The Fateful Lightning

by Jeff Shaara

  Hardee knew that Johnston was right, that Lee’s youthful energy might compel him to take that kind of risk. Hardee debated saying anything at all, but the words couldn’t be held back. “I admire your aggressiveness, Stephen, but there is one other consideration for keeping to the defensive. On my return to the army, it was apparent to me that the fighting spirit of these men is in a sad way. We are losing a significant number of men to desertion. Very few of those who remain have shoes, very few have been properly fed. There are barely any uniforms, and many of the men are without weapons.”

  Lee sniffed. “When did any of that prevent us from striking the enemy?”

  Hardee folded his hands together, did not want this argument. “I believe General Johnston will agree with me, that this army has been bested perhaps one too many times. Your command in Tennessee is one example, and ours in Georgia. We may believe in our cause and we may rely on the fortitude and commitment given us by the Almighty. But our army is a shadow of what it once was. Go, walk down the street, go to the camps not just of your men, but mine, of any place where the men gather. Listen to the talk, listen to their hopes merely to return home.”

  Lee seemed to puff up. “Is this defeatism I hear? I wish you no insult, General Hardee, but I know of no reason why the men outside this house cannot still whip a like number of Yankees!”

  Johnston said, “If there were a like number, yes, perhaps I would agree with you. That, General, is the issue. Our greatest hope lies in marching this army northward, to a rendezvous with the Army of Northern Virginia. That act alone will provide a substantial boost to our spirit, perhaps for both armies. Right now, Sherman has granted us a generous gift of time. We must use that to boost the health of this army, as well as their willingness to fight. One should follow the other, I would think.”

  Hardee saw an aide peering through the door, one of Johnston’s adjutants. Colonel Pickett was with him, both men seeming anxious. Hardee looked at Johnston, motioned toward the door, Johnston now aware of their presence. Johnston said, “You may enter.”

  Johnston’s man, Colonel Eddy, held several pieces of paper in his hand, said, “Sir, we have received the morning’s press dispatches. I cannot verify the accuracy, sir, but it is being reported that Richmond has been evacuated. General Lee is said to have ordered the defensive forces there to withdraw along the north side of the Appomattox River, presuming they will unite with his army somewhere close to Petersburg. It is apparent, sir, that the enemy has occupied the capital.”

  Johnston stared at him, no expression, and Hardee felt a punch in his stomach. Pickett moved close beside him, said, “It is also reported, sir, that President Davis is presently in Danville.”

  Hardee felt a glimmer of relief, and Johnston nodded slowly, said, “Yes, very good. I am pleased he managed to escape the enemy. I shall wire him with all haste. Colonel, see to it. I wish to know what instructions the president might have for us. I am assuming the secretary of war has accompanied the president. It seems apparent, more than before, that moving this army to unite with General Lee’s is our only course.”

  Hardee felt pressed hard into the chair, a sick turn in his stomach. He kept the words to himself, allowed the chatter to flow out from the others, a mix of outrage and doubt, pessimism that the information was accurate at all. Pickett seemed to read him, put one hand on Hardee’s shoulder, spoke beneath the ongoing flow of words around them.

  “We shall await your orders, sir.”

  Hardee looked up at his friend, felt drained of emotion. Johnston led his adjutant out of the room, the others moving out as well, Hardee now alone with Pickett.

  “We shall attempt to unite with the Army of Northern Virginia. Perhaps between our two armies, there is sufficient strength to…” He stopped. To do what? “Bill, I shall return to my headquarters. I presume our next order from General Johnston will be to prepare to march. If not, perhaps we should make room in our camps for the army of Robert E. Lee.”

