by Jeff Shaara
There was a soft knock on the door, and he knew from the timidity, it was Hitchcock.
“What is it, Major?”
The door opened slightly, Hitchcock peering in. “Very sorry, sir. There is a gentleman here you must see.”
Sherman was annoyed, but Hitchcock knew better than to bother him with some local complaint. “Who is he?”
Sherman heard the deep bass voice coming from behind Hitchcock with the volume of the self-important.
“He’s in there? Very good, yes. Thank you, Major. I’ll handle this now.”
Sherman moved toward the door, saw resignation on Hitchcock’s face, unusual, and he pulled the door back, saw the man’s impressive suit, a gold watch chain, a shine on expensive shoes. “What the hell do you want?”
Sherman’s annoyance seemed to catch the man by surprise, and he backed up a step, cleared his throat.
“My apologies for disturbing your idyll, sir.”
“My what?”
“Apparently I have come at an unfortunate time. But I cannot wait, sir. There is serious business here.”
“Who the hell are you?”
Hitchcock seemed eager to step between them, as though protecting the man from what Hitchcock knew of Sherman’s wrath. “Sir, this gentleman came in from Ossabaw Bay, courtesy of Admiral Dahlgren.”
The man pushed past the major, extended a fat hand toward Sherman, and said, “General! Ah, such a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Long journey, as it were. But your aide is correct. Well, not exactly. Being carried by Admiral Dahlgren would be a singular honor in itself. I was transported on a packet upstream, the Ogeechee, I believe. Odd names in these parts. Indian, so they say. Sir, I am Agent A. G. Browne, here on behalf of the Department of the Treasury, Southern District. My department has determined that you have captured a considerable amount of valuable goods here. The government has determined to act on this with all haste. We’re talking about cannons, rice, buildings, and most important, a considerable amount of cotton. I have come to take possession.”
—
Hitchcock had verified the man’s credentials, and Sherman sat across from him at Green’s dining room table.
“You can’t have it.”
Browne made a grunting sound, said, “My authorization is quite in order, General.”
“I see your authorization. You can’t have it. Until we know just what the army’s needs are.”
“What kind of needs?”
“That’s my concern, Mr. Browne. We have just occupied this place, and must establish a base here. I have some sixty thousand men to provision and feed, and we must see to the defense of this place, should the enemy determine to attack us. We have caused them a great deal of damage militarily and politically. They will not just walk away quietly.”
Browne seemed to shrink slightly, his bluster replaced now by uncertainty. “Do you believe the enemy is planning an attack?”
“I have to assume so. That’s why my men must be provided for, before the government takes what it wants. No one in Washington needs artillery right now. We do. No one up there is subsisting on rice. We are.”
Browne stroked his chin, pondering Sherman’s words. “I see. Well, that does sound somewhat logical. How long will it take for you to make those determinations?”
“Till those determinations are made. There’s a very nice hotel here, the Pulaski. I’d get yourself a room. As long as the enemy doesn’t start shelling the place, you’ll be comfortable.”
Sherman knew he had pushed that as far as he could, saw a slight grin on Dayton’s face. He scowled at Dayton, said, “Have a security escort accompany Mr. Browne to the hotel. Can’t be too careful. Snipers and all.”
Browne seemed suddenly anxious to leave, stood quickly, then stopped, a new thought entering his head. “Sir, I understand your concern. I do not wish to antagonize you. You are correct that your conquest of this place should be your first priority. To that end, sir, might I offer you a suggestion?”
“I’m listening.”
“All of Washington is in something of an uproar with concern for your well-being. The news out of Nashville was most beneficial to the mood of the capital. News of your success would do as much or more to boost spirits. Might I suggest that you pen a note to President Lincoln?” Browne looked to the side, a small Christmas tree at one end of the room, perched upon a small table. “That’s it, sir. Perhaps you could offer a celebratory note to him, something that would resonate well in the newspapers.”
“I don’t care much for ‘resonating,’ sir.”
