Rosecrans stood straight and folded his arms, nodding his head appreciatively.
Rosecrans was still flush from his victory at Corinth, where he had nearly lost the town before winning the day. He was also flush from his victory over General Price’s Army of the West, when he had allowed Price to slip away in the darkness after a late afternoon slugfest that left him bloodied but unable to press his advantage in numbers. There were whispers that Rosecrans had only prevailed because his enemies had failed to succeed. He didn’t distrust his corps commanders, though he wasn’t quite sure of McCook in the competency department—McCook was a political general who had managed to turn enough heads to be elevated to corps command, just as Rosecrans himself had risen to the command of the army in the wake of Don Carlos Buell’s dismissal. With Grant finally occupied with capturing Vicksburg far away in Mississippi, Rosecrans was free to do his own bidding and be the commanding general in charge.
Rosecrans had been unaware, blissfully so, of how close it was at Corinth until it was all over. He had allowed both Price and Van Dorn to steal up on his position and effectively seal him off from supports. Grant, for his part, had allowed it too.
They had made the same mistake in Iuka, when Grant ordered Rosecrans to retake Iuka from Sterling Price before he could aide Bragg and Kirby Smith in their Kentucky invasion. Iuka was a short, sharp fight where nothing went right, but in the end, Rosecrans held the field of battle and thus was accorded the victory. At the time, he was just in command of a small army, one of many that Grant and Halleck liked to move about the chessboard map of the western theater, but now he was in command of one of the principal armies of the region and was free of both men’s meddling.
Rosecrans had been in command for over a month now, but already the spirit of the soldiers had increased with the thought of a forward movement into the enemy once more. His aggressive patrolling and stockpiling had told his soldiers enough about him to differentiate him from their former commander, Buell, whom few had loved with any warmth. Where Buell had been a cautious plodder, Rosecrans was proving to be an aggressive fighter. The soldiers liked that in a commander.
“We spend the rest of the days in the field, Garesche.” Rosecrans broke the silence finally, starting another tangent. He smiled. “Be prepared to be cold and miserable!”
Garesche nodded. That was assumed. Rosecrans would eat the rations his soldiers ate and live as his soldiers lived when out in the field. For his staff, that meant an end to the temporary comfort of a house and a bed, exchanged for a tent and the hard ground.
“Yes, sir. Your baggage has been loaded and is ready to move when we do.”
“We will move out at once then. Once Triune is in our hands, we’ll make our HQ there until we are fully deployed, and then I want my tent as close to the army as possible. I want to ride McCook to get his corps into position as soon as possible once Crittenden and Thomas are well up and in front of Murfreesboro. I don’t want a delay in communications to give McCook the idea he can make his own direction. The closer I am to his HQ, the better.”
“Yes, sir. Once he is in position, the tents will be moved accordingly.”
“What of Forrest and Morgan? Are they really out on a raid?”
“Reports show Morgan riding north of Hartsville and Forrest somewhere in Western Tennessee; we’ve been unable to locate the bulk of his troopers. We think the enemy is trying to disrupt forage for both us and Grant.”
“That cuts Bragg’s cavalry component in half, does it not?” Rosecrans wagged a finger in the air as if hitting upon a great thesis.
Garesche nodded, knowing the general knew this himself well.
“Then we should expect little from Wheeler and Wharton this time around,” Rosecrans said, a hint of expectation and question hanging in the air.
“Wheeler’s brigade has been very active on the perimeter of the city for some weeks now. I wouldn’t expect that the Confederate horse will be inactive on our flanks and rear as we go.” Garesche again leaned over the map, getting his nose down close, removing his pipe and waving it about the carefully sketched countryside.
“Bragg’s no fool. After he tucked his tail and fled from Perryville, I expect he’ll be cautious. Won’t take any chances with his army this time, and if the bulk of his cavalry is off on some gallivant in our rear in Tennessee and Kentucky, he won’t have the temerity to risk his flanks and rear. No, he’ll fall back once we feint toward Manchester. He has to fall back.”
