The Way of All Soldiers (Gone For Soldiers)

by Jeffry S. Hepple

  Napoleon, Mississippi

  General McClernand’s attack had begun on January 8th with three-day naval bombardment that silenced the guns of Fort Hindman. The following ground assault took five thousand prisoners, seventeen guns and regained much of the cargo from the Union steamer Blue Wing.

  Grant had moved from Holly Springs to Grand Junction and finally to Memphis where communications were once again established. McClernand had not seen fit to ask Grant or Halleck’s permission, or to even inform them, of his plans to attack Fort Hindman. Grant initially reacted angrily and contacted Halleck. Halleck replied the following day, giving Grant permission to relieve McClernand for insubordination and to appoint whoever he saw fit, or to take command himself.

  On the 14th, Grant had a better understanding of McClernand’s attack on Fort Hindman and was less inclined to take action against him. However, later in the day, when he received messages from both General Sherman and Admiral Porter urging him to come to Napoleon and take command from McClernand, he once again began revising his opinion.

  On the morning of the 16th, when Grant arrived at Napoleon, he spoke with both Porter and Sherman and then decided that, in order to save McClernand any embarrassment, he would simply take command of the forces himself and leave McClernand as second in command. Toward that end, he sent a telegram to McClernand at Arkansas Post with copies to Halleck and Lincoln.

  Instead of answering Grant, McClernand responded only to Lincoln:

  Head-Quarters Army of the Mississippi

  Post Arkansas January 17th, 1863.

  Sir,

  I believe my success here is gall and wormwood to the clique of West-Pointers who have been persecuting me for months--

  How can you expect success, when men controlling the military destinies of the country, are more chagrined at the success of your volunteer officers than the very enemy beaten by the latter in battle?

  Something must be done to take the hand of oppression off citizens soldiers, whose zeal for their country, has prompted them to take up arms, or all will be lost--

  Do not let me be clandestinely sacrificed, or what is worse, dishonored without a hearing. The very moment you think I am an impediment to the public service, upon the slightest intimation of it, my resignation will be forwarded-- Until then, you may count upon my best endeavors, at whatever peril, to sustain the sacred cause for which we are contending--

  In addition to the reasons set forth in the copy of the dispatch enclosed, for the Arkansas River expedition, I might assign the order of the Secretary of war, endorsed by you, to open the Mississippi river--

  The Mississippi river being the only channel of communication, and that being infested by guerillas, how can General Grant, at a distance of four hundred miles, intelligently command the army with me?-- He can not do it-- It should be an independent command, as both you and the Secretary of war, as I believe, originally intended--

  Very Respectfully

  Your Obedient Servant—

  John A. McClernand

  Major General Commanding

  January 27, 1863

  Washington, D.C.

  Jack Van Buskirk was seated at the rear of the Willard Hotel’s dining room and watching the entrance as Major General John F. Reynolds came in. Jack stood up and raised his hand. Reynolds waved, smiled and made his way through the diners. “Thank you for coming, John,” Jack said, offering his hand.

  Reynolds shook his hand warmly. “I heard you were in Washington and I’ve looked for you several times, but I always seem to just miss you.”

  Jack had been an upperclassman at West Point during John Reynolds’s plebe year and they had served together during the Mexican War. “I’ve been running all over trying to get a job,” Jack said, as the two men sat down. “It seems that nobody wants me.”

  “An army job?”

  “That’s all I know.”

  “I can’t imagine that nobody wants you,” Reynolds said. “What are you looking for?”

  “My permanent rank was major general, but at this point, I’ll take anything.”

  “If you really mean that, I need a chief of staff. The job’s yours if you want it, but it’s only a brevet brigadier of volunteers.”

  “I’ll take it very gladly,” Jack said excitedly. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

  “It’s me that should be thanking you. Trying to find a scapegoat for his failure, Burnside purged the officer corps before he resigned. Now we’ve got Hooker cleaning house too. There’s a shortage of good senior officers.”

  “You took over First Corps from Hooker, didn’t you?”

  “Yes. And he took his staff with him. The only candidates I’ve seen from the War Department are political appointees. Not one professional soldier among them.”

  They ordered coffee and traded small talk until after the coffee was served.

  At a lull in the conversation, Jack leaned across the table. “I need to ask you a question, John. An honest answer would be deeply appreciated.”

  “Uh-oh. I don’t like the way you said that.”

  Jack shrugged. “I need to know if my late wife’s reputation has been holding me back.”

  Reynolds nodded. “Could be. And there’s a rumor that you recruited and trained Apaches to kill Colonel John Baylor, the Military Governor of Confederate Arizona. That one may be hurting you more than anything else.”

  “That rumor’s not entirely accurate and Baylor was still alive, the last I heard.”

  Reynolds dismissed that with a wave of his hand. “I wasn’t asking for any explanation, I was answering your question.”

  “How much do people know about my wife?”

  “The stories were circulating throughout the army before you resigned. Her arrest and conviction were covered in all the eastern papers. Your brother Robert’s dismissal from the army was big news in the army gossip circles and in the civilian papers. What else was there?”

  “The murder of my wife and my mother.”

