The Civil War Trilogy: Gods and Generals / the Killer Angels / the Last Full Measure

by Michael Shaara

  There were two other men, seated behind Johnston, and both of them stood when Lee entered. Lee knew one to be General Gustavus Smith. The other was introduced by Davis.

  “General Lee, General Johnston has been accompanied by two of his ranking commanders. I believe you are acquainted with General Smith.”

  Lee nodded, Smith sat down, and Lee regarded the other man, much larger, a grim serious man who had been close to the fight.

  “This is General James Longstreet.”

  Longstreet made a brief nod, Lee returned it pleasantly. Longstreet seemed surprised, curious at Lee’s cordial greeting.

  Both men sat, and Davis said, “Gentlemen, General Johnston has brought to Richmond grave concerns. He does not feel . . . well, General, I will not speak for you. Please inform us as to your need for this meeting.” There was nothing pleasant in Davis’s voice.

  Johnston, who had small features and a short, pointed beard, stood and turned slightly, facing Lee and Randolph. Lee noticed the slight to Davis, saw Davis quietly move his chair to see Johnston’s face.

  “We are in the midst of the greatest crisis of our rebellion, the greatest crisis of my command. General McClellan is massing his entire army on the peninsula and will very soon be able to make a broad sweep, brushing our meager forces out of the way, until he sits gloating in this very office!”

  There was no reply; Lee knew Johnston would have more.

  “Our army is scattered so far and wide that we cannot possibly concentrate enough manpower to stop this assault. As we speak, the forces of General McDowell are moving toward Richmond from the northwest, clearly aiming to join flanks with McClellan’s. When this happens, Richmond will be surrounded, cut off. It is clear to this command that we have but one alternative, and that is to pull forces from the southern coasts, from the Shenandoah Valley, the Carolinas, Tennessee . . . from any areas where troop positions are strong, and concentrate them for a great defense, the defense of Richmond!”

  Lee looked at Davis, who did not speak. It was Secretary Randolph who broke the silence.

  “General, do you propose to abandon Yorktown and Norfolk?”

  “Of course. We cannot possibly hope to hold back McClellan’s forces along the coast. His superior artillery will destroy our defenses there in short order.”

  Randolph spoke again. “Sir, I must disagree with your plan. If you pull out of Norfolk, we will lose the naval yard, the ships that are currently under construction. We will concede the absolute domination of the seas to the Federal navy. Their gunboats would then move up the James River unimpeded and be in position to shell the city.”

  “General Lee?” Davis said. “Do you have an opinion regarding General Johnston’s plan?”

  Lee knew that Johnston was too stubborn to hear alternatives, could not be persuaded away from his own plans. The friction between him and Davis was largely a result of Davis’s insistence on keeping a hand in Johnston’s operations. Johnston, rather than argue, would simply cut off communications, leaving Davis and Lee totally ignorant of planning and troop movements.

  “Mr. President, I do not believe it is a wise course to remove our forces from the Southern coastline. We would be offering the Federal Army uncontested control of Savannah and Charleston. We are in a serious situation in Tennessee and Mississippi, and troops cannot be spared.”

  Davis nodded, said nothing. Johnston still stood, glared at Lee, said, “We have no choice but to concentrate our forces here, to defend Richmond, and if possible to strike out at the Federal Army from a strong position.”

  Lee glanced at Longstreet, knew of his good work at Manassas. He looked back to Davis, waited for some sign, some hint that Davis was going to take a stand. But the president sat still, leaned his head against his hand and stared straight ahead. Now, Lee realized that Davis would act when Johnston was not there. He had been pressed into silence by Johnston’s grand pronouncement, would not enter into simple squabbles, on which Johnston seemed to thrive. Lee realized that this was Davis’s way of maintaining control. The orders would be issued after the meeting was over, and Davis would not have to explain, could be direct, authoritative on paper, and not be challenged.

  Lee felt a growing frustration, a sense that no one here was really in charge, that Johnston would go back to his troops and do precisely what he wanted, and if Davis pushed him, he would simply ignore it. Finally he spoke, carefully picking his words.

