Grant Comes East - Civil War 02
Page 39
"No, Ely. No telegram. A sealed dispatch. You are to take it personally. I will draw it up."
"Are you going to fire him?" Ord asked.
Grant looked over at his old friend, who should have known better than to ask. Ord said nothing and just shook his head.
"General Ord, let's get this fracas with Hampton wrapped up. I want you to see to it; I don't have time now." Ord nodded, saluted, and left, McPherson following. He sat down and began to draft the dispatch, knowing it was already a useless exercise. And in his mind, he began to contemplate how he, and the army gathered around him, would respond as well.
Near Claysville, Maryland
August 18,1863 7:00 P.M.
General Lee looked to the west, to where the sky beginning to shift to gold and scarlet Already the days were turning shorter and, he realized, in another month the first touch of autumn would be in the air.
The afternoon heat was beginning to abate, the first cool breeze of twilight wafting along the road, which was packed solid with troops as far as the eye could see.
The men marched now with grim purpose. Orders had been given. They finally knew what they were doing, and he could sense that many of them were relieved. They had come down this same road only days before, for some the fourth time now that they had passed up and down it over the last month. In the march south, many had dreaded the thought that they were marching to a frontal assault on some of the heaviest fortifications in the world. He had not been able to share with them his thoughts and plans, that the march had been nothing more than a maneuver, a feint, to bring out the Army of the Potomac. Their efforts, their exhaustion, their marching under the hot sun of August had achieved for him that goal.
The wiser of them had undoubtedly figured it out long ago, and those not so wise would now boast that they had known from the start And now they were marching again, forewarned that this pace would continue through the night. Fifty minutes of march and ten minutes of break, hour after hour, with two hours' rest just before dawn, then back on the road yet again.
He thought for a moment of Jackson. This was the type of maneuver that Jackson relished and that a year ago was a forte that only he could claim. But in the last seven weeks that spirit had moved into the rest of the ranks, even to Old Pete, who at this moment was at the fore of the column a dozen miles up the road. His corps had been farthest back from Washington, placed there in anticipation of this moment. They were to spring forward, prevent Sickles from gaining Baltimore and the potential fallback position of the harbor, where the Union navy could support him. Then they were to pin him in place, then hold him till Hood came up on his right flank and Beauregard was properly deployed to spring the trap.
He knew Longstreet would see it through, a march to add another laurel like the one gained in the march from Gettysburg to Union Mills.
The road ahead drifted down into a darkly shaded hollow cut by a shallow, meandering stream. He drifted from the side of the road, the troops pressing on, passing over a rough bridge that had been built during the agonizing mud march of the month before. The stream was again a meandering trickle, thick, high grass and weeds bordering its banks.
The air in the hollow was damp, cool. Fireflies weaved and danced above the meadow grass. He let Traveler edge into the stream, loosening his reins, his old companion drinking deeply.
Alongside him, in the shadows, the bridge rumbled with the passage of troops, the closely packed column moving at a relentless pace, few of the men recognizing him.
This river of strength flowed by him, tens of thousands of his boys, his men, this flower of the South, these victors of so many hard-fought battles. And tomorrow they would go in again; none needed to be told of that
He watched them in silence, and suddenly there were tears in his eyes. The tears came unbidden, surprising, as if waiting in the damp coolness of the stream to embrace and overwhelm him.
How many will I lose tomorrow? How many more must die? He caught a glimpse of a young drummer boy, silhouetted, exhausted, slumped over, riding on the pommel of an officer's horse, the officer with his arms around the boy to keep him from falling off. A man with rifle slung over his shoulder, banjo in his hands, was trying to pick out a tune. He passed on. Several men were momentarily illuminated by the flash of a match, someone lighting a pipe, then shadows again. Boys, young men, old men, rifles on shoulders, slung inverted, held by barrels in clenched hands. All were leaning forward slightly, blanket rolls and backpacks chafing shoulders. As always, the steady clanging rhythm of tin cups banging on canteens; a muffled curse as one soldier suddenly hopped about while trying to keep pace, his friends laughing when they realized he had picked up a splinter from the wooden bridge while marching barefoot.