“Oh, but this is perfect. Perhaps you could offer the president a gift. Say, the city of Savannah?”
—
He sat staring, his eyes not seeing beyond the pane of glass. The cigar was set to one side, the newspaper draped over his lap, and Sherman ignored both now, tried to see the image of the small face, the baby he had never seen. He had often imagined what the infant Charles might look like, if he had his father’s red hair, his mother’s softer gaze, the sad eyes. Behind him, Hitchcock’s voice came, very low.
“I am terribly sorry, sir. There was nothing in the mail. Certainly she will write you.”
Sherman nodded slowly, no words. He looked down at the newspaper again, said, “Where’d this come from?”
“Came in on a packet with the mail today, sir. We were shocked, certainly. I searched for a letter from your wife, but the postal authorities say that much of the mail for the command was sent in error to Nashville.”
Sherman ignored Hitchcock’s explanation, looked again at the paper. “He was barely six months old. I never saw him. Won’t ever know what he looked like. He might have smiled at me. Imagine that?”
Hitchcock backed away, and Sherman was suddenly afraid of that, a glimmer of panic at being alone. He turned in the chair.
“Major, if you please. Your company is welcome.”
“Of course, sir. Anything I can get you?”
Sherman stared at the paper for a long while, pointed to the side, one of the soft chairs. “Sit down, Major.” He couldn’t fight the emotions any longer, blinked through tears, and after a long moment, said, “I do not handle tragedy well. My own, or anyone else’s. It happens all around us, every day we face the enemy, every day someone falls ill. Most often that kind of pain is inflicted on someone else. But I am not immune. This is a horror no one can prepare for. There is no greater loss, you know. None. This is twice for me. I have lost two sons.” He paused. “When Willie died, I thought my world had ceased to matter, that nothing I could do would allow me to move past that. My career, even my marriage. But then the war came back, all of that duty, the damned rebels. They nearly captured me, someplace in western Tennessee. That was a help to me, in some way I cannot explain. I don’t expect this to make sense to you, Major.”
“It’s all right, sir. I do not know how to respond to any of this. There are no useful words I can offer.”
“No, suppose not. But still we must try. I will write Ellen tonight. My brother John…I should write him as well. He will offer comfort the way a brother can. That is a valuable thing. A necessary thing.”
“I’ll get pen and paper, sir.”
“Later. Just sit.”
“Yes, sir. Sorry.”
“Ellen will accept Charles’s death as the Hand of God, the same way she got past Willie’s death. She has no other understanding. Her mother did that, gave her that marvelous gift.” He glanced toward Hitchcock. “I know you believe me to be thoroughly anti-Catholic. Perhaps I am. But I recognize the value of comfort, explanation, understanding. She will seek that, and no doubt she will find it. For me, it will be as before. I will gain more by doing my job. Rather pathetic, is it not?”
“No, sir. You are a hero. You are revered among the men. The entire country will salute what you’ve done here. Because you did your job.”
Sherman pictured Grant in his mind, tried to move past the image of Ellen and her tears, the misery of what his home wo
uld be, black draperies, black wreath on the door, black everything. The thought suddenly struck him hard. “It’s Christmas, for God’s sake. I should be there. If not for Grant’s confidence in me, in what he expects of me, I would go. The right thing to do. But you are right, Major. There is the job. And we are not yet finished.”
GREEN HOUSE—CHRISTMAS EVE, 1864
The letter had come by packet, the way most of the mail was reaching the army. He knew from the Treasury agent, Browne, that the faster boats could reach Fortress Monroe in only a few days, and from there the telegraph wire could reach anywhere in the North the messages needed to go. More important to Sherman, those messages could reach him the same way.
He read it again, let the words boil up inside him, felt energized, the full fury at the enemy building. The staff had gathered, and he knew they had read the dispatch already. But they seemed to wait for his response, watching him as though expecting a volcanic eruption. He twirled the cigar in his fingers, held tight to the smile, felt suddenly playful, toying with them, keeping them in suspense as to what might happen next. After a long moment, he burst from the chair, faced them, held the paper out toward them.