Rosecrans tapped the map in the direction of Manchester, Tennessee. Garesche raised an eyebrow and considered his chief for a moment. Rosecrans had a glint in his eye, a signal that he was of a certain mind and would not be dissuaded from it.
Rosecrans saw the eyebrow. “What, Colonel? You do not believe that Bragg will fall back? You believe he is here to put up a fight?”
“I do not believe that Bragg will fall back, but I do not know his mind, so I cannot say that I am not wrong. He has to protect Murfreesboro’s road and rail line, but his army does not depend upon holding the place. Still, I suspect that he will hold and give battle there. You’ve seen the countryside—nothing but cedar brakes, thick cedar woods, patches of open fields and trees. Easily defensible.”
Garesche never backed down from speaking his mind to Rosecrans. He said his piece, leaned back in the chair, and crossed his legs, resuming his puffing at his pipe.
Rosecrans sat attentively listening to his aide and friend. If there was anything he liked more than a well-thought-out campaign, it was conversation and debate. He was not a bore himself, nor did he not find it disquieting to have someone, even one of his generals, question his ideas or decisions. In fact, he rather disliked it when no one had any ideas of their own. He might not be moved by those ideas, but he rarely or never shut them down. He expected his orders to be carried out to the letter, but after his orders were given, he also expected lively conversation.
“I hope Bragg does give us battle. If he chooses to stand and fight I will fight him, but I do not believe he will stand and fight. His is the only army this side of Tennessee, and ol’ Jeff Davis has siphoned off Bragg’s forces to send to that fool Pemberton in Mississippi. Now that General Grant has set his mind to wresting Mississippi from the Confederates, Bragg is occupied with those problems. We can maneuver as we will here. Getting Bragg out of Tennessee will be far easier than taking Vicksburg!”
Rosecrans grinned. “Bragg will fall back and fortify behind the Tullahoma River. He won’t sacrifice his army to keep Murfreesboro.”
“Yes, sir. Even though it offers us advantage,” Garesche replied and tapped the tip of his pipe absently upon the arm of his chair.
Rosecrans paused a moment, looked as if he might reply, and then changed the subject. “We’ll winter in Murfreesboro and plan the real campaign, the one that will decide the war in the west. Cracking the line that Bragg hasn’t even formed behind yet.”
Rosecrans folded his arms as he bent over the map once more, looking satisfied. “This line here, Julius, the Tullahoma River. Bragg will fall back here and winter, and in the spring we’ll sally forth and maneuver him out and away from Chattanooga and force him to fall back into Georgia. Quite a feather in my cap, eh?”
“Yes sir, quite the feather, if Bragg cooperates.”
Rosecrans chuckled and nodded. “He will. But getting him out of that line and opening up Chattanooga will be the great challenge of my career, Julius. I foresee the fates smiling upon our arms now as they will when we prepare for this next great campaign. This is just the preliminary move, Julius. The next one will decide the war in the west.”
“Yes sir.” Garesche nodded and stared at the map.
“Grant can have Vicksburg—if he can figure a way through the swamps, that is! Give me an opposing army any day, Julius, over Mother Nature. Pemberton has great advantage in Vicksburg’s defenses, and Grant has to get an army below Vicksburg and march overland with no supply line. It’s a nut that I’m glad I do not have to cra
ck. I’ll take what I’ve got.”
Garesche nodded and made a sympathetic sound of agreement.
“Pack everything, Julius; we’ll sleep in the field tonight. I’ll not be back in Nashville, but God willing, will be in Murfreesboro in a fortnight.”
“Rations have been cooked and the horses are ready, sir. I’ll inform General Halleck that you have transferred your HQ to the field and will be in Triune.” Garesche began to tend to the general’s desk and papers.
“Pray that Bragg falls back, Julius. Pray that he is as sensible as he is dogged.” Rosecrans’s eyes gleamed, and he smiled again. “A fight in this countryside is not sensible.”
Chapter 8
Under The Lash
John Meeks and his cabal of would-be traitors had been marching all morning in the fog. John felt himself in a fog. The bitter cold bit his nose and the dampness chilled his bones, but the restlessness of the last year-and-a-half of coercion to fight was about to be changed.
