Shattered Nation

by Jeffrey Brooks

  Bragg frowned. “I’d like to move on to another subject. Johnston, in messages to the President and myself, has constantly requested that General Forrest be sent to attack Sherman’s supply lines, claiming that the cavalry of the Army of Tennessee is needed here. What are your views on that subject?”

  “General Bragg, I know for a fact that General Wheeler has urged Johnston to allow him to take five thousand troopers and raid Sherman’s railroads. Johnston has always refused permission. As a result, we have thousands of cavalrymen sitting idly around our camps for want of a mission. The Yankee cavalry are ineffective and disorganized. They pose no threat to us. I say quite firmly that there is nothing holding us back from such a raid except General Johnston’s lack of will.”

  “That is a strong statement, General Hood.”

  “You may ask General Wheeler himself, if you like.”

  “I believe I shall do that. Now, before I leave, let me ask you a very basic question. What do you think should now be the strategy for the Army of Tennessee?”

  Hood took a deep breath. What he said in response to this question could very well determine the future of his career. But he felt he knew exactly what Bragg wanted to hear.

  “General Bragg, we must abandon this strategy of passive defense. Only offensive action will suffice to save Atlanta. If we continue as we have done, Sherman will inevitably cut all our rail communications and drive us out of the city. We must strike the enemy a hard and decisive blow, even if we have to cross back to the north side of the Chattahoochee to do so. I regard it as a great misfortune that we failed to give battle to the enemy far north of our present position.”

  Bragg nodded. “You’ll be happy to know, General Hood, that I fully concur in your assessment of the situation.”

  “Then please say to the President that I shall continue to do my duty cheerfully and faithfully. I will strive to do what I think is best for our country, as my constant prayer is for its success.”

  Hood and Bragg both stood, shook hands firmly, and saluted.

  “Thank you, General Hood. I shall perhaps speak to you again before I depart.”

  “I am always at your disposal, General Bragg.”

  Bragg nodded, turned, and left the tent. Hood was left alone, almost unnerved by the unnatural silence. He sat back down and did not move for several minutes, staring blankly at the light cast by the lantern for a long time.

  *****

  July 14, Morning

  Cleburne sat in his tent, going over administrative paperwork and trying to complete a report on the number of casualties his division had suffered since the Battle of Kennesaw Mountain. Outside the tent, some of his staff officers were frying bacon and boiling water for coffee.

  “General Cleburne!” Lieutenant Hanley called out. “General Hardee is approaching!”

  Cleburne stood up and walked outside, just in time to see Hardee rein in near the fire and quickly dismount.

  “Morning, Patrick!” he said. “Bacon smells mighty good.”

  “Will you join us for breakfast?”

  “Thank you. That would be lovely.”

  A few minutes later, the two generals were in Cleburne’s tent, downing their hot breakfast of bacon and cornmeal biscuits. The coffee, unfortunately, was barely drinkable. The Union blockade had raised the price of coffee so much that most people now resorted to a brew that combined coffee with cornmeal. It tasted awful, but it was better than drinking water.

  “So, all of the corps commanders are to meet at General Johnston’s headquarters to speak with General Bragg?” Cleburne asked.

  “That’s what the message said. Rumor also has it that Bragg visited with Hood and Wheeler last night. I can’t imagine Johnston would have given them permission to speak with Bragg privately.”

  “Has Bragg contacted you since his arrival?” Cleburne said as he chewed another piece of bacon.

  Hardee let out a scornful laugh. “No, not even so much as a courtesy note. But that’s to be expected, Bragg being Bragg.”

  “Why do you think Bragg is here, William? Simply to discuss strategy with General Johnston? Seems strange that he would travel all the way out here just to do that.”

  Hardee shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine. As for myself, I have little idea what is going on. Johnston rarely consults me, and often it seems to me that Hood is the one doing most of the strategy.”

  “And you told me that Hood is constantly advocating retreat?”

  “Almost always, yes. He advised Johnston to retreat from Cassville, right after he botched that attack. He advised Johnston to retreat from the Chattahoochee lines, which I think could have been held. When he came to our army in March, we thought we were getting an aggressive, fighting general. But if you ask me, Hood has little fight in him.”

  Cleburne shook his head. “It does seem strange, considering how well he served under Lee as a brigade and division commander.”

  “I wonder if the loss of his leg and the use of his arm also robbed him of his fighting spirit.”

  Cleburne nodded, having seen such things happen to other men. Losing a limb took something away from a person beyond their physical appendage. Losing two limbs doubtless took much more.

  “William, is it possible that Bragg has come to determine whether or not Johnston should be removed from command?

  “Why do you ask?” Hardee replied.

  “There are rumors.”

  Hardee waved his hand. “There are always rumors.”

  “But do you think it is possible?”

  “Anything is possible, Pat. It’s certainly no secret that there is no love lost between Johnston and the President. And obviously Johnston has retreated nearly a hundred miles without fighting a decisive battle. If we wake up tomorrow morning to the news that Johnston has been sacked, I would not be too surprised.”

  Cleburne’s eyebrows arched up. “If that happens, you are the obvious choice to take command of the army.”