Voices, hundreds of voices, filled the night, mingling together, overlapping, rising and falling, snatches of conversation as they approached the bridge, then disappearing as they marched over it and beyond...
"Gonna be a real fight tomorrow and you'll see 'em run ... tell you I'm worried; her last letter said the baby was
due and I ain't heard a word in eight weeks Did you see
his face when Jimmie threw down them three aces?... It's been four months since I even kissed a girl and it's driving me just crazy.... Ma said they buried Pa next to my little sister.... Next war, I'm joining the navy I tell you...."
And thus it continued as they passed.
He took off his hat.
"Oh, merciful God," he whispered. "Guide me with Thy infinite love and mercy. Help me to do what is right. Help me to lead these men yet again. If battle comes tomorrow, I beg Thee to let it be swift and to bring this war to an end. Please, dear God, guide all those who fall into Thy infinite and eternal love. Comfort those who shall lose their loved ones. Guide me as well as Your humble servant to fulfill Your judgment and let the scourge of war soon pass from this land.
"Amen."
Traveler was done drinking; his head was raised, looking back at him, and Lee felt a flood of warmth for his old friend. It seemed as if the horse knew that his companion was praying, and waiting patiently for him to finish. He patted the horse lightly on the neck, whispering a few words of affection. He heard someone cough, and, a bit self-conscious, Lee looked over his shoulder and saw by the edge of the river his staff, all of them with hats off, many with heads still lowered.
He put his hat back on and crossed the stream, falling back in with the Army of Northern Virginia as it marched on through the night
Chapter Eighteen
Near Strasburg, Pennsylvania
August 19,1863 7:00 A.M.
Tell General Lee all that you've seen here. Remember, if they start to close in, don't hesitate to destroy the dispatches. Now ride!"
Wade Hampton watched as the half-dozen couriers galloped off into the morning mist.
It had been a running battle throughout the night Just before dusk he had been hit by three devastating pieces of news, one on top of the other. The first was that the Yankees, flanking wide, had cut across the Conestoga River a half-dozen miles above and below his line and were pincering in. The second, that a brigade of their cavalry having moved the night before on a wide sweep, a fifty-mile ride to his north and around Reading, was falling onto his rear. The third, that his way out, the river crossing, had already been cut by cavalry now joined by a brigade of infantry, which had been moved down by rail from Harrisburg to Columbia. Additional units were blocking every other ford. He wasn't facing a lone regiment, or even a brigade of experienced troopers. He was facing an entire division of cavalry backed by infantry, and they were good, damn good, the best he had ever seen.
The morale of his men, so high and exuberant just the morning before, was beginning to crumble. Word had filtered through the ranks that their comrades with the First North Carolina had been cut off somewhere up toward Reading and wiped out. A prisoner released by Grierson just before dawn had come riding in, confirming the news, and bringing with him an offer of honorable surrender.
Philadelphia, shake them off during that long ride, then turn about and sweep down to the river. All his men had been ordered to pull in remounts and to move, to keep moving. These damn Yankees from the West might ride through Mississippi, but they were facing Wade Hampton now. He would damn well give them the ride of a lifetime, drive them clear into exhaustion, then leave them in his dust "Let's go," he shouted.
Even as the rattle of carbine fire sounded in the west he set off, heading east toward Christiana. It was in the exact opposite direction of where he had hoped to go, but that was finished for now. The race was on.
Washington, D.C. The White House
August 19,1863 7:00 AM.
He's done what?" Incredulous, Abraham Lincoln looked at Elihu Washburne, who was holding a sheaf of dispatches in his hand.
"Yesterday morning, just before dawn, General Sickles started to move the entire Army of the Potomac across the Susquehanna. I passed through there late yesterday, asked by General Grant to look at the situation myself and then report to you, Mr. President."