  —

  With Sherman still content to sit still, Johnston did not push the army to begin their own march northward before the men had been adequately prepared. On April 9, that changed. Scouts from Wade Hampton’s cavalry reported with confidence that Sherman had finally issued orders to his men that they were to begin their march northward toward Raleigh the next day. If there was doubt about the reliability of those reports, Hardee knew that an army the size of what Sherman commanded could not merely pull down their tents and fall into column. There would be extensive preparation, enormous logistics, the gathering and loading of wagon trains, artillery trains. Hampton’s cavalry had received most of their information from those who would see those preparations firsthand, the local citizenry around Goldsboro, most of those people with no love for Sherman’s occupation of their town. On April 10, those reports were confirmed, Sherman’s men taking to the roads, vast columns beginning the next phase of whatever Sherman intended them to do.

  OUTSIDE RALEIGH—APRIL 10, 1865

  Johnston led the three newly organized corps that morning, knowing that miles to the south, Sherman’s vastly superior army would require more time to move along those same roads.

  Hardee marched along the primary Goldsboro Road, a well-traveled avenue, where he would serve as Johnston’s rear guard. By evening, what Johnston could still call his army had encamped around Raleigh itself.

  Hardee’s headquarters was on the main road, a small house occupied by a family named Joyce. He sat at their dining room table, tried to keep his arms away, the table leaning precariously to one side, shifting with any weight he put on it. The dinner was cold, a piece of ham that resembled old granite, his staff struggling to make coffee from what seemed to be sweet potato skins. The couple was young, the man with one leg severed at the knee, a wound Hardee had seen too often.

  “If I may ask you, sir, where did you fight?”

  The young man showed no hesitation, no self-consciousness about the missing leg. “Virginia, sir. Mostly. I got hit at Sharpsburg. Second Manassas, too. That’s where they took my leg. Said I couldn’t fight no more, so I come on home. Rode the train. All along the way, I scared the young’uns who saw me. Hated that. Never meant to scare no one. ’Cept Yankees. Didn’t never expect you’d be sharing my table, sir. I am honored, truly.”

  “It isn’t an honor, Mr. Joyce. I am an intruder. I am here because I have no other place to be. The army is on the march, and we must find accommodations wherever we can. My apologies to your wife for this violation.”

  “Oh, she don’t mind none. She’s with child, though. Keeps her in the bed most of the time. Pardon me for being so familiar, sir. She would much prefer being at our table with you. When your staff officer knocked on our door, she was as surprised as me. Didn’t never expect the war to come here.”

  “With any luck, Mr. Joyce, it won’t come here at all.” He finished the piece of ham, a sour taste in his mouth, drank a glass of water, the only palatable thing he had ingested that day. “I wish I had something better to offer you for your hospitality, Mr. Joyce. This army has learned to subsist on very little.”

  “Oh, don’t I know that, sir! I ate corn out of a horse’s droppings one day. A man’s hungry, he’ll do most anything.”

  Hardee kept his eyes on the empty plate, thought, Let us hope we don’t have it quite that bad.

  “Major Roy!”

  Roy appeared, a friendly nod toward Joyce. “Yes, sir.”

  “I shall retire. We must have the men up well before dawn. I expect orders from General Johnston informing us of our objective for the morrow’s march.”

  He pulled out his pocket watch, saw it was after nine, looked at Joyce now. “Sir, I am decidedly in your debt. Please retire. The business of the army has inflicted enough cost on you. You need not lose a night’s sleep, and your wife must be kept comfortable.”

  “No mind a’tall, sir. Kinda miss this, the marching and all. Can’t say that around my wife. But if I could pick up a musket, I’d sure join al
ong with you.”

  Hardee tried to smile, thought, Where is this spirit in the rest of the men? If he had fought for another two years, would he be so willing?

  —

  “What time is it?”

  “Just after two, sir. Very sorry to wake you.”

  Hardee blinked through the glow of the lantern, realized there were at least four men there, Roy holding the lantern, Pickett behind him, the others, White, Poole.

  “What is it?”

  Roy said, “Courier, sir, from General Johnston. It’s on paper.”

  “What’s it say? You’ve read it already, I assume.”

  Pickett stepped forward, blocking the lantern, blessed relief to Hardee’s watering eyes. “It’s best if you read it yourself, sir.”

