by R. E. Thomas
Forrest cried, “General, I can’t believe you are thinking of retreating! Give me one division of infantry and all my cavalry, and I’ll run down there and lick them Yankees before anyone knows I’m gone. This is our chance, to do that thing, you say… you called it… defeat them in detail!”
Unmoved, Jackson said, “With the roads in the state they are in, marching the 25 miles to Pulaski will require a minimum of two whole days. Or we must wait at least two whole days for the roads to dry sufficiently to quicken the march. It is true that with the roads churned up by us, the march will take Sherman even longer. But by the time we reach Pulaski, the XVII Corps will have had those two whole days to entrench.”
Forrest’s pugnacity began to deflate, as he felt out the truth of the situation. “And this ain’t Rosecrans, with a fort built up for a whole army defended by just a few thousand.” Sighing, he concluded, “Them 12,000 to 15,000 bluebellies will dig in on a line they can hold against all comers. And then… then Sherman will come up on our rear.”
There was a long silence, broken when Forrest brought his first down on Jackson’s desk, “God dammit! God damn it all!”
Jackson said softly, “Please, General Forrest. Blasphemy.”
“I’m sorry sir, but… it be briarsome to swallow.”
Jackson nodded. He understood Forrest’s instinctive aggression, and knew how tantalizing the idea of striking at an isolated enemy detachment could be. But it was all a chimera. Dozens of miles and a major river had kept Sherman away from him for his slash at Murfreesboro. Pulaski was just too close.
He admitted to himself that Sherman had managed to very skillfully and quietly reinforce Pulaski. He knew the XVII Corps had left Nashville a week ago, but could only assume they had gone to and remained in Shelbyville. The roads being what they were, no civilians came forward with news of enemy movements from deep behind the lines. It was admirable work, all told.
The room became quiet again, until Sandie said, “I’ll send for Colonel Harman, and begin work on routes for your approval, sir.”
Jackson replied flatly, “Good. Good.”
Epilogue
July 6, 1864
9 A.M.
The Executive Mansion
Richmond, Virginia
Davis said, “Please, enter” in response to the knock on his office door.
Burton Harrison stuck his head in. “Sir, Secretary Seddon and General Bragg have both arrived, and are waiting in the dining room. They’ve already had breakfast, but Seddon asked after some tea, so I had a pot sent in. Also, Secretary Benjamin and Attorney General Davis have both confirmed that they will call on you at 11 o’clock.”
Davis got to his feet, buttoning his vest as he did so. “Thank you, Burt. You get some of that tea for yourself, if you want. I’ll see myself down to the dining room.”
“Yes, Mr. President.”
After buttoning up his vest and coat, Davis went down to join his two top war officials, the Secretary of War and his chief military adviser. Entering the dining room, Davis accepted their proper salutations and then bid them to sit down.
“Gentlemen, I’m sure you both know of the news that came in over the wire last night, and I wanted to discuss those events with you first thing. To start with, General Jackson sent us word of his intention to withdraw the Army of Tennessee to Lawrenceburg sometime in the next few days. Second, General Hardee reported that the Federal army under that turncoat, George Thomas, was across the Etowah, and that he is already retreating to Allatoona Pass.”
Bragg grimaced. “Frankly, Mr. President, I think the way Thomas has maneuvered Hardee out of those ridges around Dalton and now off the Etwoah River, both perfectly defensible positions, is disgraceful. That man has barely fired a shot in defense of northern Georgia, and given that he clearly wants out of his current post, I doubt that he will. And this over his native state! I urge you to give him what he wants and reassign him.”
Davis looked to Seddon, prompting the Secretary of War to say, “I fear General Bragg is correct. Whatever his real difficulties, we cannot expect Hardee to do well at a task he expresses so little confidence in, or enthusiasm for. He must go.”
