by Drew McGunn
There was a slight hitch in Perry’s voice. “William Seward will, I think, pursue an entirely different policy regarding both Texas and these wayward Southern states than President Cass. But now the gloves have come off as far as the bridge over the Sabine goes. How can the United States Navy help?”
Will had strong views about what should happen. But he’d learned over the years to trust men like Sidney Johnston and Edwin Moore when it came to tactics. He glanced over to Moore, who said, “Aside from our Pacific Squadron, we’ll take our entire fleet up the Sabine Pass to the lake upriver. From there, it's just a few miles before we reach the railroad bridge.”
Perry said, “Do you have current maps of the channel up the river? Our charts are old, but they show frequent sandbars up and down Sabine Pass.”
Moore pointed to a map on the wall, “Yes. We’ve charted all our coastal rivers within the last decade. We’ll have to take our ships up the Pass in single file, staying in the middle of the channel.”
Will stared at the map. He knew the rebels had placed heavy artillery positions at the Pass’s narrowest point. How was Moore planning on neutralizing the batteries?
Moore continued, “We’ve mobilized our entire Marine reserves. I’ve recalled Colonel West from the front with his battalion. He’ll lead a light brigade of fifteen hundred Marines overland and attack the batteries at the same time as we commence our run up the Pass. Commodore, if you’re able, I can provide you charts for the Pass. We need to silence the guns on the Louisiana shoreline.”
Perry studied the map, apparently deep in thought long enough for Will to wonder what he was thinking. Finally, the naval officer gave a single nod. “If I can get approval, I’ll lead my squadron in the steam frigate Mississippi. I’ll dispatch my fastest steam-packet for Norfolk. Shame the telegraph network is down between Texas and Washington. Otherwise, we’d have an answer in a couple of days.”
Moore leaned over the map. “We’ll need time. While Colonel West is a capable officer, I’d like to give him a few weeks to train his reservists and integrate them into his command before we attack.”
Will walked over to the map hanging on the wall and stared at the narrow channel separating Texas and Louisiana. He had spent the last year and a half trying to stave off total war. He’d refused Sid Johnston’s requests for more mobilization because the risk of tanking the economy was real. Now, seven Southern states had seceded, and they were determined to make Texas their eighth state. They’d invested too much of their own blood over the past six months trying to prop up rebels like Robert Potter and James Collinsworth to walk away without a fight.
For the past year, he’d held off ordering an attack on the rebel batteries protecting the Sabine River and the railroad lifeline between East Texas and Louisiana because he didn’t want to expand the war. Containment and suffocation had been his goal. Hell, he thought, that’s why that bastard John Brown is sitting in a jail cell.
Had it been a foolish hope, that Johnston would have been able to smother the rebellion by trapping it against the Sabine River and letting it die from lack of oxygen? The secession of the southern states over Texas argued strongly he’d been mistaken. He wasn’t ready to let go believing he’d been right to limit the scope of the war. Had he been able to force the rebels to surrender before the Southern secession, the conflict would have been over by now.
“Things change, gentlemen,” Will said, turning away from the map and looking at Moore and Perry. His voice was heavy with emotion. “My hope for a quick war died because of that damned bridge connecting Texas to Louisiana. Take out the enemy batteries and destroy that bridge.”
***
Clinching the newspaper in his hand, General William Hardee stepped over the railroad ties as he walked toward the thundering of heavy guns. By his side was the army’s quartermaster general, Peyton Wyatt. The sound was faint but unmistakable. The sun hung low in the western sky, bathing the twilight in brilliant hues of gold, red and orange. “It appears your president has decided to attack, Payton.”
The butternut uniformed Payton stared at the river, languidly flowing southward. “Not my president, Bill. I suspect he’d hang me as look at me. But you’re right. I told Beauregard that if the war remained confined to East Texas, Travis wouldn’t risk angering the United States by attacking the bridge over the Sabine. Now that the bridge’s eastern pilings are no longer in the United States, I suspect Travis isn’t worried about widening the war.”
