Cleburne remounted his horse and, taking a deep breath, tapped it with his spurs, trailed by McFadden. They rode through the gate of the redoubt and, not wanting to waste time, kicked the horses into a canter. He headed directly for the Union officers. Only half a mile away, thousands of Union soldiers were watching his approach. Behind him, his own troops were viewing the proceedings with concern as well. Cleburne wondered what they all were thinking.
He reined in less than ten yards from the three enemy officers and stiffly saluted.
“I am General Cleburne,” he said. “I command the Confederate forces in Atlanta.”
The officer returned the salute. “I am General McPherson, commander of the Army of the Tennessee. It is an honor to meet you, General Cleburne.”
Cleburne nodded. “And you, General McPherson.”
“It was my understanding that General Hardee commanded in Atlanta.”
“General Hardee has been wounded.”
“Oh? I pray not seriously. He was one of my instructors at West Point.”
“I believe he will survive. I shall extend your best wishes to him.”
McPherson nodded. “Thank you.” He cleared his throat before continuing. “Let us come to the matter at hand. I have been authorized by General Grant to speak with full authority.”
“Very well. I am listening, though I confess I have no idea what you want to discuss.”
“General Grant wishes me to give you the following message. The result of yesterday’s fighting must surely convince you of the hopelessness of further resistance. To remove from the United States any responsibility for the further needless effusion of blood, he calls for the surrender of the city of Atlanta and all Confederate forces within it.”
Cleburne laughed softly. “We will never surrender. Of that you can be certain.”
McPherson leaned forward. “General Cleburne, when you return to your command post, you will be told that our cavalry has managed to reach the railroad linking Atlanta to Augusta. All rail traffic in that direction has been halted. We already hold the railroads to both the south and southwest. You will also be told that all telegraph lines have been cut. You are surrounded and cut off from any hope of resupply or reinforcement.”
Cleburne tensed at these words. He had to assume that McPherson was speaking the truth. A bluff under such circumstances would have made no sense, since he could easily check it for himself within an hour. The Southerners themselves had no cavalry to counter such a move, for all their mounted units had been destroyed. He tried to look as calm as possible.
McFadden, of course, had said nothing. Cleburne wondered what he was thinking. From what Cleburne had learned in their conversations, he had served in New Mexico under Sibley in 1862, fought in Arkansas the following winter, and served in the 7th Texas since the spring of 1863. The man did not waver in his courage, and Cleburne’s command was filled with soldiers like McFadden. The thought gave him confidence.
“Surrounded or not, Atlanta will not be surrendered. Our defenses are strong and we have an enormous reserve of ammunition for both rifles and artillery. Our food supplies are also more than adequate.”
“Even if that is so, you are outnumbered by an impossible margin. You found that out yesterday, did you not? Your strong defenses meant nothing against our numbers.”
Cleburne shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. So long as a single one of us remains alive, we shall resist. If you want Atlanta, you shall have to kill every single one of us in protracted fighting amidst the rubble of the city.”
“Are you really going to condemn your men to suffer and die in the ruins of Atlanta, General Cleburne?” McPherson said, the polished tone of persuasion slipping into his voice. “What will be gained by their deaths? You and I both know that the Confederacy is doomed.”
“You’re wrong, General McPherson. You cannot crush the spirit of the South, for there is a fire in our hearts which you cannot hope to extinguish. We shall continue fighting for our rights, no matter how long it takes, until the North acknowledges our right to decide our own destiny in our own way.”
“Why do you fight for them, General Cleburne? You are not a Southerner. You’re an Irishman. You should be fighting to free Ireland from British rule, not fighting to maintain the power of a corrupt slaveholding aristocracy which cares nothing for the welfare of ordinary people. The leaders of your so-called Confederacy only want to keep their slaves and their plantations. They don’t care about you or your men.”
Cleburne tilted his head, looking back at McPherson in some confusion. Did McPherson seriously think he might be able to persuade him to surrender? If so, he was deluding himself.
“I am a Southerner,” Cleburne said firmly. “I may have been born in Ireland, but I am a Southerner. These people have been my friends. They welcomed me into their midst with open arms when I arrived, penniless and obscure, from another land. The South is where I have made my home. And I will fight for it.”
“No matter how many men must die?”
Cleburne’s eyes flashed with anger. “You spoke of Ireland. England has lorded it over Ireland for centuries. What is the North doing today but trying to establish a similar rule over the South? You invade our land under the pretense of freeing the slaves, but your true objective is to establish an absolute tyranny over the South and deprive us of our rights.”
“Your rights?” McPherson asked mockingly. “You mean the right to own other human beings?”
“I do not own slaves, sir. You Yankees say you are fighting to free the slaves, yet you burn our towns, loot our farms, and kill our people. Of course I will fight you to the death, slavery be damned. In my place, you would do the same.”
“You are willing to fight for the South, yet the South seems distinctly unwilling to fight for you,” McPherson said. “How many newspapers and politicians, not to mention your fellow officers, have called for your removal from command since your proposal to free the slaves was revealed to the public?”
Cleburne shifted uncomfortably in the saddle. He decided to respond to McPherson by saying nothing.
