded. “That’s right. He’s Davis’s aide-de-camp. As second in your class, how come you ended up in the cavalry and not in the engineers?”

  “I was selected for the engineers, but chose the cavalry, sir.”

  “Are you a horse lover?”

  Paul chuckled. “No, sir. I love riding them, but, in my opinion, they’re smelly, obstinate beasts. I do, however, respect some of them for their strength, courage and occasional loyalty.”

  “That pretty much sums up my opinion as well,” Buford said.

  “I’m also of the opinion that the cavalry will become the most important arm of the Army as we expand west.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “The Indians in the West are the finest light cavalry in the world,” Paul said flatly.

  “Yeah. I had a little experience with Indians in Utah. Nothing like your Comanches, Kiowa and Apaches in Texas, of course.”

  “I don’t know much about the Utes, but they must be fierce to have held their territory for so long.” Paul glanced over at Buford. “I heard a rumor that the Governor of Kentucky offered you command of all military forces in the State when it was thought that Kentucky would go Confederate.”

  “He didn’t exactly say that,” Buford replied. “He said that if I returned to Kentucky immediately I could have anything I wanted.”

  “My uncle says that the entire West would be much more in doubt if you were in command of Kentucky instead of President Polk’s cousin, Leonidas.”

  “General Leonidas Polk committed a huge blunder when he decided to occupy Columbus,” Buford replied. “It violated the State’s neutrality, prompted the legislature to ask for Federal aid, and unleashed Sam Grant and your Uncle Robert along the rivers. If Halleck would give those two their head, the South would be cut in half by next winter.”

  “My Uncle Robert’s just a brigade commander, sir.”

  Buford turned to look at him. “Your Uncle Robert’s the brains of the West, Captain. Everybody knows that.”

  “Then why’s he only a brigade commander, sir?”

  “He doesn’t have the charisma of a Grant or a McClellan or a Lee.” Buford went back to his currying task. “Not only that: he’s too smart for the common man. His men stand in awe of him, but they don’t worship him.”

  Paul chuckled. “Maybe they should offer classes in charisma at West Point.”

  “You can’t teach charisma. Hell, you can’t really define it. Some men seem to have it while others don’t. Your grandfather had it. So did your Uncle Jack. Tom might have had it too. But Robert was nicknamed Professor at West Point and he’s always going to be the brains for somebody with more charisma.”

  “I think he
’s the bravest of us all.”

  “Robert? Oh, hell yeah. No doubt about that at all. What he did at Fort Mancha in Mexico was the most heroic act I ever even heard of, let alone witnessed. But, see? You just made my point. Nobody remembers it. I mean nobody as in everybody else except you and me,” he added with a chuckle. “It was never mentioned in an American newspaper, and I don’t even think he received a commendation for it. If I’d had anything to say about it he’d be wearing the Medal of Honor.”

  “He received my grandfather’s respect for it. That was what he wanted most. Or so he says.”

  “Your grandfather was a true stoic in the tradition of a Spartan warrior, but he had a gentle soul.”

  “I didn’t know him that well.”

  “I didn’t either. Wish I had.” Buford turned around again. “There’s a chance that I might get a cavalry squadron. If I do, would you be interested?”

  “Light cavalry?”

  “I sure hope so.”

  “Where do I sign?”

  “If it happens, we’ll probably only get scout duty or we’ll be pickets. George McClellan still thinks of cavalry in terms of Napoleon’s heavy horses and he sees it as of no use in America.”

  “Perhaps we can change his mind, sir.”

  Buford shook his head. “Doubt it. Not with one squadron. But Jeb Stuart might.”

  “Sir, have you seen the Spencer repeating rifle?”

  “No. I heard about it. Why?”

  “It can fire up to twenty rounds a minute. A light cavalry squadron armed with rifles like that could match the firepower of a regiment.”

  “The Spencer’s not in production, is it?” Buford asked.

  “The Navy has a few but they haven’t been issued to the army yet.”

  “So why are we talking about it?”

  “My aunt knows Christopher Spencer. If you get that light cavalry I can get us the rifles and a direct line to Spencer’s factory for ammunition.”

  “How does she know Spencer?”

  “He demonstrated his rifle for President Lincoln and she fired it.”

  “Did she hit anything?”

  “She’s the best shot in our whole family. My father’s nickname for her was Ten-Ten because she consistently got ten rounds out of ten in the bull’s-eye.”

  Buford smiled. “Can your aunt get us the Adams self-cocking revolver too?”

  “It’s not reliable, sir. I’d suggest the new model Remington. It’s much safer too.”

  “I’ll bow to your judgment. Can you get them?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Now all I have to do is get that squadron.”

  “My aunt could probably help with that too, if you have no objections, sir.”

  “Why would I object?” Buford asked.

  Paul shrugged. “Some men – that is – women… I don’t know, sir. I just thought you might.”

  Buford chuckled. “I have a very high regard for women, Captain. My wife is much smarter than me and a hell of a lot tougher.”

  “Then I’ll speak to Aunt Anna as soon as possible, sir. I loathe the infantry.”

  March 18, 1862

  Cairo, Illinois

  Nancy was sitting on the couch in their hotel suite watching Robert hobble back and forth across the room on his crutches. Nancy threw her slipper at him. “Sit down. You’re like a caged lion with a peg leg.”

  Robert glared at her, but sat down in the armchair and let his crutches clatter to the floor. “Let’s go somewhere.”

  “Where?”

  “Anywhere.”

  “How about the bedroom?”

  He laughed. “You’re insatiable.”

  “I had no idea what an advantage there was to being on top. After your leg heals I may have to break the other one.”