  He sat up, wiped at his face, tried to wake up, stared at the pencil scratchings on the paper. He leaned forward, the light catching the face of the paper, Roy holding the lantern closer. He read, stared at the signature, Johnston’s own, read it again. Roy said, “It can’t be true, sir.”

  Hardee stared past the paper, felt oddly calm, could feel the tension, the anxiousness from the others. “It can be true, Major. Until we know anything else, we must consider it to be true. Johnston will determine that with certainty. I imagine he’ll meet with the president in Danville as quickly as possible. There will be much to discuss.”

  “I cannot believe this, sir.”

  He looked at the young face of Poole, saw tears, forced himself to avoid that. “Lieutenant, there will be no change to tomorrow’s orders unless I hear differently. Have the men up early, prepared to march. General Johnston says here that the president is passing this along to us, based on ‘unofficial intelligence.’ But Johnston would not send a courier out here this late unless he believed it to be true. Until I know otherwise, we must assume that General Lee…” He stopped, felt a sudden pinch in his throat. He tried to hold it in, to gather himself, fought to hold back what he knew had been coming for a very long time. “We must assume that the Army of Northern Virginia has been compelled to surrender.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  SHERMAN

  SMITHFIELD, NORTH CAROLINA—APRIL 11, 1865

  The general commanding announces to the army that he had official notice from General Grant that General Lee surrendered to him his entire army on the 9th, inst., at Appomattox Court-House, Virginia. Glory to God and our country, and all honor to our comrades in arms, toward whom we are marching! A little more labor, a little more toil on our part, the great race is won, and our Government stands regenerated, after four long years of war.

  —W. T. SHERMAN, MAJOR GENERAL, COMMANDING

  The cheering seemed to echo for miles, word passed as quickly as the couriers could communicate to the officers, those men passing the word just as quickly to their subordinates. Already, with the fall of Richmond, Sherman had pressed his senior commanders to pursue Johnston’s army with all speed, Sherman expecting that Lee and Johnston would be urgently seeking a rendezvous. But Lee’s surrender was a surprise.

  The march had proceeded as Sherman had ordered it, the columns marching first toward Smithfield, a ragged skirmish there with Hampton’s cavalry, what seemed designed only to slow down the lead elements of Sherman’s columns. Smithfield fell into Sherman’s hands within a couple of hours, the columns then proceeding as he had planned, pushing closer still to Raleigh.

  He had to assume that every official in the Confederacy had received news of Lee’s surrender, so it was no surprise when Kilpatrick’s advance was suddenly confronted by a railroad engine on the tracks out of Raleigh, bearing two officials of the state of North Carolina. Kilpatrick passed them through to Sherman, who accepted their flag of truce. But their entreaty had only to do with a request that the city of Raleigh, along with its citizenry, be unharmed.

  —

  He recalled Lincoln’s instructions, knew that Governor Vance was far less of a fire-breathing secessionist than Magrath of South Carolina. He scanned the clothing, fine suits, though both men were aged, somewhat rumpled in appearance.

  “So, you gentlemen speak for Governor Vance?”

  “Yes, sir. Quite.”

  “And you are?”

  “I am David Swain, sir, president of the Chapel Hill University. This is Senator William Graham.”

  “I know who you are, Mr. Graham. Did you not serve as secretary of the navy, some years back?”

  “Yes, sir. Indeed.”

  “It is a shame that a man who served his country in such ways should have pledged himself to a rebellion.”

  The two men were clearly aware they had no power at all, that whatever Sherman chose to do with them was Sherman’s own decision. He watched them fidget, was annoyed, had expected more of a meaningful communication than merely a pleading for mercy.

  After a silent moment, Swain said, “Sir, we were most abused by your cavalry. I do not offer that as a complaint. Merely that we are aware that hostilities still exist between your army and…the Confederates. Our purpose is to spare innocent civilians from such abuse as an army can sometimes inflict. I mention this only as a concern that what occurred in Columbia not be repeated in Raleigh.”