“Do you know what this signifies?” No one responded, the staff knowing when not to interrupt him. “This, gentlemen, is a Christmas present. My commanding general is, after all, generous. He is also wise.”
He saw their smiles, and Dayton said, “Sir, there is much to do. Should we not issue orders…”
“Oh, good Lord, Major! There will be orders aplenty! It is Christmas, after all. Is it not enough that our commanding general has demonstrated faith in this command? Might I revel in that for a small moment?”
Dayton seemed overwhelmed with Sherman’s boisterous response. “Certainly, sir. At your discretion.”
“Yes! You put it precisely, Major. At my discretion! Grant has made it official! This campaign shall continue, at my discretion!” He looked at the letter now, pulled out the words he was searching for. “ ‘You shall make another wide swath through the Confederacy.’ And that, gentlemen, comes from the pen of Henry Halleck. It seems that General Grant is capable of admitting his mistakes, and convincing others along the way! Now, with his permission, we shall join his army in Virginia the way I prefer, overland, driving this army through the very heart of the rebellion. We shall unite this army with Grant only when we have completed the task still to be accomplished here. This war began in South Carolina, gentlemen. I expect that this entire army will welcome the opportunity to pour salt in those wounds.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
HARDEE
CHARLESTON, SOUTH CAROLINA—DECEMBER 29, 1864
“How will you protect us? Do you not see why this place is as important to the Confederacy as any yet confronted?”
Hardee tried to focus on Magrath’s words, but the weariness was overwhelming him. “Governor, I understand your concerns.”
“I do not believe you do, sir. I am aware of what took place in Savannah. You abandoned those people without so much as a sword raised in anger! That will not do here, sir. It will not do at all.”
“Have you made that complaint to President Davis?”
Magrath sniffed. “Sir, it has long been understood that President Davis attends to matters close to his own priorities, which do not include any army that he himself is not managing. I have beseeched the president to consider what the rest of us know very well. Charleston is the true center of the Confederacy. It was here that our rebellion against outrageous tyranny began, and it is here that we must stand tall! If this war is to favor us with its outcome, it is here we must drive home the sword. Sir, I was witness to the first cannon fire that drove the trespassers out of Fort Sumter. If there is justice to our cause, sir, I intend to witness cannon fire anew. General Beauregard has referred me to your office, to plead my case before you. As their governor, the people look to me, and I have no choice but to look to you. Are you willing to do the right thing, sir?”
Hardee was even more exhausted now by Magrath’s bluster. “Governor, there are realities of which you are not aware. I may not always agree with President Davis’s methods, or his strategies. But he is my commander in chief. And, sir, it is not necessary for you to lecture me on the wisdom of the orders I must follow. General Beauregard and I agreed that preserving what forces we could withdraw from Savannah was the correct decision. Sacrificing those men to Federal prison camps benefits no one. I do not fault you for your loyalty to your home state, but South Carolina is one of many states still fighting for independence.”
“But, General, despite all your army’s best efforts, the war has now come here. There is no great campaign being waged on any other front. General Lee’s army is under siege at Petersburg, and General Hood is nursing his wounds in Alabama. Is that not accurate, sir? I do cast my eyes beyond the borders of this state.”
Hardee leaned his chin into one hand, closed his eyes for a brief moment. There is no argument here, he thought. He just has to make it feel that way, as though no one else could understand this war like a politician can. He looked at Magrath now, the man’s arms crossed, no change in his defiant tone. “Governor, I do not disagree with your assessment of our military situation. There is little doubt that South Carolina will become the next great battleground. I would suggest that you put your energies and your influence to finding me some troops with which to defend your state.”
“And what would you do with those troops, sir? Retreat, as you did all across Georgia? I have spoken with Governor Brown. He is incensed, sir. Incensed! He had been forced to recall his small force of militia to act as a last line of defense against any further invasions by that devil Sherman.”