  “General Johnston, it is my feeling that if we begin mass withdrawals, we will announce to the enemy our plans to settle into a defensive posture around Richmond. We will open up all avenues for him to move his troops, concentrating at his own pace and with his own methods. Is it not possible that, since we have already seen that General McClellan is prone to great caution, we might delay him even further by vigorously defending the peninsula? Is it not possible that we could then find opportunities to attack him, far from Richmond?”

  Johnston smiled slightly, said, “Well, General Lee, I suppose from your vantage point here, that may seem like a workable strategy, but you can be sure that for us in the field, who confront the guns of the enemy, these decisions must take into account the overwhelming forces that face us. . . .”

  Lee clenched his teeth, did not look at Johnston, heard the words flow out with oily smoothness, the patronizing tone that Johnston would use to disarm any disagreement to his plans. The men had been friends for thirty-five years, had gone through the Point together, through Mexico, and now Lee knew it would never be again. Johnston was alone, had cut off everyone, had placed himself in an isolated position from which he could not be moved.

  Randolph spoke again, repeated his position, and General Smith made a comment, lamenting the thinness of his lines. Lee withdrew further, began to see the others from a long distance, the voices hollow and droning. Davis still would not speak, and Lee again watched Longstreet, who focused on each speaker with a determined stare.

  The meeting lasted all afternoon, and finally Davis suggested a break for the evening meal. The men rose, limbered stiff legs, and began to file from the President’s office.

  As Johnston reached the door, Davis said, “General, Yorktown must not be abandoned.”

  Johnston spun around, faced Davis and said, “If I fight there, I will be pushed back, and then they will have Yorktown anyway.” Davis did not speak, and Johnston turned and left the office.

  Lee sensed Davis’s anger, knew the two men would expend great energy on their differences, that Johnston had made it clear he would have his way, something Davis would not swallow. Lee suddenly realized that there might be an opportunity, and his mind began to move, the wheels of the engineer, as he formulated his own plan.

  LEE AGREED with Johnston that MCDowell’s forces would try to link up with McClellan, that McClellan had shown he would not move forward until he had every piece of strength available. There was an opportunity to delay McClellan from moving by keeping McDowell away. The man in a position to do this was General Jackson.

  McDowell’s army was spread over an area that began in front of Jackson, in the Shenandoah Valley, and arched eastward, up toward Washington, then down near Fredericksburg, where they were a short march down the Rappahannock River from McClellan’s right flank.

  Lee was not in a position to give direct orders to Jackson, could not assume that authority without stepping on the toes of both Johnston and Davis. But he had seen Jackson’s reports, his urgent requests to be allowed to attack the Federal forces in front of him. While Johnston maintained actual command over Jackson, and over General Ewell’s division, which was positioned across the Blue Ridge near Jackson, Lee assumed that Johnston would be completely absorbed in his plans on the peninsula.

  Because of his distance from Johnston, Jackson had been operating more or less as an independent force, and Johnston’s lack of concern for correspondence included Jackson and Ewell. Thus, for long stretches the two commanders had no direct orders from Johnston. Lee saw the opportunity to fill
that void.

  Lincoln, and his Secretary of War, Stanton, had made it clear that the protection of Washington was a top priority. This was frequently discussed in Northern newspapers, which Lee occasionally saw. He began to reason that if Lincoln felt Washington was threatened, McDowell’s troops would be withdrawn from Virginia and brought back closer to the capital. The best way Lee saw to convince Washington there was a threat was to allow Jackson to move aggressively north, attacking McDowell’s forces at the mouth of the Shenandoah Valley.

  Jackson had sent his own letters to Johnston, which had passed through Lee’s offices, in which he stated his desire to attack the forces to his front. His reasons were clear: to stall any movement by McClellan. It was not difficult for Lee to “suggest” to Jackson what his course of action should be.

  Jackson’s small force had been used primarily to observe the movements of Federal troops in that area, but by adding Ewell’s division, he would have nearly sixteen thousand troops, a sizable force when commanded by a man like Jackson, whose single-minded sense of aggression Lee was coming to appreciate.