Hardee’s laughter held a bitter note. “No. Our politicians in New Orleans have put paid to that. Within a couple of months, we’ll muster an army of a hundred thousand.”
Wyatt shook his head as he listened to the thundering down river. “Won’t do us a damned bit of good, though, unless those batteries along the Pass hold the navy back.”
“I’ve received orders from the provisional government in New Orleans to hold the salient and wait for reinforcements. If it’s practical to do so, I would like to follow those orders. You’ve worked with Admiral Moore. What kind of man is he?”
The quartermaster scratched his chin. “Competent. While he wasn’t present for the battle of Campeche back in forty-three, his leadership prepared the navy to fight. If there’s a way for him to push past our defenses there, then he’ll be here within a day. The artillery we have here isn’t heavy enough to stop Moore’s iron sheeted ships. Defeat at the Pass means defeat here. If Moore gets this far, he’ll destroy the bridge.”
Hardee opened the newspaper and reread the headline. It was from Galveston, only a week old. He found the article that provoked his concern.
Orders mobilizing the following battalions have been issued by the Texas War Department
5th, 8th, 11th, 13th, 14th, 17th, 18th, 19th, 20th, 22nd, and 24th Infantry battalions, 6th, 7th, 8th and 9th Cavalry Battalions and the 4th and 5th artillery battalions are to be mobilized for the defense of the Republic for the duration of the conflict.
More than 11,000 men of the mobilized formations will join General Johnston’s army or serve in other capacities as needed. Congress, which had previously authorized a field army of 15,000 has passed a funding bill, expanding the army to more than 30,000 by the summer of 1853.
Congress has also authorized the purchase of 4 new warships from the United States and Great Britain.
President Travis spoke in a joint session of Congress on January 21, “There is no way to take the mobilization of seventy-thousand soldiers in the states in rebellion against the Federal Government in Washington as anything other than an act of war, a naked and ambitious act of a desperate people to try to claim that which isn’t theirs. We are not a rich land. Our people are thinly spread across the continent from the Sabine to the Pacific Ocean, but we are a proud people. We shall not yield our independence. We shall stand firm. We shall defend our borders no matter the cost. We shall fight upon our beaches, we shall fight along our eastern border, we shall fight in the forests and in the fields. We shall never surrender or retreat.”
Grudgingly, Hardee admitted, Travis had given the theatrical performance of his life when he asked his Congress for a declaration of war. But it had worked. Texas’ Congress had authorized Travis to use every tool available to defend the fledgling Republic.
“A day, if they get past our batteries?”
Wyatt nodded. “Yes, sir. If they cut us off, we should be alright for a while. We’ve got enough food here to feed us for at least a month as well as enough small arms ammunition to sustain us through at least two pitched fights. The same with our artillery.”
“But is that going to be enough?” Hardee mused. “We’ve got twenty-thousand men here. Johnston’s got twelve or thirteen thousand opposite of us. Within a few weeks, he’s likely to outnumber us.”
Wyatt blanched. “I don’t much fancy the boot being on the other foot, Bill. It pinches. Sid Johnston’s got an entire battalion of field artillery out there. In a few weeks, he could start a contact bombardment with sixty or more guns.”
Hardee turned away from the river and looked toward his army. As the last light of day silhouetted the battlements separating his army from that of the enemy, he knew he had built fortifications no army could take without massive loss of life. His problem was he would soon face an enemy ready to take those casualties to destroy his army.
“Peyton, if your Admiral Moore destroys those batteries, I believe Johnston won’t give us time to receive reinforcements. Order the Third Louisiana and Tenth Texas to get ready to take the train back across the river. By the time the sun rises in the morning, I want half the army preparing a defensive line on the other side of the river.”
Chapter 15
Charlie gripped the side of the basket as a gust of wind shook it. “You know, Sam, if we crash and die, there’ll be no hallowed ground for us. The church is sure to consider it a suicide.”
