“I’m sorry, Win. This is how it has to be – at least until this campaign’s concluded.” He turned his horse and rode away.
~
“Your men can sleep in shifts,” Robert E. Lee said to the collection of officers and noncoms, “but the construction must continue. I understand that the troops are tired and that their hands are blistered from all the digging, but if those people get around us here, they have a clear path to Richmond.” He pointed. “We’ll want another trench in front of this. It should be at a steep angle, away from this one. We do not want any straight lines. When confronted with fortifications, marching troops will unconsciously align themselves to approach the obstacle straight on. Jagged broken defensive lines will cause the enemy to break alignment and lose cohesion.” He pointed again. “These oblique trenches will permit us to engage the attacker’s exposed flanks to enfilading fire.”
“With all due respect, the men don’t like this, General,” a young colonel said. “They feel like it’s cowardly to fight from a hole in the ground, sir. They’d rather stand toe-to-toe, and I, for one, think they’re up to it.”
“We can’t afford the kind of losses we’d experience in a head-on fight,” Lee replied, in a gentle tone. “There are no reserves behind us. If the enemy gets past us here, Richmond’s only defense will be some fat old men and boys in fancy uniforms armed with muzzle loaders and rusty swords. Our army must get used to fighting from holes in the ground and you must convince them that it’s brave and prudent.”
“Yes, sir.”
June 3, 1864
Cold Harbor, Virginia
At 4:30 AM, Grant was drinking coffee and smoking his third cigar as Colonel Porter, his aide-de-camp, rode in. “Don’t tell me. Another delay.”
“No, sir.” Porter dismounted. “The attack is underway.”
Grant listened for a moment. “I don’t hear anything.”
“It’s these blasted woods, sir,” Porter said. “They dampen the sound. But I was on that hill and saw Hancock step out.”
“Did you see that message from Baldy Smith?” Grant asked.
“Yes, sir. It’s insubordinate. General Smith should be relieved.”
Grant chuckled. “If I relieved every angry general I’d be alone out here. Baldy has a point and he’s not saying anything that Hancock and Wright haven’t said – albeit, a little less gently.”
Porter hesitated. “Sir. From my vantage point on that hill, for a few seconds when the fog cleared, I had a clear view of the higher Confederate lines in the moonlight.”
“And?”
“The fortifications are astounding. There are two or three rows of curved trenches following the topography and zigzagged adjoining trenches with redoubts at regular intervals. They’ve got gun platforms dug into the taller hillsides covering every approach. It’s going to be very difficult to dislodge them.”
Grant cocked his head as the sound of cannon fire reached them. “After yesterday’s delays I should have cancelled this attack and taken today to plan. But I couldn’t do it without usurping Meade’s authority.”
“Sir, if you’ll permit me. General Meade’s nowhere near as loyal to you as you are to him.”
Grant waved his hand. “I don’t want to hear gossip, Colonel.”
“Yes, sir. My apologies.”
“No need. Let’s move our headquarters to your hill.”
“It’s in range of their cannons, sir.”
“We’ll have a good view, then.”
“Might I suggest that we invite General Van Buskirk to accompany us, sir? With his brigade. He’s camped less than a mile away.”
“Ask him, don’t order him,” Grant replied. “And one of his squadrons will be enough. I don’t want to attract too much attention.”
~
Grant pointed. “Do you see what’s happening? Five-Corps is breaking formation as they approach the Reb’s trenches.”
Paul Van Buskirk nodded. “Each unit’s squaring up with the defensive line.”
“Exposing their flanks to enfilading fire from the batteries and the redoubts.”
“They’re getting slaughtered.”
“Message from General Meade, sir,” an aide said from behind them.
“Read it to me, please,” Grant replied.
“Yes, sir. It says: ‘I should be glad to have your views as to the continuance of these attacks, if unsuccessful.’ That’s all.”
Grant turned around. “That’s all?”
“Yes, sir. Except for the standard salutation, closing and request for an answer.”