The question that still nagged at him was whether the change was for the better or the worse. John Glenn was right, it was time to act, but with that choice made it was difficult to squelch disquiet at the probable future they all faced if caught.
The 3rd Confederate had been detailed to escort the brigade baggage train back to Murfreesboro, and the distant booming of Semple’s guns told them all that the enemy was pressing close. This was not a forced march, and the fog kept them at a snail’s pace. If the enemy pushed his cavalry beyond their flanks, the train would have the protection of the regiment, and a few companies of Wheeler’s cavalry were attached.
As the rest of the brigade held the approaches, they were spared the zip and zing of minié balls and cannon fire for the moment. The cold had dampened the usual chatter along the line of march. Just sniffles and the slush of boots in the soggy road accompanied the soldiers.
Perryville was still fresh in their minds. It had probably been their best chance to escape, close in on neutral territory with proximity to the Federals. John wondered why they hadn’t all attempted it then. Perhaps they’d still thought there was something to be gained by victory, that Arkansas hadn’t abandoned them wholly despite their being pressed into service. Perhaps the flush of victory had overwhelmed the humiliation and the problems of a year ago. Whatever the reason, they had stood in line, fought up Chaplin Hill into the muzzles of Federal muskets, and died. The retreat had been solemn and dispiriting. Others had availed themselves of the confusion and slipped away singly here and there.
John remembered preaching to his fellows that if they did their duty, perhaps Campbell and the other company officers and noncommissioned officers would see that they were true patriots after all. That if they stuck it out they could go home eventually and be left in the peace that they all wanted. But something had happened after Perryville in all of them, for the question of being a ‘leg case’ finally made sense.
Though the march was to be short and leisurely, a halt was called with a few miles remaining before Murfreesboro. John and his pards gathered off the road to do what soldiers always do when called to a halt: find rest.
“I don’t see when we do this,” David Grover was saying.
“What keepin’ us from doin’ it now?” Glenn asked. “We jus’ go an’ slip down one o’ these lanes an’ head toward the enemy.”
“You want to be a prisoner?” Grover asked, a look of disquiet animating his eyes.
“How else you think this gonna end?” Holly replied, a look of exasperation on his face. “We ain’t makin’ it back to Arkansas. We surrender. I hear a fellow take the oath an’ that is that, maybe even galvanize.”
“You would swalla’ the yellah dog? Fight fer the Yanks?” David Grover blanched.
“I didn’t want to fight fer the Confederacy, none of us did. But the war came. Since we this far, we just go and give ourselves up and come what may.”
“Whichever way we go, we bein’ watched too close to just slip away now,” John said as he rubbed the cold numbness from his fingers. “Campbell made sure of that after Shiloh. We couldn’t go anywhere with leave even on the retreat through Kentucky.”
The group was gathered together off to the side of the road as the companies of the 3rd Confederate relaxed as best they could while standing, the ground wet and muddy and precluding any thought of stretching out and relaxing proper. A few enterprising souls lit coffee fires, and cups gathered around the embers, catching heat enough to make coffee with. The men of Company K had been herded mostly together, kept under the watchful eye of Sergeant Wade. The other companies were scattered in smaller groups and left alone, trusted not to scamper off like rabbits.
“Seems like the enemy is forcing us further south. Perhaps that to our advantage if we keep retreating,” Grover added, a hopeful inflection to his thought.
“Things too controlled yet,” Holly said. “We need the enemy to press the army back and close so we can take advantage of the confusion. We need something to distract these chicken hawks watching us.” Holly nodded toward Wade, who was circling round the company like a hound.
“We can’t go back to Arkansas. The further south we get pushed, the further away from freedom we be. We get picked up walking some southern road, we be shot for sure.” John raised himself up to look for the head of Wade over the crowd of men loitering in the field. “I agree: we need a moment of confusion to make a clean getaway.”
