Edward Ord, new to his rank of corps commander, was a man who supposedly loved a good head-on fight, a man like Hood.
And their troops. These Union soldiers from the West were used to victory; they were used to tough fighting in the scorching heat and bayous of Mississippi, the tangled forests of Tennessee, the swamps of Louisiana. They were fighters—and filled with a belief in themselves. In battle, such belief is often what tips the scale between victory and defeat. Though tough soldiers, the men of the Army of the Potomac seemed to carry an innate sense that defeat would always be their ultimate fate, and that had come true at Union Mills and Gunpowder River.
He wished he had another month, time to evaluate, to maneuver and observe Grant, to spar with him to get a taste of him, before moving in for the kill.
The pasture ahead dropped down into a glen and he welcomed the momentary pause as he loosened Traveler's reins and gave his companion a chance to drink in the shade of the willows lining the shallow creek. There the air was damp and rich, the brook rippling and sparkling with reflected light.
To his left a battery of guns was clattering over a rough-hewn wooden bridge, troops left the road to wade across the knee-deep stream. A few men playfully splashed each other. Sergeants called for canteens, handing them off to details to fill while the column pushed on, the water bearers enjoying their work for a few minutes, some tossing off packs, haversacks, and cartridge boxes and collapsing into the water to cool off, before picking up their gear and filled canteens to double-time back into the column.
More than a few men lay in the shadow of the trees, barefoot, soaking their feet, one of the men gingerly wrapping torn strips of cloth around his bleeding and blistered heels. At the sight of the general some came to attention. A provost guard watching the group nervously declared the men» exhausted troops from a Virginia regiment, had been given passes to fall out of the march for a few minutes but would catch up to their unit.
Lee said nothing. He nodded and then, gathering Traveler's reins, trotted across the stream and up the bank through the high river grass, birds kicking up around him.
Old Thomas Jackson would never have stood for the boys falling out like that. He'd have shouted for them to get back in the ranks and march till they dropped, but today was not the day for that. Reports from the previous week's march were that hundreds of men, listed as missing in action, had actually collapsed and died in the forced marching in hundred-degree heat. He therefore had sent word down that those unable to keep up today were to be treated leniently.
As he came up out of the streambed he saw a low church steeple, a small village of a few dozen homes, the windows of some showing limp Confederate flags, others shuttered and closed. Longstreet's headquarters flag fluttered out in a gentle breeze near the church, an awning set up in front of it, with staff gathering around.
Uniforms showed gold braid. He saw Stuart still astride his horse, leaning over, talking with Beauregard. Hood, sitting on a chair under the awning, head back, was obviously asleep. Seeing him coming up, men began to stir, staff moving about, setting chairs around a table.
A corporal offered to take Traveler's reins, and Lee with a sigh dismounted. On stiff legs he walked toward the gathering, returning the salutes of those waiting for him.
Someone nudged Hood, who looked around sleepily and then stood up. Stuart dismounted, taking off his plumed hat as he stepped under the awning.
These were his old warriors and Providence had been kind in this fight, sparing all of them yet again. Not a division commander had been lost in this last fight, thank God, though Pickett had lost three of his five brigade commanders and the others were wounded. He caught a glimpse of Pickett standing nervously to one side, the man breaking eye contact when Lee looked at him for a moment.
Under the awning Longstreet pointed to a chair at the head of the table. Lee settled down, a servant bringing to him what appeared to be a miracle, lemonade that was actually iced, and he gladly took it, draining half the glass. Benjamin sat down by his right side, Taylor moved in behind
Lee, while his cavalry escort dismounted, the men then walking their mounts back down to the stream to water them.
The corps commanders gathered around the table and sat down, division commanders stood behind them.
"General Stuart," Lee began, "what is the latest news?"
"Well, sir, we lost our outpost and telegraphy connection at Carlisle."
"When?"
"Shortly after six this morning, sir. Yankee cavalry hit them hard. Our men were forced to retreat and we lost all connection."