Sam Williams laughed. “Strange words from the commander of the balloon corps.” He swept his hand, pointing to another balloon a couple of miles away from where they hung above the Texian line.
Swallowing bile, Charlie growled, “A little respect, soldier.”
Sam complained, “I volunteered as a civilian to man the telegraph machine. Nobody told me they’d mobilize our militia company. Still, I’d rather be floating over the line than be in it… sir.”
Charlie glanced down at the Texian line. He was almost a thousand feet in the air and rising, the men below were tiny as ants to his unaided eye. Six Texian redoubts faced the Rebel trench lines. Behind the redoubts, a long trench-line connected them together, sealing off the rebels from the rest of Texas.
To the north, another balloon floated over the line, where the last redoubt nearly touched the Sabine River. Another balloon held a similar position on the southern flank. Charlie shook his head. General Johnston had received three more balloons, made by the students and faculty at Trinity College. Like Sam, the students had found their militia company mobilized. However, for the most part, they remained behind in Trinity Park, contributing to the war effort any way they could. A few, like Sam, volunteered as telegraph operators and spotters. And Charlie was in command of the whole crazy operation.
General Johnston rebuffed his last effort at getting reassigned back to the 9th Infantry. The general had told him Colonel Garibaldi had requested two of his fellow Italian revolutionaries be promoted to the rank of major to help command the oversized battalion. And Johnston had agreed.
Charlie let out a sigh loud enough to bring a smile from his teenaged assistant. All his arguing with General Johnston had gotten him was a stern, “I’ll play no favorites, Major Travis. If I want you up in that balloon until Christ’s return, that’s where’ll you be. Dismissed.”
The balloon jerked and stopped rising, as the men below secured the lines to the ground. Time to get to work, Charlie thought as he raised the binoculars to his eyes and scanned the enemy lines. The ubiquitous blue flag with its single star flew over the first enemy trench. From his position high over the salient, he saw a few men moving around below the lip of the entrenchment. He shifted his view to the second line of trenches. Charlie thought, Those West Point officers sure know how to build defenses in depth. Three lines of trenches cut through the flood plain’s soft soil.
“Today’s exercise will let us know if we’ll be able to use those new lining-planes for the artillery,” Charlie said.
“Anything to report?”
Charlie ignored Sam’s question as he noticed the second trench line was devoid of life. He scanned the third line. It was like the latter – empty. He swore and focused his view on the first one. “Son of a bitch!” he swore, “There can’t be more than three or four thousand men down there.”
Sam’s finger tapped on the transmitter key as he sent the message to the men on the ground. A few minutes passed by until the receiver clattered to life. The youth scribbled on a piece of paper until the clattering stopped. “Major, General Johnston intends to test the new lining-planes. We’re to pick a target and let them know where it’s at on the map.”
The army’s small topography department had provided identical maps of the area to Charlie and the other spotters and to each gun battery participating in the day’s demonstration. Charlie switched between looking at the enemy fortifications and the map. “Target the center of the line. Focus fire on the enemy line directly in front of redoubt number three.”
Moments later, a lone shot screamed downrange, plowing into the space between the enemy trench lines. “Overshot by a hundred yards. Adjust accordingly.”
Sam sent Charlie’s instructions. A few minutes later another shot landed a few feet shy of the first line of trenches. “Good enough. On target.”
The rest of the battery opened fire. Had the battery been firing solid shots, most of the rounds would have plowed harmlessly into the ground. But shells were detonating over the trench, showering the defenders with a deadly iron rain.
Charlie kept his eyes glued to the enemy line as some shells plowed into the ground in front of the trench while others exploded overhead. He saw several men bolt over the back of the trench and race toward the rear. After a few more shells detonated over the fortifications, the handful of men running away turned into a trickle.
“Some of their soldiers are abandoning the line.”
Ignoring the clattering sound of the transmitter, Charlie saw the trickle turn into a steady stream of men. “Sam, they’re breaking for the rear. I don’t see evidence of anything behind them. I think we’ve been facing their rearguard.”