  Hardee shrugged. “I am the senior corps commander.”

  “If Davis offers you the command, would you accept?”

  “I suppose I would,” Hardee said without much enthusiasm. “In December, it was clear to me that Johnston was better suited to the command than I was, because he was more able to restore the army’s morale after the disaster at Missionary Ridge. But if Davis does decide to replace Johnston and offer me the command, I shall accept.”

  “This army could not have a better commander than you, my friend,” Cleburne said with a smile.

  “Thank you.” He paused a moment. “But, truth be told, I do not expect to be offered the command.”

  Cleburne’s eyes narrowed. “Why not?”

  “I think that I lost a lot of credibility with Davis when I turned down his offer to take permanent command back in December. Besides, if Bragg has anything to say about it, I have as much chance of being appointed commander of this army as Abraham Lincoln.”

  “Then who?”

  Hardee said nothing, answering only with a knowing look.

  Cleburne understood. “Surely not Hood!”

  Hardee shrugged. “If not me, who else could it be?”

  Cleburne frowned and shook his head. “Setting aside questions of his fighting spirit, Hood can barely manage the administrative details of a single corps. If Bragg and Davis think that he is qualified to command an entire army, they are deluding themselves.”

  Hardee smiled grimly. “Well, when it comes to deluding oneself, no one can match the skill of Braxton Bragg.”

  *****

  Sherman stood on the north bank of the Chattahoochee, flanked by two men in colonel’s uniforms, watching with interest as his engineers labored to complete yet another pontoon bridge. Behind him, several regiments of infantry waited impatiently to cross.

  “You’ve done a marvelous job, Colonel Wright,” he said to the engineering officer in charge of bridge construction. “But we need to be moving faster.”

  “Sir, I’m sorry, but we
can’t go any faster. My men are exhausted. We’ve thrown up half a dozen bridges in just the last few days. There are limits to human endurance, you know.”

  Sherman let the last comment go. He might not have under normal circumstances, but he could see how tired Wright was and knew the man had probably not slept for the last forty-eight hours.

  “You realize, Colonel, that until our entire army is on the south bank, our forces are split in two. If the rebels decide to attack, they might have a significant advantage. Your bridges could be the only thing that could save us from defeat.” Sherman was exaggerating and knew it, for he thought an enemy attack to be unlikely and his men on the south bank were already entrenched. Still, it seemed a good way to spur Wright on.

  “We shall do our best, General,” Wright said resignedly.

  “Good,” Sherman said, then turned immediately to the other officer. “Colonel Anderson? The supply wagons?”

  “I’ve got several hundred at the railhead we’ve established at Marietta. They’ll be fully loaded up with food and ammunition by this time tomorrow and on their way to the crossing site.”

  “They’d better be,” Sherman insisted. “I may have the best army in the world, but it can’t fight if it doesn’t have food and ammunition. I know that getting it all across the river gives you even more problems, but I’m sure you’ll figure out a way to solve them.”

  “Of course, sir.”

  Sherman closed his eyes for a moment and reflected on the massive effort that went into supplying his army. The products of the vast agricultural and industrial machinery of the North, which dwarfed that of the South by several orders of magnitude, were collected at the great government depots of Louisville and Cincinnati on the Ohio River. From there, they went by train to the enormous supply base that had been established at Nashville, which had fallen to Union forces more than two years before. The mountains of food, ammunition, and other supplies at Nashville were sufficient to supply Sherman’s army for at least a few months.

  From Nashville, two railroads weaved southeastward to the major Union base at Chattanooga, carrying tons of supplies each and every day. Having two railroads from Nashville to Chattanooga provided a certain amount of redundancy.

  But it was the line from Chattanooga to the front line that kept Sherman up at night, for it was dependent upon the rickety and vulnerable single-line track of the Western and Atlantic Railroad. Johnston’s men had torn it up thoroughly as they had retreated and the main task of Sherman’s engineers had been to repair it as they advanced, mile by mile.

  For every hour that Sherman spent figuring out how his army was to march and fight, he had to spend at least six hours figuring out how to keep it fed. If Sherman’s railroad lines were cut, his army would begin to starve and the campaign against Atlanta would have to be abandoned. Sherman felt very much like a man dangling from the roof of a tall building by a rope. If the rope broke, he would fall to his death.

  “Have any of the guard units behind the lines reported anything out of the ordinary?” Sherman asked.

  Anderson answered. “No, sir. A few guerrilla attacks only. There are occasional reports of rebel cavalry, but they seem more intent on reconnaissance than raiding the railroad.”

  Sherman shook his head. “I do not understand why the enemy has not made a significant effort to break our railroad. I am not complaining, mind you, but I cannot understand it.”

  “If they do attempt to attack our supply lines, sir, we have strong defenses everywhere. Every railroad bridge is protected by blockhouses. We have continuous patrols moving up and down the line. Repair crews are also stationed at every depot, ready to deal with any damage the rebels might inflict on the railroad.”