"Merciful heavens," Lincoln sighed. "I don't know how much mercy is involved in this one, Mr. President I will confess, it was one hell of a show, what little I saw of it; massed bands, rations being handed out like there was no tomorrow. It was a regular circus. As I was leaving on the courier boat the Fifth Corps was embarking, with the Sixth lined up to follow."
"We've had no word from Perryville since yesterday, all courier boats stopped," the president commented inexasperation.
"General Sickles ordered a shutdown of all traffic; he claimed it was for security reasons, but I daresay it was to keep you and Grant in the dark as long as possible as well. I was able to get a boat because no one was willing to face me down on the issue, but it was a damn slow boat and took hours longer to get here."
"Shrewd move by Sickles," Lincoln sighed. "Does Grant know of this?"
"I would assume he does by now, but he didn't know about it when I left him."
"Did he order it? Perhaps after you left?"
"Absolutely not. He asked me to convey to you the usual correspondence you two have maintained over the last month. He was optimistic when I left him. Supplies are still coming in; he's still short of wagons and pontoon bridging; he's still waiting for some additional men; for example, that colored division, but things were going on schedule up until this thing with Sickles broke loose. Yes, he's aware that Lee is in front of Washington, but not overly concerned. As we discussed last month, Baltimore will force Lee to stay in Maryland, and Washington will serve as the bait for him to try an attack, most likely under pressure from Davis."
"Davis is no longer with the Army of Northern Virginia," Lincoln replied.
"Sir?"
Lincoln smiled and tossed over a copy of the Richmond Enquirer. Elihu scanned the front page and the report that the rebel president was back in the Confederate capital after a successful tour of the front.
"Why do you think he pulled out?" Elihu asked.
"That, my friend, is indication enough that Lee's move on Washington was a feint. Davis would never have left if an attack was pending that could have given him the glory of riding up here to the White House to take possession. No, he's back in Richmond, because Lee is not going to try to fight his way into Washington."
"But why?'
"Pressure in Tennessee, perhaps. Sherman will link up with Rosecrans within the week."
"And”
“As you know, General Grant will put Sherman in command there. Maybe word of that leaked. Perhaps his leaving is a cagey politician's instinct not to be here if Lee should suffer a defeat. Besides, with the weakness of Confederate communications, it was most likely impossible for him to run the government from a hundred and fifty miles away. But whatever the motive, it was proof enough to me that some of our people have been overreacting to the sight of rebel banners in front of Fort Stevens.
"Besides, to confirm it all, reports are coming in now from Heintzelman. The rebels abandoned their position during the night"
"Now, that is news."
"I'm surprised you didn't hear of it on the way over from the navy yard."
"I took a carriage; my driver didn't say a word."
It struck Elihu how information was now so fragmented. Grant had no idea at this moment about the abandonment of the Washington front by Lee; Lincoln only this moment knew about Sickles's move. Damn it, most likely the only one who knew what was really going on was Lee, yet again.
"Another deserter came into the lines just after midnight," Lincoln continued. "Claimed the entire line was abandoned."
"One would think nearly all those deserters were nothing more than plants by Lee. Two days ago they were affirming the big attack was about to begin."
"I felt the same way," Lincoln replied. "Though most of those gold-encrusted popinjays over at the War Office hang on every word said by each deserter who comes in. This rebel though, I'm told, was a boy from Kentucky, sick of the war, just wants to go home. He said that at midmorning the entire army started to move, the last of them pulling out around nine last night So our General Heintzelman sent over a patrol around three this morning and they reported the entire line is empty except for a few detachments of cavalry busy stoking campfires. Lee has slipped off."
"And is now heading straight toward Sickles."
Lincoln sighed and nodded.
"I don't understand any of this at the moment," Lincoln said. "Yesterday there was dang near a panic in this city with the shelling, everyone, including Stanton, telling me that Lee would attack come nightfall. And now this."