Pursing his lips, Davis found himself wishing he could have it some other way. He had known and respected Bill Hardee for years. As Franklin Pierce’s Secretary of War, he had made Hardee a major in the much esteemed U.S. 2nd Cavalry and had asked the Georgian to write his famous infantry tactics book. Davis had spent the last week corresponding with Hardee over the wire, almost pleading with the man to stay at his post and to fight harder. Each message was met with Hardee’s polite apologies and a restatement of his wish to be relieved.
“Very well then, gentlemen, very well. Barring giving Beauregard or Johnston the post, there is only one suitable choice, that being Lieutenant General Richard Taylor. As it happens, Taylor and his superior, General Smith, have fallen out as well. It seems to me the thing to do is swap Taylor and Hardee. Based on past experience, I think Jackson ought to get along with Taylor, and Smith ought to get along with Hardee. Perhaps this business will show itself as serendipitous. Do you agree?”
Seddon said, “I completely agree. Taylor is practically Stonewall Jackson’s protégé, and Hardee should have just the right temperament for working with Kirby Smith.”
“It’s an elegant solution, Mr. President,” said Bragg.
The three men paused for a moment as the tea service was brought in by a negro servant. After every man was poured a cup, the servant quietly withdrew, and the trio returned to matters of state.
Davis spoke, becoming more animated as he did so. “Now, gentlemen, I do not see these setbacks in Virginia, Georgia, or Tennessee as changing what is otherwise a situation very positive for our country. True, General Lee has been forced back to defend the gates of this very city, but he is holding Grant firmly at bay. Nay, not just holding him at bay, but has given the Union army several sharp reverses in so doing. Stonewall Jackson is no longer on the outskirts of Nashville, true, but he has won two victories, severely damaged the railroads, captured immense supplies and equipments, and is still on Tennessee soil. And with new leadership in Georgia, surely we can hold the Union army there back.”
Seddon said, “If Lee can hold the line in Richmond, and I have no doubt he can, and Taylor can hold the line in Georgia, and Jackson stays in Tennessee, surely the Northern people will give up their imperial ambitions and finally let us go our own way. But it will not be easy, the balance of forces being what they are.”
Bragg murmured, “The North is war weary. They have always been a soft and irresolute people. We can outlast them. I believe we could even afford to lose Tennessee or Atlanta, but not both. We must keep one or the other if we are to strangle the North’s will to continue the war.”
Davis drained his teacup. “I’m glad we are in agreement on our first policy, gentlemen.”
Seddon asked, “Mr. President, may I inquire… after the events of yesterday afternoon, what do you intend to do about General Milroy?”
Davis said nothing, but instead nodded in a slow, grave manner. Milroy had arrived in Richmond the day before, and his transfer from the train station to Libby Prison had brought out the largest mob the city had seen since the bread riots the year before. Reportedly, many in that would-be lynch mob were refugees from the Shenandoah, where Milroy had enjoyed his reign of terror the year before. The only reason the Northern vandal had escaped hanging then and there was because of his armed escort, originally assigned to guard against his escape.
Judah Benjamin had come the night before, in his role as Secretary of State, to express his concern that prosecuting a Union major general would poison relations with the North, just as the aborted policy to prosecute white officers leading darkie soldiers for inciting servile insurrection had threatened to. He urged that Milroy’s trial be indefinitely postponed, and he otherwise be treated as an ordinary prisoner of war.
“What would you have me do, Secretary Seddon?�
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“Nothing. Let him rot in Libby Prison, but we do not want to get into the business of judicial reprisals with the United States. A feud of reciprocal trials.”
“And what of the $100,000 bounty placed on Milroy’s head? Or the bounty leveled by your own state of Virginia? The call for his arrest is a matter of law and cannot merely be set aside.”
“No, but it can be delayed. Conduct an investigation, collect evidence. Delay matters. When we have peace, suspend proceedings as part of the peace negotiations. But do not indict Milroy, do no put him on trial, and for God’s sake, do not convict him.”
Bragg spoke up. “With all due respect, Mr. Secretary, but if this is what we were always going to do when we caught an abolitionist miscreant like this Milroy, a man who gleefully despoils our country in open violation of the standards of civilized warfare, then why did we put a price on his head in the first place? I say prosecute the man! Let it serve as a warning to others like him, like David Hunter or that scoundrel, ‘Spoons’ Butler.”