Hardee sat upright now. “He has done what?”
Magrath seemed pleased with himself, that he had knowledge of something Hardee had not yet heard. “Well, sir, Governor Brown has ordered his militia to return to their side of the border. Someone has to protect what those people value most, if your army will not do so.”
“I find it odd, Governor, that you seem pleased with Governor Brown’s actions. With such an act, he has only weakened the forces in my command. We are losing men to desertion as it is, without the governor of Georgia making it official that those particular men should return to their homes. There is still a war, whether or not Governor Brown approves.” He was furious now, knew too much of Brown’s reluctance to involve Georgia in any part of this war beyond its own borders. “Possibly, Governor, you are not aware of our situation as precisely as you may believe. If the Georgia militia has marched away, that leaves us with little more than twenty thousand troops to defend territory from Charleston inland to Columbia, and possibly farther than that, should the enemy choose to make their march in a more westerly course. I am charged not only with protecting Charleston and Columbia, but every rail depot, every line of communication, every significant intersection. Until General Beauregard or I know just where Sherman intends to go, we cannot form a united front. That was true in Georgia as well. Hindsight tells us we need not have protected Augusta or Macon. Hindsight, Governor. Unless you can offer me perfect insight into Sherman’s thinking, I must make do with the forces I have on hand.”
Magrath seemed to calm somewhat, weighing Hardee’s words. “There are troops on the march from Augusta, I believe.”
“I have included those men in my calculations, sir. As I have included the brigade said to be moving southward from Virginia, courtesy of General Lee. Those are North Carolina men, and though I welcome their muskets, and their enthusiasm for what we are facing here, I am quite certain General Lee sent those men with considerable regret. There are no pleasant ways to explain this, Governor. Mathematics has been a crucial part of every fight in which I have been engaged, and that has not changed. We have won many fights where the numbers were against us. But the scale continues to tilt toward the enemy. No amount of wishful thinking can change that.”
“Yes, I suppose I understand that. Can you not sta
te your case with such clarity to Richmond?”
Hardee looked down at the floor, let out a breath. “Sir, Richmond understands mathematics as clearly as I do. President Davis can only provide us what is there to provide. I regret the loss of the Georgia militia. Even those few men could have added something to our unfortunate equation. It is not my place to protest the governor’s decision, but I do not believe the state of Georgia faces any further threat from General Sherman. It serves no purpose for the Federal troops to linger in Savannah, and the only logical direction for Sherman to advance now is north. He outnumbers what I have on hand by at least three to one. Governor Brown may have pleased his voters, but he has done nothing to assist you.”
Magrath walked slowly across the room, seemed to reclaim his air of self-satisfaction. “It is possible that we greatly overestimate Sherman’s willingness to tread on this soil, as I believe you overestimate his strength. There is a determination to the people of South Carolina that he has not yet encountered. I predict a bloodbath of epic proportions, sir.”
“Have you ever seen a bloodbath, Governor?”
The question seemed to throw Magrath off track. “Well, certainly not. That makes little difference.”
“A massacre then? A one-sided assault that crushed a defensive line? A volley of muskets that obliterated a foe?”
“You mock me, sir.”
Hardee had endured all he could of the governor’s speechmaking. “When you instruct me on the business of waging war, no, sir, I do not mock you. But I will not accept advice or counsel or instruction from anyone who has not led troops in the field, whose experience with artillery is limited to the ‘glory’ of pulling a lanyard. If you do not know of the horrors of war, sir, then perhaps you understand this. My family is in Charleston. My wife, my children. I withdrew from Savannah because there was no alternative beyond sacrificing my entire command to the earth, or Federal prison camps. General Beauregard understood how foolhardy it would be to stand up to a force as powerful as what Sherman brought against us. You wish me to hold the enemy back, then provide me with the means to do so. If you cannot do that, allow me to fight this war according to the orders I am given, and the resources I have available.”