Against All Odds

by Drew McGunn

  “How do you plan on stopping them?” Pen forgotten, Greeley leaned forward.

  Seward walked over to the room’s windows and lifted the curtain. He pointed southward, “It tears at my heart, my friend, but I will promise George Summers and Lazarus Powell almost anything to keep Kentucky and Virginia firmly in our camp.”

  Hearing the names of the two governors, Greeley’s stomach lurched. There was only one issue around which all others revolved. “Slavery? What do they want?”

  “Guarantees, of course.”

  Gripping his pencil in his hand, Greeley said, “Why do they persist in defending the indefensible?”

  Seward turned his back to the window, “The census office told me the other day that slaves are valued at more than one thousand million dollars. They produce tens of millions of dollars for their masters. Knowing this sickens me. But when your newspaper attacks Southerners, you’re not just attacking an institution, Horace. You’re attacking their livelihood.”

  Greeley felt his frown deepen. “They want an amendment, don’t they?”

  Seward nodded. “Yes. Yesterday I had the entire senatorial delegation from the five remaining slave states here. They want an amendment protecting slavery in all fourteen Southern states.”

  Greeley leapt to his feet, “That’s extortion! You must tell them no.”

  The president held up his hand as though fending off a rabid animal, “Hold there, Horace. You know my heart as well as any man. You know I believe that our nation cannot exist half slave and half free. But neither am I certain we can win if the five remaining slave states join their wayward sisters. We must preserve the Union now, and if I have to give Virginia and Kentucky the keys to the kingdom to preserve their loyalty, by all that is holy, I can live with that decision.”

  Greeley wanted nothing more than to turn and leave. But Seward was more than just a friend, he was the successor of Washington. He owed it to the President to remain. “You didn’t invite me here to interview you for my readers, you brought me here because you know how loudly abolitionists will scream you’ve betrayed them.”

  He saw the pain in the president’s eyes. He’d struck home his attack. Seward’s eyes cleared, and he said, “I’ll have you know I refused the senator’s demand. I told him no state that has seceded and remains in open rebellion can expect to have all their property respected. I told them that if they proposed an amendment to the constitution allowing slavery in perpetuity in states which remain, I would support it.”

  “Why?” Tears came unbidden to Greeley’s eyes as he felt his heart constrict.

  Seward took a letter from a table and said, “I received this from President Travis. You know he’s really quite devious if you get past his rough frontier ways.”

  Sinking back into his chair, Greeley said, “What does he say?”

  “He suggested that an amendment to the constitution allowing slavery would be bad. But it would be worse if Virginia and the other loyal states seceded. He also said that if our constitution could be amended to perpetuate slavery in our loyal states, then it could certainly be re-amended down the road to prohibit it. I like the way he said it, a constitution isn’t a suicide pact. What is changed today can be changed again tomorrow.”

  Greeley wiped at his eyes, “How so?”

  “Within the next few weeks, a vote will come up in the House to make new states from both Wisconsin and the coastal part of Jefferson Territory, forever altering the balance of power in the Senate. Given time, we’ll turn Delaware into a free state, too.”

  Greeley folded a handkerchief he’d just used. “I’ll do what I can, Mr. President to steer Whigs to support you. I don’t like it, not one bit, but now I understand.”

  He picked up his pencil, which had fallen onto the rug. “What about one question, sir? Something I can give to my readers.”

  Taking Seward’s silence for permission, Greeley said, “I’ve heard General Scott has returned to Washington from New York. What are your plans for subduing the rebellion?”

  The president gestured toward a side door, “Follow me.”

  A large map covered several tables pushed together. It showed the United States and the eastern portion of Texas. “You see my problem? To get to the rebel states, we’ve got the border states in the way. If I send the army after the rebels today, I fear Virginia and North Carolina will react badly. It galls me to admit it, but to keep the upper South with us, I must let those fire eaters be the aggressors.”

  Greeley walked around the table, looking at the map. “Texas?”