McPherson went on. “If you favor freeing the slaves, why do you fight for the Confederacy?”
“Slavery is not what I fight for, General McPherson, nor is it what my men fight for. We are fighting only in defense of our right to decide our own destiny as we see fit.” He spoke these words as firmly as he could, though part of his mind wondered whether he was trying to persuade himself as much as McPherson.
“I’ve read the newspaper accounts. I know all about your proposal. If what you’re saying is true, if the South really is fighting only for its own freedom and not to maintain slavery, why was your proposal rejected? Why was your proposal not embraced with open arms by your comrades? Why have you been humiliated and disgraced for writing it, rather than being honored as a visionary?”
Cleburne looked at McPherson with what he hoped was an expressionless face. In fact, McPherson’s words stung badly. McPherson’s question was one for which Cleburne had never found a satisfactory answer. He thought of how his proposal had engendered the visceral hatred of William Walker and many of his other fellow officers. He thought about how quickly President Davis had ordered all discussion of the subject terminated and how he had been passed over so many times for corps command. He thought of how the public revelation of his proposal had nearly ended his career and destroyed his reputation.
“This conversation is serving no useful purpose, General McPherson.”
“I shall ask one final time. Will you surrender Atlanta?”
“I will not, sir.”
“In that case, we have nothing further to discuss. Farewell, General Cleburne.”
“Farewell, General McPherson.”
The two men saluted and simultaneously turned their horses away from one another. Cleburne tapped his horse into a walk and headed back to his own lines. He did not want to move very fast, as he wished to give the Yankees the impression that he was entirely unconcerned.
“An odd conversation,” McFadden said simply.
Cleburne turned and looked at him in some surprise. Although he was on easy and familiar terms with his staff officers, several of whom had served with him since the beginning of the war, he had only just recently met McFadden. To have a mere lieutenant show such familiarity was unusual, but it also showed a level of confidence.
“Indeed,” Cleburne replied. “One of the oddest of my life, I must say.”
“Do you think it’s true? About the enemy already being on the railroad to Augusta?”
“Probably. He wouldn’t have said it otherwise. We can easily check.”
“Well, if I can speak for the men, sir, we have every confidence in your leadership. We will fight for this city with every sinew of our strength.”
“Thank you.” He paused a moment before continuing. “Do you own slaves, McFadden?”
“No, sir. My mother held emancipationist views. She told my father that no one would ever be held in servitude under the roof of her house.”
“Do you favor emancipation, as she did?”
McFadden thought for a moment. “I suppose I never really considered it, sir. Holding slaves has certainly caused the South a great deal of trouble, to say the least.”
Cleburne nodded sharply. “It has prevented the nations of Europe from recognizing the Confederacy. And whenever Northern armies have invaded our territory, slaves flock to them in the hopes of being set free. Tens of thousands of them have enlisted in the Union Army. Their claim to be fighting to destroy slavery has also given the North a feeling of moral superiority that Lincoln has used well, false though it is.”
“That’s all true, sir. But I was speaking more in the sense that slavery is what brought the war on in the first place. Had there been no slavery, there would never have been a war. And then we would all have been much better off, I think.”
Cleburne laughed softly. McFadden’s observation was so simple and obvious that it was little wonder it had escaped the notice of the vast majority of people.
“Sir, may I ask you a favor?”
“Of course, McFadden. What is it?”
“My men have been with you since last night. If you no longer need us, we would like to find whatever is left of Granbury’s brigade.”
Cleburne nodded. “Yes. Your services have been very useful, McFadden. I appreciate your efforts.”
“Thank you, sir. Also, if I might be excused for an hour or two, there is someone in the city I need to check on.”
Cleburne grinned. “A lady friend?”
“Yes, sir.”
“How can I deny a request like that? Take your men back to Granbury, then go check on your lady friend. But stay no longer than necessary before rejoining your men. The Yankees will attack soon, and I will need every man at his post. Especially my best men, a group in which I include you.”
“Thank you, sir.”
They crossed back into the Confederate lines and, without another word, McFadden kicked his horse into a canter. Cleburne watched him go, finding him an even more interesting fellow than he had the night before.
*****
September 26, Noon
“Well, Seward, things seem to be going well outside Atlanta,” Lincoln said with a smile.
“Oh? Pray tell.”
“Stanton received a telegram from Grant late last night. I read it this morning. McPherson’s men smashed the Confederate defenses around the town of East Point and captured the place. This is important, so Stanton tells me, because it cuts Atlanta off from railroad communication with Johnston’s army in Alabama.”
“Well, that’s good news.”
“Indeed, it is. Grant says that McPherson will now attack the west and south side of the Atlanta defenses, while Howard pins the enemy down with feints on the north side and tries to get around to the east to surround the city.”
“Not like him to be so specific,” Seward noted. “He must be unusually confident.”
“I believe so.”
“Where is General Johnston’s army?”
Lincoln eyebrows went up. “Grant did not mention Johnston. Presumably he is still in Alabama.”
“Who, then, is commanding the rebel forces in Atlanta?”
“Stanton told me last night that it was General Hardee.”