Grant looked back at the battle for a moment before turning back to the aide. “Send this: The moment it becomes certain that an assault cannot succeed, suspend the offensive, but when one does succeed push it vigorously, and if necessary pile in troops at the successful point from wherever they can be taken.” He looked past the aide to Porter. “We’ll be moving to Meade’s headquarters now.”
“Yes, sir,” Porter replied.
“Do you want me to come with you, sir?” Paul asked.
Grant nodded. “After I have a talk with General Meade I think I’d like to take a tour of the lines. Maybe visit with some of the commanders. You and your squadron can escort me.”
At 12:30 PM, Grant issued an order to all commanders suspending the attack.
June 6, 1864
New Hope Church, Georgia
It was pouring rain. Generals William T. Sherman and Robert Van Buskirk were sheltered beneath a canvas that was stretched between four trees. With a grunt, Robert used one of his occasionally needed crutches to raise the center and dump the collected water.
“Just poke a hole in it,” Sherman suggested. He was reading a soggy newspaper.
“It’ll turn the whole place into mire if I do.” Robert returned to his chair. “You’d think we’d have a tent pole in all this truck.”
“The people in the North have turned on Grant,” Sherman said, pointing to a front-page story. “They’re calling him a fumbling butcher.”
“Why?”
“Ten to twelve thousand casualties at Cold Harbor. Fifty thousand since the first of May.”
“Can I read that?” Robert asked.
Sherman gave him the paper. “I want it back when you’ve finished the story. I haven’t read the whole thing.”
Robert skimmed the article, then went back to re-read it from the top. “Did you see this bit about Lee’s fortifications?”
“Yeah.”
“They are intricate, zigzagged lines within lines, lines protecting flanks of lines, lines built to enfilade opposing lines…”
“I read it. What about it?”
“…works within works and works outside works, each laid out with some definite design.”
“I read it, Professor,” Sherman said loudly. “What’s your point?”
“Why would Sam launch a frontal attack on a virtual fortress?”
“My guess would be that Meade did the planning.”
Robert looked over the paper at him. “What makes you think so?”
“Baldy Smith says that Meade’s jealous of all the attention that Grant gets so he’s slow at executing Grant’s orders. From that it might be safe to assume that Meade’s trying to make Sam look bad.”
“When did you hear from Baldy?”
“I got a letter by messenger from him today.”
“Did he say anything else?”
“He gave a couple of other examples of how Meade’s sabotaging Sam.” Sherman pointed. “His letter’s in the breast pocket of my coat. But give me the paper back before you get it.”
Robert gave him the newspaper, then retrieved the letter from Sherman’s coat pocket. “Can you get along without me?” he asked after reading through the first page.
Sherman looked at him. “Yeah. As long as Johnston continues to retreat toward Atlanta. Why?”
“I need to visit Sam for a few days, but I’ll be back before you start the siege.”
“To he
ll with that. The trains run both ways. You come back if I get in trouble.”
Robert nodded. “I wish there was a faster way to get there.”
“If there’s any advice you want to offer Sam fast, we can always send him an encrypted telegram, bypassing Meade.”
“The only thing I can think of offhand is interdicting Lee’s supplies. But Sam may already be doing it.”
“Interdicting in what way?”
“By attacking Lee’s food sources in the Shenandoah Valley and destroying his rail access to it.”
“The Virginia Central Railroad?”
“Why not? Stoneman’s cavalry’s torn up half the railroad tracks in Tennessee and Georgia. Sheridan can surely do the same in Virginia.”
Sherman looked unconvinced.
“The worst outcome would be that Lee shifts some troops from Cold Harbor to the Shenandoah Valley or Charlottesville to make Sam’s job easier.”
Sherman shrugged. “Write your message and I’ll send for the cryptographer.”
June 11, 1864
Quarles Mills, Virginia
Grant shook Robert Van Buskirk’s hand. “How was your trip?”
