The infusion of two hundred fresh Confederate troops combined with the persistent firing of artillery into both flanks of the attacking force somehow made the difference. The Yankees who had gotten over the parapet were killed or knocked unconscious. Those remaining on the parapet were shot down. The artillery fire continued to butcher those massed in the trench on the other side. Eventually, McFadden began to hear the cries of Union officers for their men to fall back.
He dropped back into the defenses, angry at himself for having remained exposed on top of the parapet for so long. He quickly decided that it was not a time to be chivalrous.
“Get back onto the fire-step!” he shouted to his men. “Keep shooting!”
As heavy as the attack had been, McFadden knew that it was only a prelude to more massive assaults to come. The more troops he and his men killed now, the fewer would be coming at them later.
His men were now a complete mish-mash of troops from the 7th Texas, the 10th Texas and the Georgia Militia company. He was grateful to spot Major Collett, apparently unharmed, directing troops fifty or sixty yards to the left, also ordering them back into position to fire at the retreating enemy troops. The defenses resounded with the continuous popping of musket fire, but it lacked the strength of regular volleys because there were simply too few troops. Still, several Union soldiers were killed as they sought to climb out of the trench, get back through the abatis, and dash back out of range.
The last shot was finally fired, perhaps forty minutes after the Union buglers had first blown out the call for the charge. The combat had been hellacious. In the trench before the parapet and across the ground for a considerable distance beyond were hundreds of dead and wounded Union soldiers. Within the line itself, both Northern and Southern casualties were intermixed. The Yankees had come within a hair’s breadth of breaking through.
Collett ran up to him. “You’re hit!” he said, pointing to McFadden’s waist.
McFadden glanced down and was surprised to see a messy red blotch on the left side of his waist. He had not felt any sensation of pain during the fighting, though the moment he saw it an intense sting flashed through his body. Quickly, but trying to show no concern, he removed his shirt. Collett leaned forward and carefully inspected the wound.
“Just a graze,” he said, relieved. “It’ll hurt like a devil, but the surgeon should be able to patch you up.”
“Thanks, Major,” McFadden said. His voice did not betray the relief he felt. Had a bullet actually entered his body, the wound almost certainly would have become infected and possibly cost him his life. He wondered what Annie would have thought about that. He still had not had time to contact her since his return to the army.
“You deserve it, you silly bastard,” Collett said. “I saw you standing out in the open right on top of the parapet. Dammit, man, you must have been up there for five minutes!”
McFadden shrugged. He hadn’t really been thinking all that much during that time.
Collett looked out over the ground in front of their defenses. “That was close. They almost broke through.”
“Would have been easier to repulse them if the damn Georgia Militia hadn’t run away.”
“True enough. But the important thing is that they were repulsed.”
“Yeah, but this is just the start of things. The Yankees will be back.”
*****
Sitting astride Cincinnati in the midst of the marching columns of the Army of the Cumberland, Grant could distinctly hear the fading sounds of the fighting around East Point, five miles to the south. He wondered what the result had been. It had been something of a risk to send McPherson forward in an attack so quickly, when the men were tired from a long march and without any artillery preparation.
“Fighting seems to have stopped,” General Howard observed.
Grant grunted his agreement, lighting his twenty-fifth cigar of the day.
“Do you think he captured the town, sir?”
“Don’t know,” Grant replied. “I’m sure we’ll get word one way or another soon enough. Hopefully East Point is now under our control, but if not I will not be concerned.”
Howard’s eyes narrowed. “No?”
Grant shrugged. “I think we’ll be in Atlanta soon, but there are bound to be setbacks along the way. The rebels fight like devils and they need to keep Atlanta as much as we need to take it.”
Howard nodded. “I have always wondered why so many men fight so hard and so bravely for a cause so utterly unworthy of their sacrifice. To give one’s life so that rich men might keep fellow human beings as their personal property? It is obscene.”
“I agree,” Grant said. “I have often wondered the same thing myself. There seems to have been no justification for the secession of the Southern states. It was not the act of rational men.”
“Indeed. I shall pray to God for the salvation of their souls.”
“Let’s not worry about that now. We must win the war first, then deal with such questions.”
Sometime later, a messenger arrived with a note from McPherson. Grant read it quickly.
“Well?” Howard asked.
Grant frowned and shook his head. “We were repulsed. McPherson put two divisions against a rebel force of only two brigades. They broke the line in a few places but were not able to hold their gains. Losses estimated at fifteen hundred.”
‘Dear God,” Howard said.
“Not so bad, really,” Grant replied, folding the paper up and stuffing it into his pocket. “Not nearly so bad as Cold Harbor was. Or Kennesaw Mountain, from what I have heard. There’s going to be a lot more blood spilled between now and when our boys march into the city, so you might as well steel yourself for it.”
Howard nodded. “Of course, sir.”
Grant gazed over the heads of his men toward the distant Confederate fortifications protecting the city, perhaps a mile-and-a-half away.
“How far to the center of the city, do you think? As the crow flies, I mean.”
“Two miles or so, I would guess.”
