The Way of All Soldiers (Gone For Soldiers)

by Jeffry S. Hepple

Quincy thought a moment. “I think we’ve had more than enough preparation and training. I’d attack. Now. This minute, with everything we’ve got on all fronts.”

  “Could you win?”

  “Not at once. No, sir. But the South can’t win a war of attrition.”

  “Attrition is just a fancy word to describe a lot of dead sons, husbands and fathers.”

  Quincy shrugged. “Both sides are committed, sir, and the war’s started. It’s going to be the bloodiest war in the history of mankind, no matter how it’s fought.”

  “Lord, I pray you’re wrong.”

  “But we have more resources of all kinds including more blood to spill, sir. Even if we lose two men to every one of theirs, even if we lose every battle, we’ll still win the war.”

  “I don’t know if the country can survive that kind of victory.”

  Quincy shook his head. “It can’t, sir. The country that we knew before Fort Sumter is gone forever.”

  “I disagree. I’m betting the whole shebang that we can preserve what was created in 1776.”

  “If you’ll forgive me, sir, the creation of 1776 was the idea of one nation of united states. We have yet to achieve that.”

  Lincoln stood up and offered his hand. “At least we agree that the commanding general has to get off his arse.”

  “Yes, sir. And soon. Every day that goes by widens the rift between the North and the South.”

  November 7, 1861

  Hunter’s Farm, Missouri

  The sun was above the horizon when Grant’s forces set out southward on the heavily wooded road to Belmont. About a mile from the town, the timber stopped abruptly at a cornfield and, as they had rehearsed countless times, Grant’s troops deployed quickly, on line.

  The Confederate Commander, General Gideon J. Pillow, sent his skirmishers from Camp Johnson. Grant brushed them back easily and closed on the fortified camp. For a time it looked like an easy victory for the Union forces but Grant’s soldiers were too green and they hesitated on the brink of success.

  Grant himself was always out in front. When his horse was shot from under him, he mounted an aide’s horse and returned to lead his men forward.

  Pillow’s troops were no better seasoned than Grant’s, so they too advanced and then, when they had the advantage, withdrew.

  Finally, at about 2:00 in the afternoon, when the rebels once again began to retreat toward Camp Johnson, four of the 31st Illinois’s cannons, under the command of General Robert Van Buskirk, opened fire, and the Confederate line broke in panic. As Grant’s troops swarmed after them, the Confederates dropped their weapons and their colors to run for the river, abandoning Camp Johnson.

  When his troops, overcome by the thrill of victory, began to loot the camp, Grant ordered it put to the torch and organized the march back to the riverboats. Progress with the wounded, over a hundred prisoners and two captured cannons was slow and it gave Pillow and Colonel Benjamin F. Cheatham time to gather reinforcements. At the same time, the huge gun Lady Polk opened fire from Columbus. The Union gunboats returned fire as more Confederate guns came into service.

  At the landing, Grant took a quick headcount and determined that a regiment was missing. He raced back toward the camp but ran into a hail of gunfire. By the time he had returned to the river he saw the boats were underway. One of the captains recognized Grant, ordered the engine to stop and had a narrow plank run out from the deck to the shore. Grant, on a horse that he’d never ridden before, coaxed the animal to walk the plank and onto the deck.

  Robert caught the horse’s bridle and hung on until the skittish animal calmed down enough for Grant to slide off. “What was that all about, Sam?”

  “The Thirty-First Illinois’s missing,” Grant replied.

  “No they’re not.” Robert pointed. “I loaded them on the gunboats. Their guns can do some damage against Columbus and their infantry can repel Polk’s boarding parties.”

  “Oh. Good thinking. I should have seen them on the boats.”

  “You should have checked with me. Loading troops is my job.” Robert led the horse away to give Grant’s adoring troops room to shake hands with him. He chuckled to himself at his friend’s discomfort. “You better get used to that, Sam,” he whispered. “You’re about to become a great American hero.”