  The greatest threat to Lee’s quiet plan was a sudden southward move by McDowell into the center of Virginia, down through Fredericksburg, which would cut off Jackson from Richmond and effectively cut Virginia in half. This was a risk Lee accepted, confident that the Federal commanders would remain as sluggish as they had always been.

  JACKSON ACCEPTED Lee’s suggestions as the authority he needed, and began a campaign that resulted in the defeat of four Federal armies, including Generals Milroy and Fremont, who threatened the valley to the west, plus the complete destruction of the forces under Generals Banks and Shields. With his force of sixteen thousand men, Jackson defeated and drove from the valley Federal forces numbering nearly seventy thousand. The defeat of Banks was so complete, and the retreating troops so panicked, that Banks’s force was pushed all the way back across the Potomac. The response from Washington was as Lee had predicted. McDowell’s movements were reversed and his forces were recalled to the defense of what Lincoln believed was Jackson’s imminent assault on Washington. McClellan did not get his reinforcements, and so, true to form, McClellan did not attack.

  In the newspapers and among the troops, both North and South, the name of Thomas “Stonewall” Jackson was becoming legendary.

  LEE STOOD as Secretary Randolf entered, the the two men sat across the vast desk from President Davis.

  Both men had been given a frantic summons, and Lee could see that Davis was not well. His thin face appeared hollow, his eyes dark and heavy. Davis sat with his hands under his chin, supporting his head only a few inches above the desk.

  Randolph had just returned from Norfolk, to see for himself what dangers were threatening the naval yard, and his report to Davis had only added to the President’s anxieties. While at Norfolk, Randolph received a courier from Johnston, ordering the troops there to withdraw from Norfolk. The message contained no other information, did not even advise where they should go. It was plain to Randolph that there was no Federal force threatening the city and there was no need to abandon the equipment at the yard. Randolph furiously issued an order countermanding Johnston’s, so the valuable machinery could be moved before the city was evacuated.

  Davis lifted his head, spoke slowly. “Gentlemen, my authority . . . is it plain to the two of you that I am the commander in chief?”

  Lee glanced at Randolph, who nodded, said, “Yes, sir, of course.”

  “General Lee? Is it plain to you as well?”

  “Certainly, Mr. President.”

  “Then can either of you explain to me why I am unable to persuade our General Johnston, our commanding general in the field, to inform us what he is doing? Have either of you been able to communicate with the general?”

  Randolph said, “No, sir. It is most . . . difficult, sir. We have sent wires, couriers to his headquarters requesting his position . . . his intentions. He does not respond.”

  “Gentlemen, as you may know, we have received word that Yorktown has been abandoned. General Lee, do you have some idea where our army might be headed?”

  Lee had received only one communication from Johnston, a suggestion for a full-scale invasion of the North by an assembly of all the troops in the East, with a similar invasion of Ohio by the troops of the West. The suggestion had been so irrational, and without serious regard for the actual problems of moving troops, that Lee had not shown the letter to Davis. Lee now saw that regardless of the kind of collapse that was affecting Johnston, Davis was falling apart as well.

  “Mr. President, I have not been informed of General Johnston’s plans. We have . . . My staff has spoken with soldiers . . . men who have come from the front. . . . We have tried to put together some information from these stragglers—”

  “Stragglers?” Davis’s voice rose, cracked. He looked away, past the two men, spoke to no one. “We rely on the word of stragglers.”

  “Sir . . .” Randolph spoke with a gentle tone. “Sir, we must consider that if the general is in a full-scale retreat, the Federal Army could appear at the outskirts of Richmond at any time. This might well throw the city into a panic. It may be prudent for us to consider evacuating the city.”

  Lee stiffened. Randolph continued, “The general abandoned Yorktown because he had great fear of the Federal artillery, the guns from their ships. Those same guns will most certainly follow him up the James River. We cannot hope to defend Richmond against that kind of assault. The city could be destroyed.”

  Davis stared ahead, then turned to Lee. “General Lee, is it time for us to . . . evacuate?”