“Uneventful. I had a chance to catch up on my sleep on the train. Did you get my encrypted wire?”
“Yes. Good ideas. They’re being implemented.”
“Any results?”
“Initial resistance in the Shenandoah Valley’s been minimal. No one expected us to strike civilian targets. Unconfirmed intelligence has it that Lee’s pulling Breckinridge’s division from here and sending him toward Lynchburg.”
“The railroad?”
“Three of Sheridan’s divisions have been sent toward Charlottesville. No reaction from Lee yet. He only has three cavalry divisions so there’s not much chance that he can stop Sheridan.”
“What are your plans for here at Cold Harbor?”
“I don’t have any,” Grant said. “Lee’s fortifications are nearly impregnable. Do you have any ideas?”
“Yeah, I do. Forget Cold Harbor and sneak away.”
“Retreat? After all this?”
“No, no. Not retreat. Attack Petersburg.”
Grant shook his head. “That’s not gonna work. Butler tried it. Petersburg’s a fortress too.”
“Show me.” Robert waved toward the map.
“How much do you know?”
“About Petersburg?” Robert shrugged. “Assume that I don’t know anything.”
“Okay.” Grant tapped the map with his index finger. “Petersburg’s protected by multiple fortified trenches. The outer line is called the Dimmock Line.” He pointed it out on the map.
“Trenches and what else?”
“Extensive earthworks, fifty or more redoubts. They’re not all marked on this.”
Robert traced the line with his finger. “How long is this?”
“About ten miles long.”
“Okay. So what have you done to take it?”
“Let me give you some background first.”
“Sure. Go ahead.”
“Ben Butler observed that Lee was bringing reinforcements to Cold Harbor from Petersburg. Butler did some recon and determined that the only Confederate troops manning the Dimmock Line were a brigade commanded by Henry Wise.”
“Henry A. Wise? The former governor of Virginia?”
“Yeah.”
“Sorry. Go on.”
“Butler calculated that Wise’s twenty-five hundred men spread over ten miles would leave gaps big enough to slip some cavalry through to the inner city defenses. On the night of the 8th Butler sent three columns across the Appomattox River: Infantry from Gillmore’s Ten-Corps, the U.S. Colored Troops from Hinks’s Third Division of Eighteen-Corps and a brigade of cavalry under August Kautz. Gilmore and Hinks made contact at about 7:00 the following morning but Kautz wasn’t in position so they held up, waiting for him”
Robert nodded.
“Kautz finally got there about noon and hit the Dimmock Line where it crosses the Jerusalem Plank Road. The Confederate position was only manned by Home Guard and Kautz pushed them back easily. But when he heard no battle sounds from Gilmore’s sector, he figured he was all alone and, instead of following the Rebs into the city, he backed away. By the time Butler got it all sorted out, Beauregard had brought up reinforcements and the opportunity was lost.”
“Okay. Forget the city. Cross the James and threaten the railroad junction at Petersburg. Lee has to follow you.”
“This is the slowest army in the world, Robert. If we start to move, Lee’s going to see it and he’ll get there first.”
“Let’s say you’re right. Lee still has to pull out of his fortifications here, so you’ll regain the initiative, and the maneuver will look like it was part of a grand design. That’ll be enough to build your troop’s morale and it might even be enough to silence some of your critics.”
“I don’t care about my critics.”
“You should. Like it or not, you’re now a public figure, and politics are part of your day-to-day struggles. You’re going to have to find a way to work with Meade or bury him, and you can’t do that from a position of weakness.”
“I’m no good at politics.”
“I know. But you have to stop making it so easy for Meade to blame you when things go wrong and to take the credit when they go right.”
Grant gave him a helpless shrug. “How?”
“It’s simple. Just give him his head and let him run his own race.”
“I can’t do that without jeopardizing the whole campaign.”
“Yes you can. I’ll help you.”
“How long can you stay here?”