  “Texas. Every newspaper in the states in rebellion are crowing to God and his archangels that they’re going to wipe the Travis administration off the face of the earth and if we try to stop them, then they’ll deal with us next.”

  Greeley mused, “That worked so well for them the first time.”

  Seward pointed to the line between Louisiana and Texas, “By the time the Rebels, for that’s what they are, attack Texas, Travis will have mobilized more than thirty thousand men. Additionally, I intend to open up our northern armories for volunteer regiments willing to serve in Texas. General Scott will be vetting them before we arm them. We can’t have any more John Browns inflaming things. I’m convinced his murderous antics inflamed Missouri into joining the rebels.”

  Greeley felt his face coloring. He wished he could forget he had been responsible for introducing John Brown to the men who had funded his ill-fated expedition. “What will President Travis do with Brown?”

  “The man murdered citizens of both Texas and the United States, Horace,” Greeley grimaced at the President’s wording. “Oh, don’t worry, Texas will keep him locked up until the war is won, but after that, I expect Travis will put him on trial and then hang him.”

  Greeley leaned against the table, dragging in a breath full of air. He couldn’t have dreamed Brown’s expedition could have turned out so bad. As he worked to compose himself, he heard drums and the high-pitched shrilling of fifes. The President stood at a window, staring at Pennsylvania Avenue.

  Coming up beside him, Greeley watched a long procession of infantry marching along, following behind the national flag. Seward pointed, “That’s the Third Infantry Regiment. They’re going to be encamping just outside of Arlington. They’ll be joined by a volunteer regiment from Pennsylvania later this week. A regiment of volunteers will be arriving from New York after that.”

  Surprise filled Greeley’s face. “I thought you had to be careful with Virginia. Putting troops on their side of the Potomac, isn’t that risky?”

  Seward wore a smug smile as he guided Greeley away from the window. “There’ll be a regiment from the Virginia state guard joining them. But General Scott came up with an excellent suggestion. He offered command of the brigade to a native Virginian, a fellow by the name of Robert E. Lee.”

  ***

  17 March 1853

  For three weeks the bridge once spanning the Sabine River had smoldered where it crashed into the riverbank. Now though, Jason Lamont saw it as a constant reminder of how far he was removed from his goal. On the other side of the river, he saw one of those damned balloons floating over the enemy lines.

  Although the Southern coastal artillery batteries still held the eastern side of the Sabine Pass, it would only be a matter of time before the Texas Navy either destroyed the batteries or slipped by them. Even if General Hardee hadn’t ordered the bridge destroyed, it was only a matter of time before the Texas Navy controlled the Sabine River. Still, he hated the sight of the bridge’s charred remains, it was a constant reminder that he was a long way from taking his vengeance on William Travis.

  Rocks clattered behind him, and a voice brought relief from the anger he felt. “Colonel, General Hardee’s compliments, he wants to see you.”

  Lamont turned. His nephew, he decided, had finally turned into a reasonably competent aide. Elliott Brown’s jacket was mended in several places. Supplies from South Carolina were slow in reaching his regiment, and
the lieutenant was far from the only soldier wearing a threadbare uniform.

  Lamont took the note from Brown, “Did the messenger say why?”

  “No, he dropped it off and was gone before I could ask.”

  Lamont climbed out of the rifle pit, one of many crisscrossing the Louisiana side of the Sabine River, and without a backward glance, followed the lieutenant.

  A bit later, Lamont found himself waiting outside the parlor of the plantation house the general used for his headquarters. When the door opened, and a well-dressed man in civilian clothes left, the officer from South Carolina was ushered into the room.

  General Hardee rose from behind a desk and waved him into a seat. The general shoved a stack of papers out of the way that partially blocked his view of Lamont. “That’s better. When I retired from the US Army, I thought I had left the endless requisitions behind. Now there’s more than ever before. How are your boys doing?”

  “Ready to tear into that damned abolitionist’s army. Give us a chance, and we’ll burn the capital down around Travis’ ears.” The ever-present anger he felt burned even brighter in Lamont’s eyes at that moment.