“A panicked retreat is what we need, just a moment to stop and surrender to the enemy,” Phillip Leach spoke up. “What if that don’t come? They not let us onto the picket or skirmish lines. Company not been on that detail for months, not since Shiloh. We almost have to do it on the line of battle. General Wood don’t trust the 3rd—that why he sent us off to watch this train. The real chance is up ahead with all that skirmishing going on.”
“Don’t matter what reason, we just watch and then act,” Glenn said. “We scattered in the company line of battle, so it may be every man for himself. Time comes, it may mean we act alone. Someone take a hit, one of us help out and both try to get away. If they put us in line of battle and we facing the enemy, try to slip by the file closers in the rear and get away, bite the bullet. They be men falling out all over. Just need to be convincing about it.”
“If it comes to that, might be it comes to a standup fight. They march us through Murfreesboro, maybe we get a chance to fall out and hide in the town. Easy to slip out of the line and disappear,” Grover said. “I’d rather take a chance before it comes to another fight. We pressed our luck so far.”
“Provost is going to be all over Murfreesboro. We’d not get far before being caught without a pass,” John replied. “We need to halt and have the enemy get close enough for us to make it to his lines. That means a fight has to happen.”
“Perhaps Wood’ll keep us too far away from the fighting and we don’t get the chance to do that?” Leach said. “Should—should we just take a chance?”
John shook his head in the negative. The risk to everyone was great, but how much more so if they were caught and then their families back home were treated far worse?
“Got to be during a fight or not yet. They got to think we captured or wounded or what for a while. No one must know that we deserted, or it will be a hard time for our families. If we can’t do it without a question of what happened to us, we don’t do it.”
“No, we got to wait for a fight,” Glenn agreed. “That the only way we get away clean or for long enough lest they suspect something.”
Looking at the others, Grover nodded, and Holly said he agreed. Leach finally gave a quick nod but didn’t look convinced. Men of the 3rd had taken French leave before and come back or been dragged back. They had been busted in rank or made to ride the wooden mule for days at a time as punishment. But no one from K Company who was as much as caught outside of the regiment camp got away without being punished much more severely—the buck and gag or the thirty lashes minus one. Those who deserted had done so with the ene
my facing them, a risky time to go over to the enemy’s lines. Only one so far had succeeded. The rest had been shot for their trouble.
“We go now, we can head north toward the enemy lines,” Leach added fitfully.
“You’d not make it three paces before Campbell and Wade would be all over you,” John cautioned, looking up. Sergeant Wade was still circling the company like a hungry dog. He’d given up trying to be nonchalant about it long ago.
“Don’t you queer this for the rest of us,” Glenn said harshly, poking a finger into Leach’s chest.
“I’ll not go through another engagement,” Leach shot back. “Not in this uniform, anyway. We need to get moving and trying now before the enemy is too close.”
John shook his head. There was little chance they could slip away even in the fog of the early morning. Cavalry were out on the flanks and in the rear along the road, and the wagons were crawling with Negroes, officers, and infantry lounging about. “You can’t risk it here, Phillip.”
“Would beat getting shot by some skirmisher or just shot in line of battle,” David Grover said, stroking his chin. “I don’t know, John. Maybe this is the best time to try?”
Their fifteen minutes of rest were almost up. The regiment had been divided by companies and interspersed among the trains so that the 3rd Confederate was strung out for several miles, with Company K about the middle of the train. They would march in company column and be called to form up on the road soon. Any attempt to slip away would have to be now or they would soon be missed.
“The lieutenant will have the whole area crawling around for us if we go missing now. If one of us goes we all got to go, or Wade will have us chained together and none of us will be free again,” Glenn said. Looking at Leach, he added, “Don’t go getting all anxious on us yet; we got to wait.”
Meeks felt bad for Leach. He had been the most reluctant to join up with John and the others in the Arkansas Peace Society, and then he became the special target of Campbell and Wade for his Northern roots; a despised Tory and homegrown yankee. He’d been steadfast and put up with things for this long. But he was also the weak link in the chain. He’d needed John and David to buck him up and help him stay the course before the war, and he needed Glenn to keep him steady now. Even so, he’d survived Shiloh and Perryville with no mention of a need to ‘go and seek his rights’. Something had changed.
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