Seward smiled and nodded. “I thought so. How fascinating.”
“How’s that?” Lincoln asked.
“When my wife was in Europe about twenty years ago, she was riding in a carriage through the Alps on a sightseeing expedition when the horses became spooked and bolted, carrying the carriage with it. She would surely have been carried over a cliff had not an American army officer, who just happened along in the nick of time, grabbed the bridles of the horses and stopped them. Turns out it was Hardee.”
“Fascinating, indeed. What on Earth was he doing there?”
“If I remember correctly he had been granted a sabbatical to study at a school for French cavalry officers.”
Lincoln chuckled. “The United States spent many years and huge amounts of money training these Southern officers. Now they take what they have learned to lead armies against us. Strange, don’t you think?”
“It is strange.”
“But thank God Hardee happened to be there.”
“Oh, yes. I have no doubt that he saved my wife’s life. When I learned what had happened, I wrote to Hardee to tell him that he would always be able to count on me if it were ever in my power to provide any service for him.”
“What a odd world we live in,” Lincoln observed with a smile.
Seward reached for his coffee. “Quite true, quite true. In any case, Mr. President, I think the news from Atlanta is very good. With the Democrats in disarray on account of the Marble scandal and the military situation considerably improved, I think we can go forward toward the election with confidence.”
They discussed issues only indirectly related to the war for the next half hour. The French armies of Napoleon III were continuing to gain ground in Mexico, which was obviously a matter of great concern but about which little could be done until the Confederacy was defeated. Seward wanted to lodge a complaint with the British regarding the economic damage caused by Confederate commerce raiders that had been constructed in British dockyards, but Lincoln also felt that such an issue should wait until the war was over.
Seward briefed Lincoln about events in Europe, including the unfortunate war Prussia was waging against Denmark and the failure of a Polish rebellion against Russia. None of this had much to do with the war, but Lincoln felt it was good for him to be kept aware of what was happening in the wider world.
A messenger arrived with what he said was a telegram from Henry Raymond in New York City. With a smile, Lincoln unfolded the message and read it. As he did so, his smile quickly disappeared.
He stood up from the table. “Oh dear God,” he said, his face whitening.
“What is it?” Seward asked, instantly troubled.
“Raymond telegraphs that Butler has released Marble from jail!”
“What?”
“Not only that, but the New York World is running what it purports to be an official statement from Butler that the charges against Marble were false and politically-motivated!”
“Surely that’s concocted!” Seward exclaimed.
Lincoln continued reading to the bottom of the telegram, his eyes frantically searching for any good news. “If there were any evidence that it was concocted, I would assume Raymond would say so. Besides, how could it come so quickly after Marble’s release from jail unless Butler and he had planned it together?”
Seward leapt to his feet in anger. “Damn Ben Butler! That lying, scheming bastard has betrayed us!”
Lincoln threw the telegram down on the table, anger sharpening his features. He leaned forward with his hands on the table to support himself, letting his chin fall to his chest. All the happiness and exuberance of a few minutes earlier had been instantly sucked out
of the President.
“We should never have trusted Butler,” Lincoln said tiredly. “Such an unscrupulous man, with only his own interests in mind. How could we not have anticipated such perfidy?”
Seward shook his head. “He must have cut a deal with the Democrats. God knows what sort of bait they dangled before his greedy, fat face before he bit into it.”
Lincoln sat back down, letting out a heavy sigh. “The worst possible news at the worst possible time.”
“It will certainly cost us New York,” Seward said. “Up until this moment, I had some hope that our recent successes had a chance of bringing the Empire State back into the Republican column on election day.”
Lincoln waved his hand dismissively. “New York was going to be for McClellan, anyway. I am more concerned about the other big prizes. Pennsylvania, Ohio, and Indiana.”
Seward nodded quickly. “Yes, the news will reverberate in those states, I’m afraid. The Democrats had been discredited by the Marble scandal, but this will shatter all the gains we have made in those states over the past few weeks.”
“And unless the laws of mathematics no longer apply, those states going to McClellan will give him more than enough electoral votes to secure the presidency.”
“I’m afraid so, Mr. President.”
Lincoln paused for a moment. “So, it all hinges on Grant outside Atlanta then, doesn’t it? Only the capture of Atlanta will be enough to bring the Northern public back into our orbit after this disaster in New York.”
Seward nodded soberly. “I believe so, Mr. President. If Grant fails at Atlanta now, I think it entirely possible that the United States will be two nations instead of one.”
*****
McFadden rode northeast along the cut of the Atlanta and East Point Railroad toward the center of Atlanta. He wished he could trot or canter, but both he and the horse were simply too tired. By rights, he should have simply found his men and tried to get some rest before the upcoming battle. However, he needed to find out if the Turnbows were safe.
All around him he could see the results of the Union bombardment. Several homes and buildings he passed were punctured with large holes created by solid shot or shrapnel, while many others were blackened and burned by the fires caused by exploding shells. There was still smoke rising from the city in many places and, in the distance, he could occasionally hear the thumping sounds indicating shell detonations. The Yankee bombardment of Atlanta, clearly, was far from over.
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