  Hardee chuckled. “That’s the spirit, Colonel Lamont. We’re still working on getting more men trained and ready for the offensive I’m sure will come before long. The Second Arkansas has recently arrived, and I’m pulling your men off the line, and they’ll take your place, for now.”

  Lamont rose partway out of his seat, “But, sir, we’re rested and ready for action.”

  Hardee gave him a crooked smile, “Who said you’re not going to get a bit of action?”

  Lamont sat on the edge of the chair, “Where are we going? Missouri? I hear things are tense up in Saint Louis. Lot of fools up there who didn’t take kindly to the Legislature backing secession.”

  Hardee shook his head, “No. New Orleans. Even though our government has relocated our capital from the ‘Crescent City’ to Montgomery, we’ve been ordered to reinforce the fortifications around the city. Your regiment will be building some earthen forts on the Mississippi River below the city.”

  Lamont’s face sagged. It wasn’t what he’d joined up for. Hardee continued, “It’s just for a few weeks, maybe a month or so. There’ll be more regiments coming from your state, and as they arrive, you’ll be brigaded together. I’ve heard enough men are slipping across the border from North Carolina, who don’t cotton to their state’s refusal to fight for our rights, to fill out another couple of regiments, too.”

  The news of the pending arrival of more South Carolinian soldiers perked up Lamont’s spirit. Until now, his regiment was the only eastern unit to serve under Hardee. When he mentioned that, the general said, “Our government has called for seventy thousand volunteers. Many thousands have already reported. I’ve heard that General Beauregard has been inundated with men passing through his schools of the soldier.”

  Eyes gleaming at the news, Lamont said, “How soon can we be ready? An army like that will roll over the Texian army like a tide rolling in from the ocean.”

  “I’ll not be leading it,” Hardee admitted. “It unofficial, but I’ve been told that President Cobb has offered command of the Army of the Trans-Mississippi, that’s what they’re calling us now, to Senator Jefferson Davis. He’s accepted. Once Congress convenes, they’ll make the appointment official, and he’ll become Major General Davis.”

  Lamont found himself nodding at the information. He knew of Davis. The man was a West Point graduate and served on the military affairs committee in the Senate. “What’ll happen to you?”

  “If I have my druthers, I’ll be heading to South Carolina. I’d like to work with James Longstreet to shore up our border with North Carolina. But with my luck, who knows? I might get stuck fetching coffee and filing requisition orders for General Davis, as punishment for not holding the line in Texas.”

  At Longstreet’s name, Lamont perked up. “I’ve known Old Pete for a number of years, sir. He’s a good man.”

  Hardee cocked his head, “Old Pete? How’d he get that name?”

  “He had a rock-like temperament as a boy, so I’ve been told, and his father took to calling him Peter, like the apostle.”

  Hardee said, “I hope he still has that temperament, Colonel. Until Davis finishes off Texas, Longstreet may have to become that rock if President Seward decides to attack.”

  Chapter 16

  1 April 1853

  Not much was left standing in Beaumont as Jesse Running Creek led his mount around a wagon piled with lumber. The rebels had fired the town when they retreated. Months later, the sour smell of soot lingered in the air. The Cherokee officer wrinkled his nose as the odor assaulted his olfactory senses. Despite that, constant hammering reminded him the town wasn’t quite dead.

  When the rebels retreated, they left a thousand civilians behind, the overwhelming majority were the town’s prewar residents. While nearly all the town’s public buildings had gone up in flames, a majority of the old town remained intact. The new section, around the railroad depot, had suffered the same fate as the depot when the fire spread.

  He looked behind him. Men were putting up a wooden frame where the new depot would stand. They moved with a sense of urgency. The bridge over the Trinity was nearing completion, and with it, Beaumont once again would be connected to the rest of Texas’ growing railroad network. Men wearing the blue uniform of a Yankee volunteer infantry regiment stood guard over the construction crew, who were a mixture of captured soldiers and known rebel sympathizers.

