All of those men, needless to say, had been perfectly willing to be the last man to die in a losing war. Unable to help himself, Grant found himself thinking that if the men of the North would only show such devotion to their cause as those brave men of Mexico had shown to theirs, the South would have long since been crushed. He would not only have to call upon such reserves of heroism and manliness within himself, but somehow call them forth from his men, if he were to prevail. If he could, the Union would be saved and the abominable institution of slavery would be destroyed forever. He chose not to think on what would happen if he could not.
Schofield now spoke. “The main problem for the men, General Grant, is the inactivity of the past month. True, the Army of the Cumberland needed time to recover from Peachtree Creek and all our forces have needed time to assimilate reinforcements and build up supplies. But now that we are again ready to move, the men are wondering why we yet remain static.”
“You needn’t worry on that score, General Schofield,” Grant replied. “Moving forward is precisely what I intend to do, and soon.”
“And what shall be our plan of operation?” Schofield asked.
Grant said nothing, responding only by taking a longer pull on his cigar and kicking Cincinnati into a faster trot.
*****
September 2, Noon
“And was the reaction from your fellow officers what you expected?” Cooper asked.
Cleburne looked across the table at the man who held the dual posts of Adjutant General and Inspector General of the Confederate Army. Samuel Cooper had been born when John Adams had been in the White House and his advanced age was the primary reason he had never held a field command. But Cleburne, who had never met the man before sitting down at the table with him a bit over two hours earlier, was convinced that he couldn’t have led men into combat even in the prime of his life. Although obviously intelligent, Cooper lacked the inner fire that burned within all true warriors. He was a man seemingly formed by nature to sit at a desk and scrawl his signature onto papers.
Cooper had appropriated one of the rooms of Johnston’s headquarters at the Niles House in order to hold his interviews. He had spoken with Johnston himself, as well as Hardee and the other two corps commanders, the day before. Now it was Cleburne’s turn. Before he was done, he had let it be known, he intended to speak with every officer who had been present at the now infamous January meeting.
The interview, which Cleburne felt was increasingly taking on the character of an interrogation, was dragging on interminably. His mind kept telling him that this was how men accused of heresy in centuries past must have felt when they had been dragged before the Inquisition.
Cooper leaned his head forward slightly. “General Cleburne?”
“I’m sorry, sir. In truth, no. Their reaction was not what I expected. I rather expected the majority to support my proposal. A few did support it, but most were opposed.”
“This disappointed you?”
“Of course. I knew that some men would oppose the proposal, but I did not expect so many to do so, nor did I expect the opposition to be so ferocious.”
Cleburne’s mind went back to the meeting in January, held when the Army of Tennessee was camped in the tiny hamlet of Dalton, the men thinking of nothing but how to keep themselves warm as the snapping cold of winter enveloped them. He had felt confident as he had begun reading the text of his proposal. However, even before he had finished, he had noted the looks of unbelieving horror on the faces of many of his fellow officers and, most especially, the look of unrestrained hatred on the face of William Walker.
“With respect, General Cleburne, it seems to me that you approached the question with a dangerous level of naiveté. The officers with whom you serve are mostly slave-owners themselves, with a vested economic interest in maintaining our peculiar institution as it presently exists. You seem to have thought that it would be a simple matter to persuade them to accept a complete reformation of the Southern way of life which, more to the point, would be completely against their own interests.”
“I freely confess that the matter is more complicated than I initially gave it credit for, sir. I also maintain that I made my proposal with the best of intentions.”
“I don’t question your intentions, General Cleburne. I simply question your judgment.”
Cleburne felt his face flash with heat. He felt Cooper’s tone was patronizing. In the small, self-contained world that was his division, his brigade and regimental commanders accorded him deep and unconditional respect, even when they disagreed with him. They would freely tell him when they thought he was wrong, as Major Benham often did, but never in such a discourteous manner.
Still, Cleburne knew how to be deferential to his superiors. After all, before immigrating to America, he had spent years as an enlisted man in the British Army, where disobedience was punished in the same manner used by American slave-drivers to punish their slaves. Cleburne recalled with distaste the memory of seeing men whose backs had been torn open to the bone by repeated floggings, often for very minor offenses. The lesson had been rammed home to him at an early age. One must keep an independent mind, but it did not do to anger one’s superiors.
That lesson seemed especially pertinent at this moment. While he knew he had committed no crime, Cleburne was well aware that he was in grave danger of being removed from his command and having his beloved division taken away from him. Many of the newspapers were clamoring for it and there was even a rumor that a petition was circulating among general officers demanding it. Cleburne doubted if the latter were true, for his fellow general officers were mostly honorable men. But if the rumor were true, such a plot could only have been hatched by William Walker.
Cooper went on. “General Cleburne, do you not realize the disorder unleashed among the officer corps of the Army of Tennessee by your actions? If I may speak frankly, this army has been beset by personal distrust and professional rivalries between its general officers from nearly the beginning of the war. The departure of General Bragg and the assumption of command by General Johnston offered a chance at smoothing over these troubled waters, but your proposal to free the slaves disrupted what could have been a sustained period of calm. You might as well have set off a bomb within the heart of the army.”