"And what other word is there?"
"Sir, all our telegraph connections that can report quickly on Harrisburg are down. The outposts we still have are at Shippensburg, Hanover Junction, Frederick, and Gettysburg."
As he spoke he pointed out the positions on the map.
"We had a report at midmorning that the Yankees were also crossing by ferry at Wrightsville, cavalry," he paused, "and infantry. It is also reported they are starting to build a pontoon bridge as well at that location. We then lost our outpost at York about two hours ago."
"Grant's first move," Longstreet interjected, "is to cut our telegraph outposts, blind us."
"We'd have done the same," Lee replied noncommittally. He had hoped they could have held contact for most of the day. The use of telegraphs for such reports was something new for the Army of Northern Virginia, but given the vast front they now operated on, literally all of eastern Maryland and south central Pennsylvania, he had hoped to keep these precious lines up awhile longer.
"So any information we have now, sir," Stuart continued, "is nearly as old as our first reports, couriers have to carry them back to our remaining posts."
"And those reports?"
"The same, sir. Grant pushed the bridge across during the night at Harrisburg, and they started moving before dawn.
Railroad equipment was sighted as well. Moved by train up to the bridge north of Harrisburg, across the river, and down the right bank. Apparently they are already laying track and replacing bridges we'd torn up." "Units?"
"Definitely corps strength or more. McPherson's Corps was in the lead. The report I just mentioned from York indicated infantry in corps strength preparing to cross at Wrightsville. That's it, so far."
"He'd lead with McPherson," Hood said softly. "We all know he is a good man."
Lee nodded in agreement.
"And that is it?" Lee asked.
"I'm sorry, sir, but that is all I can report now."
"It is not your fault, General Stuart," Lee replied, holding his hand up.
He did not add that now, more than ever, he regretted the audacity of the raid attempted a week ago by Wade Hampton. He had felt some reluctance to adopt Stuart's bold plan, to launch Hampton on a raid up toward Reading to gather intelligence on Grant, sow panic, disrupt rail transportation, and perhaps even skirt the edge of Philadelphia.
Grant's cavalry, backed by infantry, had relentlessly hunted Wade down, killed him, and wiped out his entire brigade. Those men would have been invaluable now for shadowing Grant. The only forces deployed to shadow Grant were two regiments detached from his nephew Fitz Lee's Brigade. That was nowhere near enough to harass Grant, to slow him, and at this moment, far more importantly, to gain knowledge of his intentions.
Lee studied the map for a moment, finishing his iced lemonade.
What would I do? He wondered. I will not put myself in Grant's shoes, not yet. I'll do so when I know the man better. Don't assume he will do what I would do.
He leaned back from the table and motioned for another glass.
"Comments?"
"He'll come straight at us," "Pete" Longstreet said. "He's just securing his right flank at Carlisle. The main push will come from York to Hanover Junction, then to Baltimore using the Northern Central Railroad for supplies. He'll use the rail line for supplies and come straight down those tracks toward Baltimore."
Pete fell silent for a
moment. Lee nodded for his old war-horse to continue.
"If he started this last night, I think he was hoping that we would still be tangled up along the Susquehanna, mopping up Sickles. Our men exhausted, worn down. He then pivots."
As Longstreet spoke he brushed his hand across the map to indicate the move.
"Pins us north of Baltimore."
"Precisely why I ordered this forced march back to Baltimore today," Lee replied.
He nodded toward the road down which the endless column flowed by, the men slowing in their passage at the sight of Lee and his lieutenants under the awning not fifty yards away. Guards along the road could be heard chanting over and over, "Keep moving, boys. Yes, it's General Lee. Don't disturb them. Keep moving, boys...."
"If he does that," Lee said, "we've slipped the noose and Grant will just reoccupy the ground Sickles tried to take. Let him have it, then we are inside Baltimore, behind fortifications, and he can attack us till doomsday."