  Later, when the Southern forces had extinguished the fires at Camp Johnson, several burned corpses of Confederate soldiers were found which fed a rumor that prisoners had been murdered. The Battle of Belmont was inconsequential, but it caused Grant to become a hated man in the South and a hero in the north. Abraham Lincoln was just thrilled that he finally had a general who would fight.

  December 22, 1861

  Waco, Texas

  Prudence Johansen refilled Jane Van Buskirk’s teacup. “My memories of my childhood are like a dream,” she said. “But I remember one Christmas. This should be fun.” Her English had come back to her quickly, but there was an odd cadence to her speech that made her sound foreign.

  “I think I miss the snow at Christmas more than anything else,” Jane said, looking from the guest house window at the Brazos. “My father’s house was in a horse pasture just outside the Montauk Village in New York. It had a lovely little pond that froze solid enough for skating and a beautiful view of the Bay. I don’t think I’ve ever felt as safe and warm as I did there.”

  “You knew Jack when you were both children?”

  “Only vaguely. My father knew Jack’s father and the family in Elizabeth quite well, but our families weren’t on the same social level.”

  “Social level?”

  “The Van Buskirks were a very important family. My family wasn’t.”

  Prudence nodded. “Do you have trouble here?”

  “Trouble?”

  “Being Indian.”

  “Oh. A little, but most people know that I’m Tom’s wife, and that gives me respect that I wouldn’t get otherwise.”

  “Consuelo says that people here think that white women who’ve lived with the Indians are dirty,” Prudence observed.

  Jane sat back in her chair to think for a moment. “I wish I was clever enough to offer you some advice, but the fact is that some men think that a woman should die before letting herself be taken by Indians.”

  “Not Jack.”

  Jane shook her head. “No. Jack’s father was very conservative and proper. His mother was the opposite. Their children are a mixture of those attitudes that sometimes makes them unpredictable.” She hesitated. “Jack married a saloon girl who was disloyal to him, but he stuck by her.”

  “He told me.”

  Jane looked surprised. “Did he really?”

  “We had a long journey and I had not so much to say.”

  “Did he tell you about his mother?”

  “He talked of her.”

  “She never liked me.”

  “He said that it was you that didn’t like her. The same with his wife. He said she liked you. You didn’t like her.”

  Jane sipped her tea. “Am I that judgmental?”

  “I don’t know that word.”

  “Unforgiving. Lacking understanding of others.”

  “I don’t know. You’ve been good to me. I’m thankful.”

  “I’m happy to have your company. I hope you’ll stay when Jack goes.”

  “He’s going?”

  “Oh, not now. At least he hasn’t said so. But he’s a soldier and sooner or later he’s going to war like his brothers.”

  “I’ll stay here as long as you want.”

  Jane smiled. “Good.”

  December 23, 1861

  Paducah, Kentucky

  Robert stepped into the warm orderly room and took off his hat.

  “Can I help you sir?” the major at the filing cabinet asked.

  “General Van Buskirk to see General Sherman.”

  The major pointed to a closed door. “Go right in, sir.”

  Robert rapped on the door.

  “Come.”

>   Robert stepped into the office and grinned. “Merry Christmas, you old warhorse.”

  Sherman rushed around the desk to grasp Robert’s hand. “My, my, my. It’s good to see you. Is Grant with you?”

  “He’ll be here tomorrow. He’s bringing Julia. Is Ellen here with you?”

  “No. I need some time alone.”

  “I understand,” Robert said.

  “Grant’s making himself a reputation.”

  “I’d like to help him make a bigger reputation, but Halleck’s sitting on him.”

  “What’s the matter with that man?” Sherman asked.

  “I don’t know,” Robert replied. “But don’t say anything negative about Halleck to Grant. He immediately gets defensive.”

  “That’s because Sam’s a decent man, not because Halleck is.”

  “Sometime after New Year’s Sam and I are going to meet Halleck and get his permission to move against Forts Henry and Donelson.”

  “Will he go for it?”

  “I think we can convince him.”

  “You’ve been using your sister’s influence with the President, haven’t you?”

