A Rainbow of Blood: The Union in Peril an Alternate History

by Peter G. Tsouras

  Alger grinned as he punched one gauntleted fist into another. Custer would have loved to have seen that. He leaped onto his horse and charged down into the wreckage, followed by his Wolverines 11

  Custer would indeed have been delighted to have been there, but at the same moment, he had his hands full with only the 1st, 6th, and 7th Michigan of his old brigade, and 1st Vermont recently attached-barely thirteen hundred men-trying to slow down an advance by the enemy's cavalry and infantry in at least division strength. Paulet had not wasted a moment when Custer had driven his cavalry in and immediately threw his 1st Division and cavalry right back at the Wolverines. Hooker's presence this close had surprised him, and he knew he had to get away from the river to acquire maneuver room. The rest of his force, his 2nd Division, would have to follow as it arrived by river and train. Word of the destruction of the train to the north had not reached him.

  He had expected to have almost 22,000 men (47 percent Imperial troops and 53 percent Canadians) and 84 guns to meet Hooker's force, which he correctly estimated at about the same strength. Instead, he was heading into a fight less one division of about 7,500 men. It made him feel like he had only one boot on, a feeling he unknowingly shared with Longstreet at Gettysburg when the Confederate general had to fight without Pickett's division." His major combat units at hand would be his 1st Division, the Brigade of Guards, 500 inexperienced cavalry, and 68 guns (see Appendix Q. If his 2nd Division was to get into the fight, the survivors of the wrecked train would have to pull themselves together and join the other brigades coming behind, which would have to detrain and all force-march toward the sound of the guns. Unfortunately for him, the 5th Michigan was picketing the road south to intercept any messengers that might tell him what had happened to his other boot.13

  Custer had led more than one sharp counterattack in person with the 1st Michigan when the enemy pressed too hard. The time was coming when he would have to break contact or become decisively engaged, and the latter would destroy his short brigade. That time did not come. At the last moment, the 5th New York galloped up for the fight; this was their home, and they wanted a big piece of Custer's action. They were the lead regiment in the cavalry brigade Hooker had sent to reinforce him. The horse artillery batteries wheeled into line just behind them. Brig. Gen. Henry Davies, Jr. rode up. "Well, George, it looks like you saved some of the fight for us. Hooker should be up with XII Corps in an hour or less. Then the party will really begin."14

  Behind him appeared their division commander, Brig. Gen. Judson Kilpatrick. Custer and Davis looked briefly at each other and looked away. Kilpatrick was a fighting man, but reckless with his mouth, the truth, and the welfare of his men, hence his nickname, "Kill Calvary Kilpatrick." No one had forgotten how he had thrown away the life of the brilliant young cavalry brigadier Elon Farnsworth at Gettysburg. He had made a completely unwarranted slight at the man's courage. Farnsworth had charged unbroken Confederate infantry to put the lie to the slur and died for it "s

  HMS NETTLE, APPROACHING THE WASHINGTON ARSENAL, 7:30 AM, OCTOBER 28, 1863

  The captain of Nettle was elated at the scene on the Arsenal wharves as his gunboat came up. Wagons were rushing munitions up to a number of barges, and teams of black laborers were transferring them-all very orderly. One barge had pulled away to steam away upriver to directly supply Fort Runyon on the Virginia side. The sight of Nettle's Union Jack flapping in the southeast wind panicked the Arsenal workers. They fled from the docks while the teamsters tried to turn their wagons in the press of fleeing men. Bullets started to whiz over the ship. A few of the Union guards had stuck to their posts and decided to put up a fight. One of them was a good enough shot to drop Nettle's helmsman at the captain's side. Guards on the escaping barge added their fire as Nettle lurched to port with the wheel unmanned.

  The captain jumped to grab the swinging wheel and put his boat back on course. He had strict orders to support the Confederate infantry that was trailing Nettle in their boats in their mission to seize the Arsenal intact. That meant not firing on its warehouses, but that did not mean he could not clear the docks of snipers. Unfortunately, he did not stop to consider that the docks themselves were piled high with powder and munitions.