"I've learned to have a healthy respect for this man," Beauregard said softly, the lilt of his Louisiana accent soft and pleasant.
"Go on, sir," Lee replied.
"I'd be nervous about getting ourselves pinned inside of Baltimore. Look at the way he maneuvered between Forts Henry and Donelson, the way he encircled Vicksburg from the rear. If we stay in Baltimore, he might very well envelope us, circle around, and reconnect to his supplies through Washington. Do that, and he frees up the garrison of Washington to act as an offensive force, too. Sir, I'd be cautious about that move. We don't want Grant to gain control of the forty thousand men still pinned down there."
"Good advice, General Beauregard, but if that threat should arise, it will be five days, perhaps a week from now. But would you concur with General Longstreet that he will turn at Carlisle and come straight at us?"
Beauregard lowered his gaze, staring intently at the map for a moment.
"Honestly, sir, I don't know. I do not know this terrain, the land, the roads the way you men do.
Hood cleared his threat and Lee turned to face the commander of his Second Corps.
"Go on, General Hood. Your thoughts."
"I'd agree with General Longstreet," Hood replied, "except for one thing."
"And that is?"
"McPherson being in the lead and marching on Carlisle."
"And that is?"
"Sir. You and I know McPherson. I believe Grant brought him east to be his fast-moving corps, his Jackson."
Hood hesitated, realizing he had unintentionally offered an insult.
"Or the task you now do so ably, General Longstreet," Hood cried.
"No insult taken, sir," Pete said, just offering a smile and a nod.
"Please continue, General Hood," Lee interjected.
"If I was Grant, and wanted the strike to come due south, I'd have placed McPherson in Wrightsville and built the first bridge there, not at Harrisburg. I think we can read into this, sir, that perhaps Grant's intent is not to come due south, but rather to swing wide."
Hood gestured toward the map and motioned with his hand.
"A broad sweeping march down the Cumberland Valley. To turn our flank, perhaps even spring into Virginia."
Lee did not reply. Hood had raised a point. He next turned to Jeb.
"General Stuart? Your opinion."
"Most likely straight at us, sir. He can close in three to four days, using the intact railroad for support. Swinging down the valley will take more time, and the Yankees always are slower than us. Add in that, repairing the railroad will tie them up further. We tore that railroad in the Cumberland Valley apart for just that reason, sir, but kept the Northern Central intact in case we had to eventually move back to Harrisburg. Grant will take advantage of that and come straight at us looking for a fight."
"May I interject something, sir?" Judah Benjamin, the Confederate secretary of state, asked quietly.
"Of course, sir. I always value your opinion."
"I am not a military man, sir, but I can look at this from the political side."
"Go on, sir."
"The Lincoln administration has suffered two devastating blows in less than two months. Your victories at Union Mills and these last few days on this ground. Your victories have brought Maryland officially to our side as well."
Longstreet shifted a bit but said nothing. Only the day before Pete had spoken derisively of Maryland's failure to raise even a single division to join the ranks. Only a few thousand Marylanders had so far volunteered; the rest were taking a wait-and-see attitude.
Judah looked up at Pete and smiled.
"I know, General, you are disappointed that there has been no levy en masse by our brothers in Maryland, but remember, they have endured two years of oppression by Lincoln and his cronies."
"All the more reason for them to rally to the colors."
"That time will come."
"When the war is over and we have won," Pete- replied coolly.
"Gentlemen, let us focus on the moment," Lee interjected smoothly.
Longstreet lowered his head.
"The political pressure on Lincoln is, after what you achieved these last few days, all but overwhelming. His coalition is on the point of collapse."
"I wish to heaven he would collapse! When are they going to learn they can't beat us?" Beauregard interjected. If not for the presence of Lee, he would have used more forceful words. All those around the table would have eagerly added to them, but none dared to voice their hatred of this effort to conquer them.
"Sickles was a War Democrat, the darling of that group, and now he is defeated and in disgrace," Benjamin said.