Davis’s eyes came up at the mention of Butler. If it was Butler they had in Libby Prison, Davis knew the man would be sent to the gallows in short order. The only reason to spare him would be to extract a major concession from the North, such as the resumption of prisoner exchanges. So if he would do that for Butler, than why not for Milroy? The one was as villainous as the other, surely.
Davis said very deliberately, “This must necessarily be a military trial, so Mr. Secretary, I desire you to consult with your Judge Advocate General about making the necessary arrangements. Investigate the charges and collect evidence. I want our case to stand up to the closest external scrutiny. But I also want this matter dealt with expeditiously, so I shall place the Attorney General and his people at your disposal as well. I want to see General Milroy in the dock before the end of summer.”
Author’s Note
In my last Author’s Note, I briefly examined the style and method that went into plotting Stonewall Goes West and layering it with historical detail, and by now readers ought to be familiar with my approach. Even so, some special points deserve some extra comment.
I invested substantial time and energy into getting the geography of my story right, which I consider well spent because it adds so much to the story’s color and realism. Most of the details like creeks, hills, and buildings are genuine. Whenever I don’t use an authentic, period place name, I use the modern name instead. Some farms I refer to are documented, while others are extrapolations of family cemeteries that I visited and know must have been present in 1864. I know the animal crossing of the Duck downriver from Fishing Ford is there because I talked to the owners of a horse campground in the area about it.
One problem I encountered in this book is that in some instances, I had plenty of evidence that was partly contradictory. The several period maps of Middle Tennessee I consulted were not in complete agreement about the exact location of roads and landmarks, for example. Since this time I venture into the vicinity of the famous Battle of Stones River, I’m sure some will disagree with my interpretations of exactly where this and that might have been. All I can say to that is the sources I consulted don’t agree either.
For those wondering how authentic the details surrounding my “boots” characters, Nathan Grimes and George Spear, are, the answer is that their immediate comrades are fictitious. In the case of the 41st Tennessee Infantry, Grimes’s entire company is fictional, although the larger regiment is historical. Spear’s immediate friends are likewise fictitious, although his company officers and on up were very real.
One of the historical details that might strike some readers as strange or controversial is my mention of the black soldiers who were part of Nathan Bedford Forrest’s personal escort, but the existence of these few individuals is well-documented. Similarly, my characterization of Forrest’s views on arming slaves is an extrapolation of what is known of the man’s actions, sentiments, and character. If Forrest had been present at Cleburne’s January 1864 proposal to free and arm slaves to fight for the Confederacy, I imagine he would have supported it wholeheartedly. Like most truly self-made men, Forrest was a hardened pragmatist, and I can easily see him compromising on slavery if doing so allowed for continued dominance over the former slaves.
Another point some might disagree with is the success of Confederate recruiting efforts as described in the story. By the start of active campaigning in 1864, the Confederacy was certainly scraping the bottom of its manpower barrel, and that situation was not helped by sagging national morale. To cite just one example, in most estimations roughly half the troops in Pemberton’s Vicksburg army simply went home and never came back.
Yet against this backdrop of defeatism, one must not dismiss the magnetism of a heroic personality or the electrifying effect of a major victory. As late as summer 1864, Joe Shelby recruited at least a couple thousand men in Arkansas and Missouri, and in autumn 1863 Forrest was able to raise two divisions of cavalry in West Tennessee, due largely to their own personal energy and reputations.
So I don’t think I overstate the effects on Southern recruiting of having arguably the Confederacy’s greatest military hero, Stonewall Jackson, come west, win a major victory, and grab back some territory. In the final analysis, it merely represents scraping the bottom of the barrel with somewhat more success.
Lastly, a brief word on what was oddly the most misunderstood aspect of Stonewall Goes West: its length. The average novel is often quoted as 90,000 words long. Against this, the first book was 83,000 words, and this book is just shy of 98,000 words.