“That was not my intention, sir.”
“Of course it wasn’t. But your intentions do not matter. What matters is the impact of your actions.”
Cleburne was tired of being lectured. “Respectfully, sir, I believe that the impact of my actions would have been of great benefit to the Confederacy had my brother officers embraced my views and had the government been supportive. Freeing at least the most courageous of our slaves and enlisting them in the army would have allowed us to meet the Yankees on terms of numerical parity, would have perhaps prompted Britain and France to extend us diplomatic recognition, and would have undone the deceptive lies of the Lincoln administration that the North is fighting to abolish slavery rather than to subjugate the South. Considering how well the blacks have fought in the Northern army, exemplified by their assault on Fort Wagner and in recent actions around Petersburg, we could expect them to fight equally well for us if we promised them freedom.”
Cooper listened to this with raised eyebrows. Cleburne could see instantly that he was not buying it. Whatever his administrative gifts, Cooper did not seem like the kind of man who could easily embrace new and unorthodox ideas. Cooper’s view of the world had been formed before Cleburne had been born and he was not about to change it now.
“It should have been made very clear to you by now, General Cleburne, that the government does not share your views on this matter. Nor do the considerable majority of your fellow officers. You were given specific orders to cease promoting your proposal.”
“Which I followed,” Cleburne said sternly, fearful that irritation was beginning to creep into his voice. “From the moment General Johnston ordered me to stop discussing the subject, I have not discu
ssed it.”
“Not at all?”
“Not at all.” He paused for a moment and considered his next words, wanting to be truthful. “Except, I suppose, in private conversations with personal friends who are already aware of my views.”
“Such as General Hardee?”
Cleburne did not answer right away, for he found this question rather disturbing. Why would Cooper want to single out Hardee? Cleburne considered giving an evasive answer, but the close friendship between Cleburne and Hardee was well known and anything other than the truth would not have been believed. Besides, Cooper had spoken with Hardee the day before. Hardee had been ordered not to discuss the interview and had not done so, though he had seemed somewhat uneasy. Cleburne could only guess what answers he had given Cooper.
“Yes, I have discussed the matter with General Hardee. But, as I say, it took the form of private conversations between personal friends. I do not see how it would be the business of the army or government.”
Cooper grunted as he scribbled something down on the paper in front of him. It outraged Cleburne that a mention of private conversations between gentlemen was being taken down as evidence.
Another half hour passed. The questions and answers came and went, becoming increasingly repetitive in Cleburne’s mind. He had decided within the first few minutes of the interview that it was an entirely futile exercise, but he was astonished at exactly how meaningless the questioning was. Whatever facts Cooper gleaned from his answers had been known to Jefferson Davis for many months. Thanks to the newspapers, pretty much everyone else in the Confederacy had learned them in the past few weeks as well. Nothing whatsoever was being accomplished by Cooper’s questions and every minute Cleburne sat at the table was one minute he was not drilling his men or working with his officers on how to improve combat readiness.
At long last, Cooper set his pen down. “Well, General Cleburne, I believe that you and I have covered all the ground. You are free to go. However, as I shall remain with the Army of Tennessee for the next few days, I may have reason to call you in for another interview if I decide there is more you and I need to discuss. Would that be all right?”
“Of course, sir.” In truth, Cleburne had no choice and both he and Cooper knew it.
Both men rose from their seats, Cleburne’s legs feeling cramped from having been seated for so long. They exchanged salutes. “I bid you good day, General Cleburne.”
“Thank you, sir.”
He turned and walked out the door, emerging into the small central hall of the Niles House. Several of Johnston’s staff officers were visible in one of the side rooms, engaged in an animated discussion that had to do with bringing in sufficient fodder for the artillery horses in Stewart’s corps. Cleburne briefly saw General Mackall walking up the steps toward what Cleburne knew was Johnston’s private room, presumably to speak with the army commander about something or other.
Sitting in a chair across from the door to Cooper’s room was General William Walker.
“Finished, are you?” he asked, dark humor in his voice.
“Yes,” Cleburne said simply, turning toward the front door.
“Good. I’ve been waiting here for nearly an hour. Did the interview go longer than expected?”
Cleburne stopped walking and faced him. He could not simply ignore Walker and depart, however much he wanted to do so, because he was a brother officer and such disrespect would surely invite unfavorable comment. Besides, Cleburne knew he was on shaky ground and inciting further trouble would not help him maintain command of his division.
“I suppose so,” Cleburne said. He noted that Walker did not deign to rise from his chair.
“Well, you and General Cooper certainly had much to discuss, I’m sure. With that abolitionist idea of yours now in the press for all the world to see, it’s only to be expected that the government would look into the matter.”
“He’s interviewing you next?”