  “I don’t believe it is necessary quite yet, Mr. President. I agree that we must not make Richmond a battlefield, and it may be that General Johnston feels he is retreating from indefensible positions, but I do not share that view. If he has withdrawn completely from Yorktown, he may have established a defensive line at Williamsburg, using the fortifications constructed by General Magruder. If so, that should slow McClellan’s advance even further. If he withdraws from Williamsburg, there are a number of other strong positions, still far enough from here to keep the city safe. Frankly, sir, I am pleased to see McClellan sitting where he is. His forces are spread across a part of Virginia that is very difficult for the movement of troops. The swamps, the wide creeks . . . he is vulnerable. If we can persuade General Johnston to stand his ground, McClellan will never get as far as Richmond.”

  Randolph looked at Lee, said, “We don’t know where our troops are. How can you be sure we are capable of making a stand?”

  “There are lines of defense . . . every river, every stream—not only can we make a stand in that country, Mr. Secretary, but I believe that General McClellan can be pushed back, driven off the peninsula altogether. We have some good commanders leading good troops. We must persuade General Johnston of that fact.”

  Randolph turned back to Davis, shook his head. “I don’t see how we can persuade General Johnston to do much of anything. We can’t even get him to respond to our inquiries.”

  Lee looked at the faces of the two men, saw Davis staring blankly away. A sense of defeat hung in the air like a dark mist, and Lee could not sit still.

  “If you will permit, sirs, I must return to my office.”

  Davis did not speak, continued his stare, and Randolph raised one hand slightly, a weak gesture, said only, “Good, General.”

  Lee walked across a darkening street, knew this day was over, nothing more would happen. He climbed up to his office and saw that his staff had already gone. He went to his window and looked out, past the government buildings. In the street below came a small group of soldiers, men who carried the dirt of the Virginia swamps, men who had left their army but had not walked far.

  18. HANCOCK

  April 1862

  HE SAT on his new horse, a grouchy mare he called Annie. His men filed from the steamer, marched gladly down the long ramp, happy to leave the cramped ship. They formed in companie
s on the wharf, in front of the walls of Fort Monroe. They had come down the Potomac, had reached the mouth of the James, and now the pieces of McClellan’s army would wait for the rest, until it was all assembled and the commander would begin his invasion up the peninsula.

  Hancock watched them, the tight formation, the smooth movements. He had spent the long Washington winter training these men, and he knew that regardless of McClellan’s fear of the enemy’s superior preparations, his brigade was ready to fight.

  Gradually, all four of his regiments were formed and began to march away from the wharf, creating space for more troops. He pulled his horse toward the colors of the Fifth Wisconsin, the first regiment to move out, rode up beside Colonel Amasa Cobb, a distinguished political leader before the war who had learned the art of drill only under Hancock’s direction.

  “Colonel, it’s a fine morning, is it not?”

  “General Hancock, sir, this unit is prepared. You shall be proud of us, sir.”

  Hancock looked back over the neat lines, the steady marching, officers on horseback riding beside the lines of fresh troops, men who now felt like soldiers. He pulled his horse out of the line, sat alongside the moving men, thought, Let them see me, let them feel the pride. He sat tall in his saddle, gave them each a look, and the men responded with waves and some cheering. The company commanders, young captains and smooth-faced lieutenants, saluted him crisply as they rode by, made a show of tightening the lines of their small commands. Hancock thought, These men will not run. It’s in their eyes, their step. General “Baldy” Smith had come through the camps throughout the winter, had given the customary speech, the rousing call to the flag, the great honor in duty, and the men were always enthusiastic, always responded. Smith, and the others, men who tried to inject some great spark of patriotism into the troops, would ride away satisfied that they had done their bit to train the men, to prepare them for the bloody war. Hancock stood at the front, always listened with respect, and watched his men, knew that this was not what made them soldiers, that if the fight were not in them already, no great speech about loving the flag would change that. He did not understand why the generals did not see, would not accept, that those other fellows, those boys in the ragged uniforms who wanted to burn your lovely flag, had already shown they could hurt you, would stand up to your patriotism and put the bayonet through your beloved uniform. But still the words came, and Hancock began to understand. It was all they knew how to do: make speeches. Very few of them had ever led troops under fire, had ever led troops at all. And when the time came, many of them would fail, and many men would die because they did not have leaders.