  Lowe's ground crews were hard at work, raising the second balloon while lowering Lowe's. They had met at about 500 feet above the Navy Yard when a thunderous explosion drew every head south. The men aboard the British flotilla stopped as the wave of the explosion rocked their ships. More explosions ripped the air and shuddered through the earth as the Arsenal's huge store of munitions ignited building by building. Bullets set off by the millions and whizzed through the air when flame touched their paper cartridges. The explosions blew shells of all calibers to arc out and fall like iron hail. Even the fighting on the Virginia side of the Potomac stopped as every man turned to the fiery spectacle. Cheers echoed from the massed Confederates around Fort Runyon. Lee and his ordnance officers were less pleased. They had counted on the spoils of the Arsenal to pump new blood into the Army of Northern Virginia for months to come.

  Of course, the source of the explosion was to causes recriminations for decades. Commodore Dunlop maintained until his death that he gave no orders to fire upon the Arsenal. Some have blamed the men of the 27th North Carolina for firing on the Arsenal docks from their barges. Colonel Cooke was also adamant that he gave no orders for destruction. Both men insisted that they had orders to capture the Arsenal intact. Unfortunately, the commander of the Yard also died in the explosion, and the few survivors could shed no light on the cause.16

  Such speculations were a luxury for the future-and the survivors. The serial explosions had shaken the city and shattered every third pane of glass. Shells and burning debris were falling into the city itself, starting fires seemingly everywhere. The streets quickly filled with the remaining inhabitants. Terrified civilians crowded every street leading out of the city into Maryland. Many soldiers from the vast quartermaster and commissary establishments deserted and joined the rush. Panic was not confined to the human inhabitants alone. Shells and debris fell among the vast herds in the Foggy Bottom stockyards, driving the animals to a frenzied rush that broke through their pens and into the streets. Roofs were blazing throughout half of the city. Lee's laurels, it seemed, would be a fiery wreath.

  From Lowe's balloon, the view seemed straight from judgment Day - the Arsenal was a sea of flames and smoke, the streets were filled with terrified refugees and animals, and the city itself was beginning to burn here and there. Greek words filled Professor Lowe's mind as he searched for a description -catastrophia, cataclysma, o telos (the end). But it was not the end of miseries, for only just then did the fires find the gunpowder bunkers at the Arsenal where thousands of tons of gunpowder had been stored. It was more than an explosion-it was a wave of power that pulsed outward to push the balloons nearly horizontal until their cables almost snapped. The occupants hung on for dear life. Lowe tried to catch his telegrapher as the man was blown out of the basket and plunged screaming to earth. He was barely able to keep Zeppelin from following him .17

  The sound followed the force wave. Men remembered it as if the crack of doom itself had been sounded. What they recalled even more clearly was the immense cloud that funneled into the sky in a vast column, higher and higher until it rushed laterally as well as upwards in a great rounded head - some said like a mushroom. Lightning was seen sending its yellow bolts inside the cloud.

  The force of the explosion had staggered Dunlop's ships, which were cruising right off the Arsenal and beginning to steam up the Eastern Branch. Nettle had disintegrated in the blast. Peterel had been doused with flaming debris and set on fire. The rest had had men blown overboard, eardrums punctured, their vessels' rigging shredded, and fires started. The British ships were simply stunned. The Confederate infantry in their boats and barges had been farther back down the main channel and not suffered as much. Colonel Cooke would write from his vantage point that "Hell had opened up its mouth lik
e a volcano."18

  Lowe had seen enough and signaled for the winches to resume pulling him down. Once on the ground, he bounded out of the basket to ensure that there was enough gas to go up again. The crews were still at their station, terror in their eyes, but the sergeants kept the men at their work. Lowe desperately wanted to find that naval officer who had told him about the fuses. He looked around the yard with its rushing men. "Sir!" Lowe turned around to see him. "I thought you might want these," and pointed to a pile of ammunition boxes labeled as nine-inch shells and 5-pound Ketchum hand grenades.

  Lowe could have kissed him on the spot but couldn't spare the time. "Start loading! We can take five of the shells and a hundred of the grenades. That and two men will give us the maximum weight the balloon can lift. Hurry, man-for God's sake, hurry!" They carried the boxes by their rope handles to the basket. Zeppelin dragged boxes of grenades over to help.