  As the construction disappeared behind him, Jesse thought the armed guards had more to do with how fast the laborers were working rather than any desire on the part of the construction crew. Soon the army’s supply situation would improve. Construction on the new bridge over the Trinity was nearing completion, and the railhead would come to within a few miles of the border with Louisiana.

  He grimaced as he dug his heels into his horse’s flank, cantering out of town. He knew more than he wanted of the army’s shortages. He was on his way back from West Liberty and Trinity Park. On the fields where the rebel army once drilled, nine hundred men were now encamped.

  In response to several Southern states ratifying the New Orleans Articles of Secession, General Johnston finally mobilized a majority of the reserves and militia. The army’s near-overnight expansion fueled a need for more engineers, quartermasters, and hospital orderlies. That growth explained how he now found himself in command of a battalion wing of the newly expanded Army Rangers. After being gone for more than a week on behalf of the oversized battalion, he was glad to be back.

  Row upon row of orderly tents spread across the coastal plain west of town. More than a decade of service in the Texian army gave Jesse a keen eye, and he let it rove over the encampment. Each company’s tents were in a double line. Like most soldiers, each Ranger had been issued a linseed oiled canvas tent-half that when paired with another identical half, created an A-frame tent.

  Twelve company streets ran perpendicular to an old wagon trail which now served as the encampment’s front. Behind the soldiers’ tents were the larger tents of the battalion’s officers. The camp was empty at that moment, and once on the other side of it, Jesse found the entire nine-hundred-man battalion at drill. They were spread over an area of several square miles. Jesse pulled at the reins and watched one of the companies training.

  Like the muddy gulf water washing up on a Texas beach, the company rushed across the flat, even ground. Jesse thought an inexperienced eye might miss the order and see only the wave of men. He saw each team of four riflemen advancing together. Every third team was commanded by a sergeant, who led a squad of three teams. Thee Squads formed a platoon under the command of a lieutenant. Two platoons formed a company under the leadership of a captain.

  The exercise paused, the men gathered around the captain, who shouted, “It ain’t going to be like this, boys when we go into battle. The ground will be broken and uneven, chewed to shit by artillery.
When you advance under fire, the terrain is your friend. Use it to your advantage.”

  Jesse allowed a small smile. The young officer was doing what he’d have done. Each rifle team had to be able to work independently, and for that to happen, the men had to be able to think about why they drilled the way they did. Once a battle began, even a lowly corporal had to be able to guide the others in his team, and every man had to be able to step into the role of a corporal. The Rangers took the army’s decentralized combat tactics and pushed it all the way down to the individual soldier.

  Jesse listened as the officer continued, “Second platoon, you were bunched up like a gaggle of debutants at a cotillion waiting for the boys to ask you to dance. That might work there, but a single shell-burst would have decimated you. Each rifle team needs to act in concert, but the platoon needs to cover as broad a front as possible.”

  The captain waved back at where they had come from, “Now, let’s do it again. Tomorrow we’ll be wargaming against D Company, and we’ll kick their asses across the field, or I’ll know why.”

  As Jesse turned and made his way across the prairie, his memory turned back more than a decade when he had been an eighteen-year-old recruit under Major Jack Hays. The major introduced his command to nightly wargames. He’d pit one company against another. Even though Jack Hays was seeking his fortune in Jefferson Territory, the traditions he’d built remained alive and well.

  After a few minutes, Jesse pulled up next to the battalion commander, Colonel Edward Brooks. The colonel sat at a field table, under a pine tree. His eyes were glued to his binoculars, watching another company at drill.

  “We’ve got a lot of work ahead of us, Major. These boys are coming together nicely, but there’s still a lot of work left to do. Did you have any luck?”

  Jesse swung down from his horse and tied the beast to a bough, “No, sir. I even rode up from West Liberty to Trinity Park and talked with Mr. Berry. There’s no ammunition available for drilling. Everything’s being saved for the coming campaign.”