Walker nodded. Cleburne knew how that interview would go. Walker would denounce Cleburne as a abolitionist set on tearing apart the Army of Tennessee. He would misconstrue the facts so as to cast Cleburne, and perhaps Hardee as well, in the worst possible light. In truth, he had plenty of material with which to work.
“Yes, he’s interviewing me next, all right. Surely you recall that I was at the meeting. I heard you read your proposal. You sent me a copy of it a couple of days later. I know as much about it as any man. Only stands to reason that Cooper would want to hear my side of the story.”
Walker had requested a copy of Cleburne’s proposal, it had turned out, only so that he could forward it to Jefferson Davis in Richmond with a note bitterly attacking both the proposal and the man who had made it. Cleburne had given Walker the copy in the hopes that it would be an indirect way for his idea to come to the attention of Davis. He had not counted on Walker being so duplicitous.
“Well, I hope your meeting with Cooper is not as boring as mine has been,” Cleburne said, again making to walk for the front door.
“Boring? Oh, I doubt it will be boring. He will surely want to know the extent to which abolitionist subversion has penetrated the officer ranks of the Army of Tennessee.”
Cleburne again stopped and turned toward Walker. “Explain your words, sir,” he said firmly.
Walker still did not rise from his chair. Combined with the sneer on his face, it was clearly calculated to demonstrate his lack of respect for Cleburne. Tellingly, the audible conversations among the staff officers in the side rooms had ceased. Several pairs of eyes and ears were now being training on the two generals.
“Abolitionism,” Walker said simply. “You know, people saying that we should set the blacks free. It’s here in the army. It goes against everything our Southern Confederacy stands for, but it’s here. Your proposal is proof of that, by God.”
“I care nothing for the slaves,” Cleburne said sternly, though he himself did not know whether or not this was true. “I care only about the success of our cause. A cause you and I share, I might note.”
Now Walker did rise, causing Cleburne to tense somewhat. Though he was many years older than Cleburne and partially crippled by wounds he had suffered in the Seminole and Mexican Wars, Walker still somehow presented a threatening appearance. Cleburne reminded himself that he carried his saber and pistol, though the latter was unloaded.
“We do not share the same cause, Cleburne. My cause is the supremacy of the white man. I don’t know what your cause is, but if it involves freeing the blacks and placing them on the same level as whites, it’s not my cause. It’s something that I will fight against with every drop of my blood.”
“You and I both fight for the independence of the South,” Cleburne said. “If freeing the slaves makes it more likely that we shall be free of the tyrannical rule of the North, I support freeing them.”
Walker shook his head and chuckled bitterly. “And tell me, Cleburne, what is the South without slavery?”
“I did not propose abolishing slavery. Only that we free some of the slaves.”
“If you free some, eventually you will have to free them all. The Confederacy would be awash in free negroes, wandering about as though they owned the country. You’re such a fool, Cleburne. You know nothing of the South. You’re just worthless Irish flotsam cast onto these shores because you couldn’t make it in the British Army.”
Cleburne’s eyes flashed fire. “You will retract those words this instant, General Walker!”
“Or else what, you Paddy bastard?”
“General Walker!” a familiar voice boomed from above.
Cleburne glanced upwards and saw Johnston standing halfway up the staircase. He did not know for how long the army commander had been standing there, but obviously long enough to have heard the last few moments of the conversation. Cleburne and Walker both turned and stiffly saluted Johnston, who descended the stairs with a kingly bearing and stood between the two division commanders. He glanced back and forth between the two of
them for a few moments before speaking.
“General Walker, you will immediately apologize to General Cleburne for your unwarranted comments.”
Walker hesitated but a moment before speaking. “I apologize, General Cleburne.”
“General Cleburne, you will immediately accept General Walker’s apology.”
Everything inside Cleburne revolted at the idea of obeying this order. Walker had spoken to him in so rude and disrespectful a manner that the dueling ground was the only proper place to settle the dispute.
Walker had insulted Cleburne’s Irish origins. In a society that prized aristocratic family bloodlines above practically everything else, such an insult was the lowest to which a man could sink. Cleburne had had to work his way up the social ladder the hard way, rising on his own merit with no family wealth or connections to help him. Both despite and because of his great success, Cleburne was resented and despised by many throughout the Confederacy simply because of where he had been born. Combined with the charge of abolitionism, Walker’s slur could not be allowed to stand.
However, Johnston had ordered Cleburne to apologize. It was his duty to obey his commanding officer. If he refused, he would surely be removed from command, especially considering the thin ice on which he was already treading. His division needed him, he knew. The Confederacy needed him. As misguided as many in its leadership clearly were, the Confederacy was where his loyalties lay and he would not do anything to detract from the goal of winning its independence.
“I accept your apology, General Walker.”
“Good,” Johnston said, relieved. “Now, there shall be no more of this nonsense. It is the Yankees we must fight, not one another. The two of you are brother officers fighting in the same army for the same cause. I cannot ask you two to like one another, but I can and do order that you set aside whatever personal differences you may have and fight alongside one another against the common enemy. Do you agree?”
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