“Hmm,” Grant muttered, thinking quietly. “Perhaps it would be a good idea to fire some shells into the city. Hardee has certainly called for help and I would not be surprised if rebel troops are even now on the train from Charleston or Savannah. Maybe even from Lee’s army in Virginia. If we can inflict damage on the railroad facilities in the center of town, we can make it more difficult for them to receive help from outside.”
Howard looked sharply over at Grant. “What of the civilians, sir?”
“Surely most of them have fled.”
“Most, I’m sure. But I imagine that there are many who have been unable or unwilling to leave. Hundreds at least.”
Grant shrugged. “Too bad.”
Howard took a deep breath. “Well, the rebels have sown the wind, so now they will reap the whirlwind.”
“Something like that. It’s a war, Howard. I’m not trying to be callous. But it’s a war. If we can cause disruption in the city and make it harder for the rebels to bring in reinforcements, it means that the war is that much closer to being over.”
Howard nodded slowly and looked out over the distance to Atlanta. “I’m sure that twenty-pounder Parrot rifled guns could hit the center of the city from here.”
“Good. See to it.”
*****
September 24, Evening
Lincoln had not left the telegraph office of the War Department for hours. Every time a telegraph arrived, he snatched it up the moment its dictation was complete and read through it with furious speed. During the long stretches of time between messages, he paced anxiously back and forth. Stanton, as usual, was visibly annoyed.
“Mr. President, you’re achieving nothing here except distracting my clerks. Perhaps you might go back to the White House?”
Lincoln smiled and shook his head. “I cannot, Edwin. Now that the battle has begun outside Atlanta, I must remain here. I shall be on tenterhooks otherwise.”
Stanton g
runted and went back to his paperwork, which had something to do with a complaint about defective cannon being delivered from an arsenal in Massachusetts. Lincoln went back to pacing.
As he walked back and forth, waiting for the familiar clicking sound from the telegraph machine, the President could feel optimism pushing away his anxiety like a morning sun burns away the mist. The Manton Marble scandal had swung the political situation in Lincoln’s favor for the first time since the spring. Although he was not so sanguine as to think it put the great electoral prize of New York State back into play, Lincoln did expect that Ohio and Pennsylvania might now be salvaged, and perhaps Indiana as well. Victory in the upcoming election, which had begun to feel impossible, now seemed within his grasp.
The latest telegrams from Grant indicated that the long-awaited assault on Atlanta had finally begun. Word of this would spread throughout the North within the next day or so. He imagined that the tension he felt would be mirrored by the nation as a whole. If Grant succeeded, Lincoln expected his reelection would be assured.
Grant appeared supremely confident of victory, judging by the tone of his telegrams. However, giving Grant his overwhelming numerical superiority had required the Union to strip other fighting fronts of many of their troops. Near Petersburg, Lee had defeated every effort by Grant to cut off his railroad links south of the city. In the Shenandoah Valley, Jubal Early’s army continued to stoutly resist Union efforts to gain control of that critical region.
In more distant theaters, the withdrawal of several Union divisions from the Trans-Mississippi had unfortunately allowed the rebels to regain the initiative there. A large enemy cavalry force was now rampaging through Missouri, while a rebel army was moving to recapture Little Rock. Grant had assured Lincoln that, given Union control of the Mississippi River, this theater of war was not strategically important. Still, Lincoln was wary of the political price he would pay if Northern voters read about further Union defeats in their newspapers.
The sound of the telegraph clicking abruptly terminated Lincoln’s thoughts and he jerked his head toward the sound. Major Eckert, as calmly as though he were making a sandwich, jotted down the message on a piece of paper. Although he was technically supposed to wait for Stanton’s instructions, he immediately handed the telegram to the President.
Stanton, who had emerged from his office next door the moment the clicking had begun, walked in hurriedly.
“From Grant?” he asked.
Lincoln nodded, continuing to read.
“Well, what does he say?”
Lincoln frowned and shook his head. “It appears that the first attack on East Point, which we need in order to control the railroad, has been beaten back by the rebels.”
“A disappointment. Casualties?”
“He doesn’t say.”
Stanton shrugged. “This is going to take a few days, Mr. President. Our first attack on Vicksburg was repulsed, if you recall.”
“It took Grant a month-and-a-half to capture Vicksburg after he had reached its defenses,” Lincoln said sourly. “We don’t have that much time.”
“I wouldn’t worry, Mr. President. Grant will bring up more men and do it right. Probably tomorrow.”
“Let’s hope so.”
The door opened and Seward entered, a pensive look on his face.
“Ah, Mr. President, Secretary Stanton. Good to see you both here.”
“Is something wrong?” Lincoln asked.
“Chief Justice Taney has died.” He let those words fall about the room.
Stanton beamed. “Well, that’s good.”
Seward’s eyes narrowed. “Show some respect, Edwin. We’re talking about a man’s life. A man who was the Chief Justice of the Supreme Court, I might remind you.”
“Respect be damned, William,” Stanton replied. “Had it not been for Taney and his stupid and unforgivable decision in the Dred Scott case seven years ago, this infernal war might never have happened. And how often have his rulings undermined our prosecution of the war against the rebels? He’s cost us more trouble than Jefferson Davis. Good riddance, I say.”