  Lowe paused long enough to ask, "Your name, Lieutenant? If we are going to ascend, we should know each other's name. I'm Thaddeus Lowe."

  The lieutenant just grinned and said, "Cushing, sir. Will Cushing."19

  CLAVERACK, NEW YORK, 8:05 AM, OCTOBER 28, 1863

  Hooker on his white horse, his color bearer, and a small escort galloped into Claverack as the cavalry was rapidly retreating into it in from the opposite direction. It was obvious from the number of wounded clinging to their saddles that they had been through a hard fight. It was equally clear that they were still in good order and had a lot more fight left in them. Hooker raised his hat and waved so the men would recognize him. They were glad to see their commander so near the smell of powder and waved their carbines and pointed him out.

  He found a knot of officers around Custer, his long blond hair and red bandana unmistakable. "Well, Custer, I hope you've set up a good fight for us."

  Custer, all whiplash energy, laughed and pointed in the direction of Hudson. "The British Army will be here in ten minutes, General. Of course, there aren't quite as many of them as there were two hours ago. I estimate they've got at least ten thousand men on the field. Watch out for their artillery. It's best and fastest I've ever seen."

  Hooker rubbed his jaw. "Those must be their Armstrongs. Well, I have a few surprises myself." He motioned to an aide. "Tell General Slocum to bring up XII Corps at the double quick." Then to Custer, "Let's go forward."2°

  Hooker was not the only man who had a reputation to win back that day. Henry Slocum had vacillated about coming to the aid of the embattled I and XI Corps on the first day at Gettysburg and had earned the epithet of "Slow Come." At the age of thirty-six, he had been the youngest corps commander in the Army of the Potomac, and upon Hooker's relief after Chancellorsville that May he was the most senior of the corps commanders. Seniority would have given him command of the Army, but his unassertiveness ensured that was never seriously considered. He had served through the Chancellorsville campaign and so despised Hooker that he had attempted to resign twice when placed under his command again, but Lincoln had refused, reminding Slocum that in this hour of national peril, no one had the right to such luxuries. Hooker's aide found him halted with his corps four miles to the rear at Linlithgo Mills. He had to repeat Hooker's order several times as Slocum conferred with his staff. Finally, with the column still at a halt, the aide galloped back to Claverack.21

  At the same time, Hooker and Custer had found a perfect vantage to view the British advance, an apple orchard on a small hill outside the town. The last of the cavalry was pulling out. Not far beyond them was a red line of skirmishers pressing forward. Well-aimed artillery shells fell along the road and caught a dozen cavalrymen, sending them and their horses flying across the freshly harvested field. Two pieces of field artillery rode up to the orchard and unlimbered to slow down the advance a bit. Before they could fire, British artillery was lacing the copse. Hooker's standard bearer was blown out of his saddle by a six-inch-long iron fragment. Shells smothered the two guns. A limber with its dead horses around it was hit and exploded.22

  The enemy was coming straight from the direction of Hudson across the open ground. They could have taken a slower but more covered route in the orchards and woody hills just to the east, but speed was obviously uppermost in his enemy's mind. Speed was uppermost in Hooker's mind also-Slocum's speed. If he did not get over the creek in time, then the enemy would force his cavalry back through Claverack and back south over the creek. Then somebody would have to attack over the creek, and the defender would have it as an obstacle in front of him. Not that it was much of one -shallow and banks none too steepbut it could be enough. Hooker had also noticed as he rode over the little bridge crossing the creek that apple orchards grew north and south of it just to the west. He had also noticed just before he approached the bridge that a large hollow lay less than half a mile south of the creek.

  Hooker had added all this to his calculations. "Custer, get your men strung out on either side of the town behind any wrinkle in the ground that will give them protection from the guns. Slocum should be up to fill in and allow you to pull back into reserve. Go, now."23 Custer dashed off while Hooker just leaned forward in the saddle and scanned the field with his field glasses. Beyond the skirmishers a wave of dense scarlet battalions was moving forward in beautiful order. As an old soldier, Hooker had to admire such drill. But Americans would have been covering the ground much faster. He thought, Good, Lord Paulet, give me more time.