  “That’s not remotely funny.”

  “If you’re getting bored with me, we could take a boat trip downriver and have a little ménage à trois with your pretty little widow, Rachel.”

  “Are you going to keep bringing her up for the rest of our married life?”

  “I’ll stop mentioning her when you tell me the truth.”

  “Nothing happened between us, Nancy.”

  “Then why do you look so guilty every time I mention her?”

  “I don’t know why I would because nothing happened.”

  “Don’t tell me that she didn’t try to seduce you. She as much as said so herself when we confronted her about failing to send your telegrams.”

  “Well, if she did try, she got nowhere – which is really all that matters.”

  Nancy sat forward. “What did she do?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Tell me.”

  “Nothing.”

  “Oh no you don’t. You just admitted that she tried to seduce you. You can’t now claim it was nothing.”

  “She slept naked, that’s all.”

  “That’s all?” Nancy drew her head back. “There was only one bed in that cabin.”

  He nodded. “I remember.”

  “But you stayed strong.”

  “Yes, Nancy, I did.”

  “And hard.”

  “Nancy,” he protested. “Please stop. We both know that she’s an attractive woman. It would be a lie if I denied that. But the thing to remember is that I resisted her because I love you.”

  “Ha. I was wondering why you were so amorous that first night in Dover. You must have been in serious pain from being bounced around in the wagon, but once the door closed to our hotel room, you were inexhaustible. I should have known it was because Rachel had been priming your pump.”

  “Oh, Nancy, that’s completely unfair. I was so glad to see you…” He shook his head. “Never mind. Believe what you want. I refuse to discuss it any more.”

  “You were tempted to stay with her because of her little boy. I saw it in your face.”

  He looked up to heaven. “Nancy. Please.”

  “Could we adopt?”

  “I’d like that. After the war.”

  She looked a bit surprised by his answer. “You’ve apparently been thinking about it.”

  “Yes. I’ve had too much time to think.”

  “Meaning what?”

  “Meaning I’m bored.”

  She sighed. “Yes, I’m bored too. Let’s go downstairs and get drunk.”

  “We can’t stay drunk until April.”

  “Why not?”

  He picked up his crutches.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Bedroom.”

  “Ah-ha. All that talk about Rachel got your blood up, didn’t it?”

  He picked up her slipper and threw it at her, then pulled himself up onto his crutches as someone knocked on the door. “I’ll get it.”

  “No, you’ll fall.” Nancy clopped to the door with one slipper on, pulled it open, then stepped back when a tall, bearded man reached for her.

  “Don’t you recognize me, Aunt Nancy?” Quincy chuckled.

  “Oh Lord.” She threw her arms around him, then looked up into his eyes. “No, I didn’t recognize you behind all those whiskers.”

  “Let the boy go,” Robert complained.

  Nancy released her grip on Quincy and made a face at her husband.

  Quincy stepped into the room and shook Robert’s hand. “How’s the leg?”

  “On the mend. What are you doing here?”

  “I’m on General Sherman’s staff.”

  “Why didn’t I know that?” Nancy asked.

  Quincy shrugged.

  “I told you,” Robert said.

  “No you didn’t,” she argued.

  “Sit down and fill us in, Quincy,” Robert said.

  “Are you hungry? Thirsty?” Nancy asked. “The restaurant here’s not half bad and the room service is very fast.”

  “No, no. I’m fine, thank you.” Quincy walked to a chair and waited until Nancy had settled back on the couch before sitting. “Is there something wrong with your foot, Aunt Nancy?”

&n
bsp; She looked puzzled for a moment, then looked down at her one stockinged foot and giggled. “No. I took my slipper off to throw it at your uncle. I don’t know where it is now.”

  “Behind the couch,” Robert said, lowering himself into his chair. “What are you doing in Cairo, Quincy?”

  “I’m picking up a battalion of recruits from the training center tomorrow,” Quincy replied. “Did you hear about General Smith?”

  “Charlie Smith?”

  Quincy nodded. “Yes. He broke his leg jumping into a rowboat.”

  Robert grinned. “Maybe he’ll be sent back here to convalesce and we can have one-legged races.”

  “I think his leg is much worse than yours. There’s talk that he might not survive.”

  “Nobody ever died from a broken leg,” Robert said.

  “What a stupid thing to say,” Nancy growled.

  “How’s Cump,” Robert asked, after an embarrassed moment. “Any sign of trouble?”

  “He may be the most nervous man I’ve ever met, but he’s not and never has been insane,” Quincy said, a bit defensively.

  “I never said he was insane,” Robert replied. “He did. And so did his wife, Ellen.”

  “Well he’s fine now,” Quincy said firmly.

  “Your hair’s turned white where you were wounded,” Nancy observed. “Your great-grandfather and his cousin Jacobus both had streaks of white hair from war wounds. It must be a family trait.”

  “How do you know that?” Robert asked.

  “Aunt Nanette told me,” she said. “She saw me looking at your great-grandfather’s portrait one day and she told me that your great-great-grandmother had made the artist paint it without the white streak. For some reason that made me sad.”

  “Did the fact that there are no portraits at all of Jacob make you sad?” Robert teased.

  “Yes,” Nancy said. “As a matter of fact it did, and still does. Writing off half of a generation over politics is ridiculous. Were you planning to disown Johnny for choosing to side with the Confederacy?”

  “This war is different from the Revolution,” Robert said. “When it’s over we’ll be one country again.”

  “Perhaps we will be as far as the mapmakers are concerned,” she countered, “but by the time this war is over there’s going to be so much seething hatred that it’ll take many generations to heal. All you have to do is talk to the people in the South and you’ll see what I mean.”