As Seward and Stanton continued to argue, Lincoln said nothing. Within a minute of hearing Seward’s news, he was already silently mulling over in his mind whom he would appoint to be the new Chief Justice of the Supreme Court, happy to have a distraction from the events taking place around Atlanta. But he knew the distraction wouldn’t last long.
*****
September 24, Night
“They have withdrawn?” Johnston’s voice betrayed his incredulity.
“So it would seem, sir,” Mackall answered. “Stewart and Cheatham are both reporting the same thing. It seemed strangely quiet after the sun went down, so both sent forward skirmishers, who soon returned with word that the enemy positions before them were completely empty. They then sent forward some cavalry to locate the enemy, who found them a mile down the road, marching northeast, back the way they came.”
Johnston shook his head, thoroughly confused. The strange behavior of the enemy was all the more baffling because, despite their best efforts, Johnston’s scouts had been unable to locate the Army of the Tennessee. This was making him increasingly uneasy.
“Is it possible that Grant has decided our position is too strong to assault?” Mackall asked.
Johnston shook his head. “That cannot be. Of course, our position is a very strong one, but Grant has never been one to turn away from a fight. McClellan, yes. McClellan would never have considered attacking us here. But Grant? Considering how he hurled his troops against Lee’s defenses at Spotsylvania and Cold Harbor, I see no reason why he would refuse to attack us. He also had no hesitation to assault the works at Vicksburg, which were much stronger than our defenses here.”
“I agree it is a mystery, sir. Shall I give orders for our men to pursue?”
Johnston considered this. It was almost midnight, so he assumed that the Yankees were using the cover of darkness to conceal their withdrawal. His instinct was to pursue them, but it was exceedingly difficult to control an army in total darkness. The prudent thing to do would be to wait until daylight, then locate the enemy and take actions accordingly.
A horseman galloped up, reining in outside the tent. “Where is General Johnston?” he shouted. “I have an urgent message that General Johnston must get at once!”
Moments later, Johnston unfolded the message.
General Johnston,
The Army of the Tennessee and the Army of the Cumberland, minus one corps which remains at Vining’s Station, have crossed to the south bank of the Chattahoochee River southwest of Atlanta and are now moving in force against the city from the west. I repeat that the Army of the Tennessee is not in Alabama but is near Atlanta. It is estimated that the enemy force numbers sixty thousand men. Prisoners report that General Grant in person commands the force on my front.
I urgently suggest that the corps of Stewart and Cheatham be brought back to Atlanta with all possible speed.
The direct telegraph wire between Atlanta and Lafayette has been cut. To communicate, I recommend sending the message via Columbus and Macon.
General Hardee
Johnston’s eyes widened in shock. He leaned forward against a chair to steady himself. “No, that cannot be,” he said firmly, even as he passed the message over to Mackall.
“My God,” Mackall said simply.
“I think General Hardee is seeing double.”
“Hardee is usually a very thorough officer, sir.”
“The last time we had certain intelligence on the whereabouts of the Army of the Tennessee, they were marching southwest toward Alabama directly behind the Army of the Ohio, yes?”
Mackall nodded. “Yes, sir. That was about a week ago.”
A chill went down Johnston’s spine. Hardee was not one to make mistakes about such matters. If they had not conclusively seen the Army of the Tennessee for an entire week, could that have given Grant sufficient time to countermarch it back to Atlanta
? Was it possible that he had been the victim of a massive act of deception?
He thought about the events of the day. The Union infantry, all of whom belonged to regiments identified as belonging to the Army of the Ohio, had engaged in sporadic artillery bombardments and occasionally pushed forward skirmish lines as though they were preparing to attack. Beyond that, though, they had done nothing. He had assumed that the Army of the Ohio was waiting for the Army of the Tennessee to come up before commencing its attack. Was the truth that they were simply presenting themselves as a decoy?
Another messenger arrived with a telegram from the War Department.
General Johnston,
We are informed by General Hardee in Atlanta that the great bulk of Grant’s forces are not moving into Alabama but are in fact attacking Atlanta on this very day. You are directed to move your army back to Atlanta by rail with all possible speed to defend the city against Grant’s attack.
Secretary of War Seddon
He felt as though an enormously powerful hand was clenching his stomach and his heart. He and Mackall began going over every report they had received from the cavalry over the past few days and a picture gradually began to emerge. Every prisoner they had taken and every regimental flag that had been spotted belonged to the Army of the Ohio. Accurate reconnaissance had been difficult because of the swarms of Yankee cavalry that had constantly hovered on the edges of the Union force.
For a moment, Johnston’s mind went back to his West Point history lessons. He recalled how John Churchill, the Duke of Marlborough, had successfully deceived his French enemies into thinking that he was threatening their strategic fortresses in Flanders when in fact the main effort of the British general was being directed against the French army in the Danube Valley. The result had been Marlborough’s great victory at Blenheim. Was it possible that he had been the victim of a similar trick?
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