"Does anyone know how he is?" Lee asked.
"He's in Philadelphia," Stuart said. "He'll live, but I regret to say, sir, that we just got word that General Warren died this morning in one of our field hospitals."
There was a moment of silence, someone behind Lee sighing with a whispered comment, "Damn this war."
Warren had been one of them, or rather they had once been one with him. Another comrade of West Point gone, a devout man, well liked on both sides.
Benjamin had fallen silent out of respect. At a gesture from Lee he went on. 'There is no real political motive for the War Democrats of the North to continue to support Lincoln, but there is precious little they can do at this moment to stop him. Congress is adjourned, the rats having fled when we first threatened the capital. For all practical purposes Lincoln has a dictatorship at this moment, but he must do something with that, and his lone remaining chance is Grant."
"So you think he will order Grant to come straight at us?" "No, sir, I don't," Judah said quietly. "Pray why not?"
"It's his last card. Lincoln is holding one last card, and he is now looking us straight in the eyes. Once he plays it, well, the drama will be decided as to whether that card is trump or not. I suspect he'll buy a little more time. The War Democrats can announce their withdrawal of support, riots can erupt again in New York and elsewhere, but I think our opponent will not lay that card down until something is in place to hedge his bet with."
"What about France?" Beauregard asked. "I heard that you said their intervention is all but certain."
Beauregard, proud of his French heritage, was always promoting the idea that France would eventually come to their side, as she did back during the First Revolution.
Judah smiled.
"Not a direct quote, sir," Judah replied with a cagey smile, "but close enough. Yes, Emperor Napoleon the Third will come in, but will that impact us here over the next month or two? I doubt it. If he sorties with his fleet to try to break the blockade at Wilmington, Charleston, or even at the mouth of the Chesapeake, I dare say the Yankee navy and heavy ironclads will make short work of them.
"No, the French, as always, will play their own game to their own advantage. They will not help directly, only indirectly, and that will be along the coast of Texas, in support of their mad affair in Mexico. Even if they did break the blockade there, even i
f they broke the blockade at New Orleans, it would be long months before that impacted this front here.
"And frankly, gentleman, as secretary of state, though I wish for their help now, I certainly do not look forward to cleaning up the mess when we finally win and then have to kick them back out, because once involved on our side they will demand payment of some kind or another."
"So you don't see any change that will affect us here and now?" Beauregard asked. There was a trace of sadness in his voice.
"No, sir. And Lincoln knows that, too. Sorry, gentlemen, but don't look to France for any major changes in the situation you now face here in Maryland"
"Back to the original issue then," Lee said, "the here and now of this moment. For all these reasons, what do you think Grant will do, Mr. Secretary?"
"Wait you out."
"Sir?"
"Just that, General Lee. I heard the report you received but yesterday that a colored division had joined Grant's army. If he waits you out another two weeks, might he not gain another few divisions of colored troops, perhaps a few more battalions of artillery, more supplies, a few more brigades of remounts for cavalry? Might he not actually repair the rail line in the Cumberland Valley clear down to Hagerstown and thus give himself even more mobility? Might he not wait and force you to take the initative and in so doing choose the ground? Perhaps, sir, might he not just simply bypass you completely and march down the valley, cross into Virginia, and march on Richmond?"
"It is hard for me to see him doing that," Lee replied slowly, sipping again at his refilled glass of lemonade. "Moving on Richmond or waiting."
"Your views, sir?" Judah asked.
"If I were Grant, I would attack now, and with everything I have. My army has endured two months of hard campaigning; we took heavier-than-expected losses in our last action."
He could not help but raise his head for a few seconds and gaze again at Pickett, who stood silent, frozen in place.
"Five of the original nine divisions that started this campaign two and a half months ago have taken grievous losses. My sense of Grant is that he will come straight on, hoping to catch us exhausted, perhaps still strung out on a march back to Baltimore. Force us then to turn and fight.
Never Call Retreat - Civil War 03 Page 4