"I think, sir, we've been humbugged."
"What?"
"Just that. Humbugged, sir, Lee knew his game and played it. He didn't dare attack directly. Yes, he might have taken the city, but he would have lost twenty, thirty thousand doing it. And then Grant, as we've talked about so many times, would have come sweeping down to finish him off. All along the two of you agreed that Washington and Baltimore would be the bait for the trap. Keep Lee in Maryland until Grant was ready with an overwhelming force to cross the Susquehanna and then finish him.
"It was a bold gambit on your part and you played it well. Not leaving the city, to hell with all the traitors and naysayers up north. In fact, this city being cut off was a blessing to you, and you stayed."
"But this move by Sickles?"
"The man saw his chance. In the end he is no different than McClellan, Halleck, McClernand out west, Butler, all the others. They might be loyal, though at times I had my doubts about McClellan."
"Don't speak too harshly of him," Lincoln replied. "When ordered to resign, he did so."
"And even now is maneuvering to run against you on a peace ticket next year. But as to Sickles. Look at it from his side. The Army of the Potomac, God bless them, was finished as a fighting unit after Union Mills. But those boys, after two years of bitter defeat, will not easily concede that they need Grant and his Westerners to help them now. Sickles played on that With Hampton raiding and cutting the telegraph lines, with Lee making all appearances that he was about to make his grand assault on Washington, even though you doubted it as did Grant, Sickles saw his chance and grabbed for it. He wants a final showdown with Lee, and he thinks he can win this war on his own. Then he can run for president as the victory candidate, the man who saved the Union when you had failed." "Damn it."
Lincoln slammed his fist on his desk, a display of temper so rare that it stunned Elihu. Lincoln looked up at him, hollow-eyed.
"Just once, just for once, can't we act together? We all have the same goal, I daresay even General Lee does, though the results he desires are different. We want this war to end. And yet we always seem to be working at cross-purposes to each other. If only Sickles had kept his horses reined in, if he had but waited one more month, he and Grant could have advanced together, working in unison to see it through."
Elihu smiled
sadly.
"You are talking idealistically, sir, when we should be talking about the realities of running a republic."
Lincoln sighed and sat down. Picking up a pencil, he twirled it absently as he looked out his office window.
"We politicians are divided into two types in this war, in any war," Elihu said. "The majority, though they might proclaim that the dream of the republic motivates them at heart, are ultimately swayed by the advantage they can gain for themselves. They will proclaim to their followers that the good of the republic is the sole cause for their actions, and many will then follow.
"The second type, God save us, like you and Grant, are so rare. You two actually do wish to see this ideal, this dream, survive, and would give your lives for it without hesitation. Never confuse the two. I think it will always be thus, a hundred, a hundred and fifty years from now, if we survive; there will still be men and women who will proclaim their love of the republic, perhaps even believe it, but at heart are in it only for their own power.
"There is much of Sickles I like. He's a damn good general in his own right, but ultimately he is blinded by the light, the power, the dream that he can be the savior of this cause, and therefore he marched off yesterday morning, either to glory or disaster. But in either case, he will always say it was to save the republic."
"Stanton," Lincoln whispered.
"Sir?"
"It was Edwin who was behind this." Elihu nodded sagely.
"He could not accept my removal of Halleck. He felt I stepped on his toes in that. Halleck as well had poisoned him about Grant. Stanton was all aflutter over Lee being in front of the city again, now reinforced by Beauregard. I think in some way he must have goaded Sickles into action."
"That's what I was thinking as well, sir."
Lincoln sighed again, rubbing his eyes after yet another sleepless night.
"Is there any hope of recalling Sickles?" Lincoln asked.
Elihu shook his head.
"All three of his corps are across the river by now, moving on Baltimore. Lee, as you just told me, is storming north to meet him. I think by late today they will meet. All I can say is, let's pray that Sickles somehow proves himself, though politically that worries me."