“I’m not sure. Johnston’s entrenched on Kennesaw Mountain near Marietta. Cump’s going to threaten to encircle him. That’ll take the rest of this month.”
“There’s a strong rumor abounding that Jefferson Davis is about to relieve Johnston and give his command to Hood.”
“If that happens, I’ll need to go back. Hood won’t run.”
“What about Anna?”
“She’s going to recover, but maybe not completely.”
“Do you need to go see her?”
“No. Mrs. Lincoln’s been mothering over her and Quincy’s there with her.”
“Quincy’s there?” Grant looked troubled. “If I’d realized that I wouldn’t have let you come here. That leaves Cump without two of his key generals.”
“Cump’s fine without us, Sam. Honestly. And it won’t be for long. Tom’s wife Jane’s on the way to Washington from Texas. When she gets there, Quincy will rejoin Cump. In fact, Jane may already be there. I’m out of touch with everyone at the moment.”
“I appreciate your being here, Professor. I really do.”
“I hope I can be some help, Sam.”
“You already are. I needed to see a friendly face.”
Map by Hal Jespersen, www.cwmaps.com
June 18, 1864
City Point, Virginia
Grant was getting dressed as Robert Van Buskirk came into his bedroom in the converted warehouse that he was using as quarters. “You’re up early.”
“It’s 5:00 AM,” Robert said. “I’ve been up for an hour, like any good soldier.”
Grant rolled his eyes.
“You really should designate somebody on your staff to make coffee in the morning.” He pointed over his shoulder with his thumb at the bedroom door. “And while you’re at it, build up your security. There’s nobody in your office and only one guard outside.”
“I’m sure that somebody will be making coffee in a few minutes and Porter will be here at 5:30 with the rest of the staff.”
“At the headquarters of the Army of the Potomac they had coffee made at 4:00 and a brigade stationed around Meade’s quarters,” Robert said. “His quarters are much nicer than yours, by the way.”
“Did you see Meade while you were mooching coffee?”
“Yes. But he was in a foul mood and didn’t offer me any coffee.�
��
“Any news? Other than the status of coffee and Meade’s accommodations?”
“You want the bad news or the bad news?” Robert asked.
Grant made a face.
“Win Hancock collapsed,” Robert said. “His wound from Gettysburg opened up and he nearly bled to death.”
“Win looked bad the last few times that I saw him,” Grant said. “Who’d he appoint in his place?”
“David Birney. Hancock swears he just needs a day or two to recover. Meade’s saying that he won’t approve Birney and that he’ll take over Hancock’s corps himself. Hancock and Birney are ready to kill Meade.”
Grant shrugged. “What’s the other bad news?”
“Well, I think Meade’s going mad.”
Grant looked at him. “Are you going to explain that?”
“He’s enraged that Petersburg hasn’t been taken yet, and he’s sending threats of ‘consequences’ to all his commanders.”
“All of them?”
“No, no, not all.” Robert shook his head. “I shouldn’t have said that. I only know for certain that he sent them to Hancock, Smith, Warren, Burnside and Birney with copies to Washington. I just assumed he sent them to his other commanders.”
“It’s foolish to put those kinds of words in writing. Once you do there’s no way back. But it’s not madness, just foolishness.”
Robert shrugged. “If you say so, Sam.”
“Are you suggesting that I intervene?”
“No, I was just reporting and giving my opinion of Meade’s current state of mind.”
Grant shook his head. “Where’s Lee?”
“Still on the Cold Harbor side of the river. But Beauregard fell back from the primary fortifications to the secondary trench-line at Petersburg during the night, so he may be expecting help from Lee very soon.”
“Any other bad news?”
“Meade’s coming to see you.” Robert chuckled.
“When?” Grant asked.
“He should have been here by now. But, as Lincoln says, he too has the slows.”
“Damn. I hate this watching and waiting for Meade to fall to pieces. It seems dishonest.”
Freedom (Gone For Soldiers) Page 28