  “I heard about that from your family, Robert, Nancy and Anna, when I ran into them in San Francisco during the Mormon War. I don’t know how wide-spread the story is.”

  “Is my being your chief of staff going to harm you in any way?”

  “No, Jack. I wouldn’t have offered it to you if it would.”

  “I can’t tell you how grateful I am, John. I was beginning to think I was going to miss this.”

  “To show your gratitude, you get the check.” Reynolds picked up his hat. “We have a lot of paperwork to do before we can pin shoulder boards on you.”

  January 30, 1863

  Milliken’s Bend, Louisiana

  General Robert Van Buskirk reached Milliken’s Bend just before sunset where he found Grant sitting near a campfire, whittling. After a warm exchange of greetings and small talk, they settled down with cigars for a more serious conversation.

  “Guess you’ve seen the newspapers,” Grant said. “McClernand says I’ve been drunk during the campaign.”

  Robert nodded. “Lincoln was quoted as saying that he wanted to find out what you drank so he could send a barrel to all his generals. You knew that McClernand wrote to him asking that your orders be countermanded, didn’t you?”

  “I suspected as much.”

  “Lincoln wrote back and politely refused.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Anna.”

  “Militarily, McClernand could be the best of the politicians in uniform on both sides – if he’d just stop being a politician and be a general.”

  Robert nodded. “You heard that Lincoln replaced Burnside with Hooker on the 26th, right?”

  “Yeah. What was all the chatter about the Mud March? They kept mentioning it in the Mississippi papers, but never explained it.”

  “Burnside tried to launch an operation across the Potomac but it rained until the whole army was mired in mud and he had to call it off.”

  “The rain wasn’t Burnside’s fault.”

  “No
, but Lee’s troops put up signs ridiculing him and the newspapers picked that up and made a mockery of him.”

  “And Lincoln replaced him because he got bad press?”

  Robert shook his head. “Burnside actually resigned, but the papers made it sound like Lincoln fired him.”

  “So. Tell me about Fitz John Porter’s court-martial.”

  “You know he was found guilty, don’t you?”

  “Yeah, but I don’t understand why.”

  “It came down to personalities. Porter came across as arrogant.”

  “That’s a shame.”

  “Have you seen my nephew?”

  “Yeah. I talked to him a couple of weeks ago at Napoleon.”

  “We’d heard he was wounded.”

  “Yeah. But he’s okay now. It was a flesh wound that festered. Those Navy doctors and nurses on the hospital ship fixed him right up. They’re making a real difference, by the way. I need to write to the President and tell him that.”

  “He knows. There’s been some discussion in Washington about whether it’s good or bad to save so many wounded.”

  “What?” Grant turned to look at him.

  “The cost of a wounded soldier is higher than a funeral,” Robert said.

  “That sounds like something that Stanton would say.”

  “I don’t know who said it. Anna told Nancy and Nancy told me.”

  “How was it with you and Nancy? Did you drive each other insane like you did back in Illinois?”

  “No, we reached an understanding of sorts that cleared the air.”

  “That’s good,” Grant said.

  “How’s Julia?”

  “Doing well. But she gets very upset when the papers accuse me of being a drunk.”

  “You can hardly blame her. It upsets me too.”

  “I don’t blame her, but it makes it harder for me when she’s upset.”

  Robert nodded.

  “How’s your brother Jack?”

  “Who knows? He’s as stone-faced as my father was.”

  “Is he still holding out for major general?”

  “Yes. I thought he might replace Burnside but he’s been out of uniform too long and the politics have changed.”

  “But your sister has Lincoln’s ear.”

  “Yes,” Robert said, “but she knows Jack too well and sees all his faults.”

  “You mean she wouldn’t recommend him anyway?”

  “Of course not. Neither would I, for that matter. Hancock or Buford would be my choices. But nobody asked me.”

  Grant chuckled. “What about Meade?”

  “He’s no Grant,” Robert said. “So. What’s your plan for the winter?”

  “Ditch digging.”

  “What?”

  Grant smiled. “I’ve been approached with all kinds of schemes that might open a back door to Vicksburg. I figure we can use the rest of the winter to try a few.”

  “Tell me about some of these schemes.”

  “I’d need a map to explain but I’ll try. It seems there’s a levee on Moon Lake that blocks water flow to the Yazoo. I’ve been told that if we breach the levee we can move gunboats and troops from the lake to the Coldwater River, then into the Tallahatchie and the Yalobusha to reach the Yazoo and pop out onto the Mississippi a short distance above Vicksburg.”

  “Have you looked at it?”

  “No. And frankly I doubt that we can manage it without the Rebs discovering us, but it’ll keep the troops busy for a while without risking a major confrontation.”

  “When did you think you’d begin in the spring?”

  “The cold weather should be over by April. Then we’ll take Vicksburg and march through the South.”

  February 12, 1863

  Mesilla, New Mexico

  Abe Van Buskirk and Farah Segura were huddled in a cleft of rock overlooking a small blind canyon. Below them, a herd of wild horses was streaming through a narrow passage into the canyon to escape from the blizzard that was sweeping the face of the Organ Mountains.