  Hooker only quit the orchard when the enemy's skirmishers were four hundred yards away. Bullets whistled past him as he whipped his horse back to Claverack, fully expecting to find Slocum deploying. He pulled up by Custer with not an infantryman in sight just as his aide rode up to answer the question that enraged Hooker: where was Slocum? The artillery had found them again and was falling across the village. A trooper rode up on a wounded horse that whinnied in pain. The rider desperately tried to calm her, but her wound was too much. She fell to her knees and rolled over to claw at the air with her hooves. The rider had jumped off just in time. He stepped over to the horse and shot it, then reported to Custer. "Sir, they've flanked us to the north with some cavalry. We're pulling back trying to delay, but the colonel said to tell you that unless you want to get yourself captured, get out of town."

  Hooker said, "Sounds like good advice. Pull back out of town a half mile on the other side of that creek. There are orchards on the other side that will give you some shelter." His fair complexion now reddened. "Now, let me see what happened to General Slocum." He spurred his horse out of town.24

  Lord Paulet's horse picked its way gingerly through the dead men and horses of the guns on the copse that had held Hooker only fifteen minutes before. Wolseley was part of his party, too large a party, he thought. Still, Wolseley had been impressed by Paulet's conduct of the battle so far. As soon as he realized American cavalry was on his flank, Paulet had lashed out and promptly put his troops in motion for a colli sion. There was no hope now that the Americans would give them time to build their miniature "Lines of Torres Vedras" from the river to the hills. Paulet had a fight on his hands, and he had stepped up punching. The troops had behaved splendidly and executed every movement with great skill, though the Canadian cavalry had suffered heavily from their inexperience and the firepower of Custer's repeaters. There would be a special commendation for the Royal Artillery, who were handling their Armstrongs with great precision and a speed Wolseley had never seen before in muzzle-loading guns. What he did not see was the rate of malfunction as improperly closed and rusted breeches blew back. He was impressed with the Canadians; their close association with the British regulars had paid off. They had pushed their skirmish lines forward aggressively and pressed on despite casualties. The sight of blood had not unnerved them. So far, so good.

  But the fight had only begun. The enemy cavalry had fought a superb delaying action and inflicted heavy casualties with their carbines. The American infantry had not appeared yet. Paulet was saving the Brigade of Guards for that. From the orchard, th
ey could see the Imperial and Canadian battalions sweeping by toward the village down the road. They cheered their commander as they passed him. Wolseley would remember that moment as Paulet gallantly lifted his cap as Britannia's scarlet might surged past.25

  THE WHITE HOUSE, WASHINGTON, D.C., 8:07 AM, OCTOBER 28, 1863

  After their meeting that morning, Sharpe had left Lincoln to return to his headquarters. The president had reminded him that the 120th and Hooker's Horse Marines were about the only fighting men in the city not defending the forts. As the sound of gunfire echoed over the river, he suggested that they might be needed for something more than guard duty. Save for one company, Sharpe sent Tappen off with the men and their coffee mill guns to the southern end of the Presidential Park, which led down to where the Washington Canal fed into the Potomac.

  The blast from the exploding Arsenal shattered the headquarters windows. Everyone rushed out to gape at the huge clouds and flames rising from the south. Wilmoth, with his brand-new second lieutenant's shoulder straps, came running minutes later with a telegram.

  "Sir, Lowe's balloon over the Navy Yard reports British ships coming up the East Branch and a flotilla of boats coming up the Potomac side."

  Sharpe grabbed the young man by the shoulders. "Run to the White House. Show this to the president. Tell him, Andy Jackson's statue be damned -he and his family must be ready to leave the city immediately. Tell him I will hogtie him if I have to."

  Wilmoth's eyes went wide, and he tore off across the square with the telegram in hand.'

  The explosion of the Arsenal had sent flaming debris through the roof of the White House. Mrs. Lincoln was in shrieking hysteria after a jagged, twenty-pound piece of iron crashed through the window and gouged its way across her breakfast table. Her black seamstress and confidante, Mrs. Elizabeth Keckley, ran out of the house to find the president, who had started to walk over to the War Department. She caught him before he had gotten too far and blurted out the scene. He rushed back immediately, his burly bodyguard trying to keep up as those long legs raced to the White House.