  “You make it sound underhanded,” Robert replied. “I write to my sister about my concerns and I give her my opinions and the facts as I see them. She’s got a reporter’s training and the full resources of the government to check everything I tell her for accuracy. Then she, and only she, decides if anything I’ve said is worthy of the President’s time. I never ask for favors.”

  “If you ever lower yourself to asking for favors, I’d take a reduction in rank to serve under Grant.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind. In the meantime, I’m starving.”

  “Just let me get my coat.”

  December 24, 1861

  Richmond, Virginia

  Jeb Stuart opened the front door of his modest two-story home and clapped Johnny Van Buskirk on the back. “Get in here. You look half frozen.”

  Johnny stamped his feet to dislodge the ice and snow from his boots. “Merry Christmas.” He stepped through the door and handed Stuart the gaily wrapped boxes that he’d been carrying. “I couldn’t carry all this on horseback and there are no cabs.”

  “What is all this?”

  “Christmas presents, you heathen. Where are Flora and the children?”

  “In the kitchen.” Stuart carried the gifts into the living room and put them on the floor near a bare pine tree. “It’s called a Christmas tree. They’re all the rage.”

  Johnny chuckled. “We’ve put one up every Christmas Eve since 1777.”

  “So then you know how to decorate one.”

  “Yes. If you have ornaments.”

  “I do, but I may have bought the wrong kind.” He pointed toward a small crate. “I asked the German grocer to order them for me and that’s what he sold me.”

  Johnny opened the top and looked in. “These are all hand-painted blown glass or China.”

  “Is that bad?”

  Johnny stood up. “No. Not at all, but they must have been very dear.”

  Stuart looped his arm over Johnny’s shoulder. “Since you are my former best friend’s little brother, I’m going to trust you with my deepest secret.”

  Johnny waited expectantly.

  “I’m rich as a Lord,” Stuart whispered. “But don’t tell Flora or she’ll spend us into poverty.”

  “Rich,” Johnny said. “Well, I’m glad to hear that, Beauty.”

  “You don’t believe me, do you?”

  “Of course I do. Why would I doubt you? Although I admit to being a little curious how your sudden wealth came about.”

  “Do you remember my saber hook?”

  Johnny looked puzzled. “Remember it? I use it every day. That’s no secret. Everyone knows that the government paid you five thousand dollars for your patent.”

  Stuart shook his head. “They didn’t buy the patent, they paid me five thousand dollars for a two-year ‘right to use’ contract. It expired in October. The new contract pays me a sixty-cent royalty for every hook made by Knorr, Nece and Co. of Philadelphia. The orders from the Union and Confederacy are pouring in.”

  Johnny chuckled. “That’s wonderful, Beauty, but I think you should tell Flora.”

  Stuart shook his head. “The first thing she’d do is buy a manor house and fill it with expensive furnishings. Please don’t be offended, but I don’t want my money tied up in Richmond – just in case the war goes the wrong way.”

  “I’m not offended, Beauty. My money’s in New York, Zurich and London banks. The only money in my Richmond account is my army pay.”

  The kitchen door banged open and a four-year-old girl in a pink dress raced out. “Uncle Johnny.”

  Johnny scooped her up and planted a kiss on top of her curls. “My, my, my. Look at little Flora. All grown up.” He grinned at Stuart. “I’m Uncle Johnny now?”

  “Your brother said that it was a tradition in the North for children to call close friends aunt and uncle. Flora and I decided that it was a tradition that we would adopt.”

  “I’m honored,” Johnny said.

  “I’m disappointed that Uncle Paul could not be with us too,” Stuart said.

  Johnny was unsure how to respond and shrugged.

  “Did you bring me a present, Uncle Johnny?” the child in his arms asked, impatient that the focus of attention had shifted from her.

  “Indeed I did,” Johnny said. “But you’ll have to wait to open it.”

  “Why?”

  “Ask your daddy.” He looked at Stuart. “Where’s Phillip?”

  Stuart made a face. “When his maternal grandfather decided to stay with the Yankees, I changed my son’s name to James Ewell Brown Stuart, Jr.”