  Sherman tried to fathom what Johnston was thinking. While he had fought tenaciously during the campaign up to this point, the wily Confederate had withdrawn across the Chattahoochee without a fight. He also seemed to be making no effort to cut his supply line. Was Johnston truly whipped? Or was it some sort of ruse?

  Sherman silently reminded himself not to give way to paranoia. If Johnston had wanted to fight a major battle, he could have done so north of the Chattahoochee with greater odds of success. Every calculation Sherman’s mind made told him that the rebels were whipped. They would abandon Atlanta, he and his Northern troops would march in, Lincoln would be reelected, and the war might be over by Christmas.

  He smiled. He shouldn’t have.

  *****

  “You’re certain?” Johnston asked.

  “Without any doubt,” Mackall said. “Bragg and Hood spoke privately for some time and afterwards Bragg went to confer with General Wheeler. It is extremely inappropriate, I must say.”

  Johnston shook his head. “I suppose I am becoming naïve in my old age, trusting in the honor of Southern officers. But then, considering their recent behavior, I should have expected no less.”

  “What recent behavior?”

  “I have not told you up to this point, but it has recently been made known to me that Hood and Wheeler have been engaging in a secret correspondence with both President Davis and General Bragg for some time.”

  “What?” Mackall’s faced flashed with anger. “Insubordination! All communications relating to military matters must be sent through this army headquarters.”

  “You are quite right, William.”

  “I shall have court martial papers drawn up at once!” Mackall began to head toward the door before Johnston stopped him.

  “Wait, William! Sit back down. We can’t be too hasty. Politically, we are on very sensitive ground. President Davis is clearly looking for any justifiable reason to remove me from command. That’s obviously why he sent Bragg here. Bringing charges against Hood, who is the President’s personal friend, would only make that more likely to happen.”

  “A letter of reprimand, then.”

  “No. Not yet, anyway.”

  Mackall sat back down, pursing his lips and shaking his head. “These rumors of your impending removal make me furious, General. We have done the best we could under very difficult conditions. We have only surrendered territory when we had no other choice. The fact that we have been pushed back to Atlanta is not your fault. Certainly no one else could have done any better.”

  “President Davis apparently thinks otherwise.”

  “Would he have been happy if we had committed the army to an open battle, so that it could have been crushed by Sherman’s superior numbers?”

  “He may be a West Point graduate and a veteran of the war in Mexico, but Davis has always been more a politician than a soldier. He does not understand military realities, especially when they refuse to correspond with his fantasies.”

  “But what should we do about Hood and Wheeler?”

  “I’m not sure,” Johnston admitted. “I suppose we could confront them about their actions, but if they are then left in command of their respective units, it would only lead to discord and rancor, jeopardizing our upcoming attack when the enemy crosses Peachtree Creek. But I confess to having great fears about Hood’s involvement in the operation.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s only a suspicion, but the thought has recently occurred to me that Hood, in previous actions on this campaign, has deliberately sabotaged our army’s operations.”

  Mackall sat back. “Surely you can’t be serious.”

  “Like I said, it is only a suspicion.”

  “No Confederate officer, even one as unscrupulous as Hood, could sink to such a low. Incompetence is one thing, but sabotage? To jeopardize the success of our cause merely to satisfy his own personal ambitions? I cannot believe it. It would be treason.”

  “Can you not? Recall that he abandoned the attack at Cassville, which would have crushed one-third of Sherman’s army had it gone forward, because he claimed a small force of Union cavalry had appeared behind his lines.”

  “I grant you that. When it happened, I had just passed through the area where he claimed the cavalry was loc
ated and saw nothing at all.”

  “And even if they had been there, Hood should have detached a force sufficient to deal with them and gone forward with the attack. How could a small force of cavalry threaten an entire infantry corps?”

  Mackall nodded. “Yes, I see what you mean.”

  “And in late May, right after we beat the Yankees at Pickett’s Mill, I ordered Hood to move his corps around Sherman’s left flank and attack it. I even reinforced him with brigades from the other two corps. But he again shrank back from attacking, even though the tactical situation seemed close to perfect.”

  “The two golden opportunities of the campaign, and each time Hood botched the attacks.”

  “Botched? Your choice of words implies an accident. I am beginning to suspect that his failures were deliberate.”

  “Yes, I see. A coincidence does seem rather too convenient, doesn’t it?”

  “Needless to say, considering his letters to Davis, his secret meeting with Bragg, and these hard-to-explain actions over the course of the campaign, I am hesitant to trust him with a serious role in the upcoming attack. Indeed, I hesitate to trust him with anything at all.”

  *****

  July 14, Noon

  President Davis was reading Bragg’s telegram for the third time.

  President Davis,

  I have visited General Johnston’s headquarters and will do so again today. I cannot see that he has any more plan for the future than he has had in the past. I have also spoken with Hood and Wheeler. Full details of these meetings will be transmitted later today.

  General Bragg

  Davis fumed at the lack of information, but he knew that Bragg was only making sense in waiting to send a more detailed message until he had a chance to confer with Johnston at greater length. Still, the only two solid pieces of information Bragg had given him were bad enough. It appeared as though Atlanta was being prepared for an evacuation and it did not appear that Johnston had any plan to defend the city.