  Sherman lost any inkling of goodwill, looked around, the rail depot swarming with his men, held back by the guards. The railcar had been boarded by Kilpatrick’s men first, had continued on to the station at Smithfield, piloted by a very young engineer, who stood off to one side, under guard, a show of force that was only that.

  “I have been accused of many things, gentlemen. But I have been grossly misrepresented with regard to Columbia. My men and I, my own staff, worked tirelessly to extinguish fires throughout most of the night!” He felt his temper blossoming into a full red fury. “I tell you now, in the presence of God, that Hampton burned Columbia, and that he alone is responsible for it! If you came here to make accusations, you have endangered yourself to no good purpose.”

  He saw Graham’s eyes widen, the old man extending his hands, a gesture of calm. “Please, General, we make no such accusations. We are merely concerned, as Governor Vance is concerned, that your army understand our willingness to welcome you without hostilities.”

  Sherman saw a column of smoke rising out beyond the station, pointed that way. “That’s a house. It was burned by the rebel rear guard as they retreated before us. I’ve seen as much of that as I have any destruction by my own men. I want that known, and understood, especially by your governor.”

  Swain seemed eager to respond. “Oh, my, yes. Governor Vance is a man who understands political realities, General. He welcomes the coming peace.”

  Sherman regained his composure, knew there was a large audience, that every step he took now might be magnified beyond his control. “I have already ordered my men to respect and protect private property. I shall respond in writing to the governor’s request. You may be assured that I will do everything in my power to terminate this war. As for any hostilities that exist between my soldiers and those of General Johnston, to that I cannot speak, other than to predict that any hostile act aimed at any of my troops shall be answered in like fashion. That is what war is, gentlemen.” He glanced upward, the sun sinking low over the roof of the rail depot. “I would not advise you to make your return trip in the dark. A single railcar passing through the camps of this army would make for a tempting target. You are welcome to spend the night. We do not have the kind of accommodations to which you are no doubt accustomed. My tent can be shared with one of you.” He turned, saw Hitchcock. “Major, will you graciously give up your tent to one of these gentlemen?”

  Hitchcock stepped forward, an unnecessary show of approval. He nodded formally, then said, “Sir, I am pleased if Mr. Swain uses my tent. My mother was a classmate of yours, sir. Some years ago, of course.”

  Sherman tried to hide his annoyance, had no interest in a social gathering. “Fine, Major. See to it.”

  The men made their farewells, moved off with Sherman’s guard, the young eng
ineer escorted away as well. Sherman watched them go, heard the shouts coming from the crowd of soldiers now, men calling out, the usual “Uncle Billy,” and much more, a chorus of cheers for what the men assumed had been a surrender offer right in front of them. He motioned to Dayton, said, “Major, pass the word among the officers present. I fear rumors will run rampant that Johnston has surrendered his army. These men smelled far too much like a peace commission. Put a stop to that.”

  “Yes, sir. Do you not expect that, sir? What have the rebels left to fight for?”

  Sherman waved him away, couldn’t shake a blanket of gloom. He caught Snelling’s eye, motioned to the guards to make way toward his own camp. The rest of his staff fell into line with him, Sherman walking, his eyes straight ahead, his usual effort to ignore the cheering around him. He moved toward the cluster of larger tents, pulled out a cigar, eyed the dark clouds rolling in overhead. Rain tonight, he thought. Naturally. Is there a week anyplace in this God forsaken country where the sun is allowed to warm my bones? He spit the tip off the cigar, continued his slow march, quicker now, the need to be away from the troops, to find someplace to sit down. McCoy was up beside him, said, “Sir, if you care for some dinner, we have butchered a local hog.”

  Sherman stopped, looked at McCoy with a hard stare. “This is not yet over, Major. These men will lose their fire if we allow that. I sense a party here. That cannot be. The enemy is still dangerous and is still anticipating a confrontation with us.”