Minutes ticked by as Charlie watched the stream turn into a route. Scanning the forward trench, if there were still men in there, they were keeping their heads low. In the distance, a bugle sounded, and he turned his binoculars to redoubt number three. In loose, open order deployment, the men from the 1st Infantry leapfrogged across the no-man’s-land between the armies.
Like fireflies blinking in the twilight, gunfire lit up the enemy’s forward trench. Ant-like soldiers scurried into craters, blasted into the loamy soil, and returned fire. As more troops moved into the no-man’s-land, those farthest forward raced toward the enemy fortifications. When they were within a couple of hundred feet, Charlie barked out, “Cease fire, they’ll hit our own men.”
Before the first soldier leapt into the enemy trench, the artillery fell silent. Along the entire enemy line, the last holdouts were racing toward the river. A couple of miles away Charlie could see the single span of the railroad bridge crossing the Sabine. He set his binoculars down and grabbed a long, slender leather case. He pulled a spyglass from it and set the end on the wicker basket’s railing. It was long and heavy. But it was several times more powerful than the easily portable binoculars.
When he brought the bridge into focus, he watched men stepping from tie to tie as they hurried across.
“They’re retreating across the bridge,” Charlie said, “If we press the attack, we can bag the rebels still on this side.”
The transmitter clattered as Sam sent the message. Charlie continued watching as men bunched up on the western side of the river; only so many men could start across at once. One man, already halfway across, missed a step. Charlie gasped as he watched the tiny figure plunge nearly a hundred feet into the river. Then he saw several figures climbing along the wooden trestles, below the rails.
Charlie’s voice rose in excitement. “Sam, they’re rigging the bridge with explosives. If we move faster, we can capture the bridge intact.”
Minutes dragged by as they waited for a response. Despite the silence from the telegraph machine, a horseman raced across the field, dodging craters. He drew up before the captured trench and almost immediately, little butternut colored ant-like figures streamed after the retreating enemy.
Time seemed to stand still as Charlie watched the pursuit. The veterans from the 1st Texas were approaching the bridge when a flash of light forced Charlie to pull his eye away from the spyglass. He didn’t need it to see a fireball rise into the sky ab
ove the bridge.
The siege was over.
***
11 March 1853
Horace Greeley looked at the yellow wallpaper adorning the oval sitting room and thought it ugly. Hardly presidential. As he wondered at the reasons President Cass or his wife had left it that way, the door opened, and President Seward entered.
Seward’s smile was warm and inviting, “Horace, thanks for waiting. Things are a might unsettled still. It takes a bit of time for the boilers to build up a head of steam and so it is with me.”
Greeley took the offered hand, “Quite alright, Mr. President. I’m not sure who's more pleased about this interview, my readers or me. It’s quite the honor you’ve bestowed, allowing me the privilege of the first presidential interview of your new administration.”
Seward ran a hand through his greying hair. “On days like today, I can’t imagine what made my predecessor run for reelection. Forming a cabinet and transitioning things between one administration and another is worse than trying to herd cats.”
Greeley said, “Can I quote you on that?”
Seward offered another smile, “I doubt you wanted to interview me about cats. You’re a bit of an opinion maker among eastern Whigs, and this crisis is going to take all of our skill and resources to manage.”
Greeley dipped his head in agreement. “I expected Tennessee to stay. I still find it hard to believe that Governor Trousdale allowed their legislature to vote on the secession bill those fire eaters in New Orleans put together.”
“Voted and passed,” Seward grimaced at the memory. “Now that Tennessee joined the other Southern states, that puts nine of the fourteen slave states in rebellion. But that also means that Virginia, Kentucky, Maryland, North Carolina, and Delaware are still loyal to the Union. At least for now.”
Greeley jotted down a few notes as Seward spoke.
“That’s the reason you’re here Horace. Two and one-half million citizens are in those five states. If they were to join the rebellion, it would increase by half the rebels’ available manpower. We can’t have that.”