  “Ready?” Abe whispered.

  “Yes.”

  They braced their backs against the wall behind them and their feet on a small boulder.

  “One,” Abe hissed, “two, three.”

  Both arched their backs and strained against the boulder. The rock moved slightly, but after a minute, Farah gave up, followed by Abe.

  “It’s too heavy,” Farah panted.

  “We just have to break the ice,” Abe whispered. “Come on. Again. One, two, three.” He pushed.

  Farah grunted and her legs trembled. “I can’t.”

  Below them, the leader of the herd looked up at them and whistled a warning.

  The cords in Abe’s neck looked as though they might pop through his skin. “It’s moving,” he grunted. “Don’t give up.”

  “Uhh.”

  The stallion had raced around the front of the herd and was urging them back toward the cannon exit with nips and whistles.

  “Now.” Abe gave the boulder one more shove and the boulder began to roll.

  Farah collapsed and Abe crawled forward to watch the boulder that was streaming a rope behind it as it bounced down the slope.

  The horses were less than twenty yards from freedom when the rope around the boulder went taut and a fence of Piñon trunks popped up from the snow, blocking the exit. As the herd stamped and paced nervously behind him, the stallion reared, gave a neigh of fury, then dropped to all fours and lowered his head, ears back.

  “Hurry,” Abe said. “He’ll charge when he works up a little more courage and he might knock it down.” He started down the cleft toward the canyon floor with Farah right behind him.

  Within a minute, they had raised the braces and hammered the pins in place to secure them.

  “Check the gate,” Farah said.

  Abe shook his head. “It’ll hold.”

  “Yes, but will it open?”

  “I don’t want to try it now. If it opens and I can’t get it closed fast enough, that stallion will be through it with the whole herd on his heels.”

  Farah walked closer to the fence and peered between two posts. “They’re beautiful.”

  Abe walked up beside her and put his arm around her. “And they’re ours.”

  She kissed him on the cheek. “We’re horse ranchers. Thank you for this.”

  He chuckled. “This is the easy part. Getting them back to the ranch is the real test.”

  “You’ll do it. I believe in you.”

  He gave her a squeeze. “You have no idea how much that means to me.”

  She shivered as a blast of swirling snow engulfed them. “We better go back to the cave before we freeze.”

  He squinted up at the dark sky. “This won’t last much longer. Let’s just find a spot out of the wind where we can keep an eye on the fence.”

  “We’ll have to share our body heat.”

  “Ah. You saw right through me.” He took her hand and led her toward a cluster of huge boulders. “We should be snug in there.”

  February 25, 1863

  Fredericksburg, Virginia

  After sundown, General John Buford and Colonel Paul Van Buskirk had been summoned to the farmhouse where General Stoneman had established his headquarters. They were now seated in the living room near the fireplace. “There’s an old proverb that warns to be careful what you wish for because it might come true,” Stoneman was saying. “When General Hooker decided to combine all the small cavalry units into our corps, we got both good and bad. I’ve not had enough time to properly assess the units to know which is which.”

  Buford nodded. “I don’t know many of them either.”

  “Did you hear about Fitzhugh Lee’s raid near Hartwood Church in Stafford County this morning?” Stoneman asked.

  Buford and Van Buskirk shook their heads.

  “I sent General Averell’s division in pursuit of Lee and Averell’s only accomplishment was to lose a hundred and fifty prisoners. Lee sent a message to Av
erell, in care of General Hooker, asking him to please leave Virginia or bring him a sack of coffee the next time he visited. It sent Hooker into a rage and he threatened to relieve me if I didn’t stop raids like Lee’s.” He sat back and waited for Buford or Van Buskirk to comment.

  “Fitz and Averell were close friends at West Point, sir,” Paul said. “His taunting was…” He shrugged. “Too bad he sent it via Hooker.”

  “Is Averell any good?” Stoneman asked. “Should I relieve him?”

  Paul shook his head. “I don’t really know, sir. He was posted to a mounted rifle regiment in New Mexico after he graduated and was badly wounded. I think he stayed on the disabled list until the war started. After Fort Sumter he went back to New Mexico and gathered his old regiment. That was quite an accomplishment.”

  “Do you know anything of his war record?” Stoneman asked.

  “He was General Andrew Porter’s assistant adjutant general at the first Bull Run,” Paul said. “I lost track of him after that. I don’t know how or when he became a division commander.”

  “I know the when,” Stoneman answered. “It was about two weeks ago, just before he was rolled into my corps.” He looked at Paul. “I’m going to assign you as a brigade commander under Averell. If I have to relieve him, you’ll be his replacement.”

  Paul squirmed. “Do I have any choice in the matter, sir?”

  “No.” Stoneman shook his head. “I know that you’d rather stay with General Buford as a colonel, but my career’s on the line.”

  “Can I have Pea back if Averell proves out to be competent?” Buford asked.

  Stoneman nodded. “If Pea wants to give up his star, he can come back.”

  “Hell,” Buford replied. “I’d have given him a star already if I’d thought you’d approve.”

  “Why wouldn’t I approve?” Stoneman asked in surprise.