  Johnny laughed. “Oh that should be really confusing. Two Floras and two Jebs in a family of four.”

  “We’re calling him Jimmy, not Jeb, and I’m James.”

  “So where is Jimmy?”

  “He’s playing with the baby,” Flora said.

  Johnny looked at Stuart. “Baby? I think you’ve been keeping another secret from me.”

  “Flora,” Stuart called toward the kitchen. “Your daughter just let the cat out of the bag.”

  “Oh drat,” a woman’s voice replied. “She wasn’t supposed to go in there yet, but she got away.”

  “What’s all this?” Johnny asked.

  A moment later the kitchen door opened and Urilla Van Buskirk came out with an infant in her arms. “We wanted to make a good first impression on Daddy, but we spit-up on our jumper just as Daddy knocked on the front door.”

  “James was supposed to stall you while we changed him,” Flora Stuart said. She had a squirming eighteen-month-old boy in her arms.

  Johnny handed the little girl to Stuart and walked slowly toward Urilla. “Is that my son?”

  “Of course it is, silly,” Urilla giggled.

  He looked stunned. “What are you doing here?”

  “Aren’t you glad to see us?”

  “Yes, yes. But you said that your father…”

  “I escaped.” She stepped forward and kissed him on the mouth. “Shut up and take your son.” She held the baby toward him.

  “Urilla, I’m the baby in our family. I’ve never held a – he looks so fragile.”

  “Hush. Hold out your arms.”

  Johnny took the child and looked into his tiny face. “What did you name him?”

  “Jefferson Davis Van Buskirk,” Urilla said. “I call him J.D.”

  ~

  “Are you sure I didn’t hurt you?” Johnny whispered. “I was trying to be gentle but – well, I got carried away.”

  “Umm,” Urilla murmured in his ear. “It was wonderful. Every time we make love, I think that it couldn’t possibly be any better, but it always is. We have time to do it again before I have to feed the baby.” She kissed him on the neck.

  “The baby.” Johnny grasped her face between his hands and pushed her back to look into her eyes. “Oh, Urilla. What
have we done?”

  “What?” she asked in alarm.

  “I don’t want another baby. Not now. Not until the war’s over.”

  She smiled and covered his hands with hers, then moved them to her lips and kissed his fingers. “I’m not likely to get pregnant while I’m nursing, Johnny.”

  “You’re nursing him yourself? You don’t have a wet nurse?”

  “I’m nursing him myself, just in case things go very wrong and I have to take him and run.”

  “We all talk so confidently about the Confederacy, but we plan for it to fail,” he mused. “What should that tell us?”

  “I’m more worried about my father than I am about the Confederacy. I think he may be going mad.” The clock downstairs struck twelve and she sat up to look for her nightgown in the flickering candlelight. “But now that you mention it, if Richmond falls – well, perhaps I need an escape plan.”

  “Would you consider living with my Aunt Anna and Aunt Nancy in Washington or New Jersey?”

  “Yes,” she said after a moment. “If it looks like the Yankees are ready to invade Richmond I’ll go north.”

  “You’ll be safer going south and then taking a ship north. If Richmond falls the roads north will be clogged with refugees.”

  “Whatever you say.” She put her arm in the sleeve of her nightgown.

  He touched her bare breast. “Where are you going?”

  “To get your son and give him his midnight snack.”

  “Can he wait until fifteen past midnight?”

  “I think so. Can you make it last fifteen minutes?”

  “I can try.”

  January 30, 1862

  St Louis, Missouri

  Major General Henry Halleck aimed his famous goggle-eyed stare across his desk at Generals Grant and Van Buskirk. “The President of the United States described me publicly as little more than a third-rate clerk.”

  Grant shrugged. “He’s very angry that none of his generals are aggressively moving against the South, General Halleck, and he expected you to influence us to do that.”

  “I am very aware of the facts, General Grant,” Halleck snarled. “Lincoln’s gone so far as to have issued an order to initiate an offensive before Washington’s Birthday.”