The Way of All Soldiers (Gone For Soldiers)

by Jeffry S. Hepple

  “The President issued that order to you, sir?” Robert asked.

  “To me, to Hunter and to Buell.”

  Robert waited a moment, then said, “Forgive me for being so dull, General Halleck, but I don’t see the problem. Why don’t we just initiate the offensive? General Albert Sidney Johnston commands all Confederate forces from Arkansas to the Cumberland Gap. He’s obviously spread too thin.”

  “What makes you think I don’t know that?” Halleck asked.

  “General Van Buskirk’s statement was preceded by a question, General,” Grant replied before Robert could. “Why don’t we attack? If we took Fort Henry and Fort Donelson, we’d have control of both the Tennessee and Cumberland Rivers with direct invasion paths to Tennessee and beyond.”

  “Are you aware that there is no unified command in the West?” Halleck asked. “Hunter commands the Department of Kansas, Buell has the Department of the Ohio and I’m here in command of the Department of Missouri.”

  “Yes, sir,” Grant said calmly. “But with that order from the President, you don’t need approval from anyone to send me against Forts Henry and Donelson.”

  “We demonstrated along the Tennessee River as a diversion for General Buell to attack Nashville,” Robert said sarcastically. “Buell never got there. How do you suppose Lincoln liked that?”

  Grant saw where Robert was going. “You’d improve the President’s opinion of yourself if you were to act while General Buell does nothing.”

  “If we take Forts Henry and Donelson the President might unify the West under your command,” Robert added.

  Halleck was wavering. “We have intelligence indicating that General Beauregard will be arriving soon with reinforcements for Johnston.”

  “All the more reason to act now, while Johnston’s still spread so thin,” Grant said.

  “Show me.” Halleck pointed to the map on his wall.

  Both Grant and Van Buskirk stood up and walked to the map of Kentucky. “Johnston’s left flank’s in Columbus under command of Polk.” Grant touched the map.

  “Polk has twelve thousand men and six big guns,” Robert added.

  Grant touched Bowling Green. “Simon Bolivar Buckner has Johnston’s right flank.”

  “Buckner has only four thousand men and a few old smooth bores,” Robert said.

  “In the center are the two forts commanded by Lloyd Tilghman,” Grant said, indicating Fort Henry and Fort Donelson.

  “Tilghman’s spreading a force of about four thousand between the two forts,” Robert concluded.

  “You’re authorized to attack Fort Henry and only Fort Henry,” Halleck said after looking at the map for a moment.

  Robert took a breath. “General. Tilghman will move his survivors from Fort Henry to Fort Donelson and then…”

  Grant stepped in front of Robert. “Thank you, General Halleck. We’ll attack Fort Henry with two divisions.”

  Halleck picked up a document from his desk and began reading. “Dismissed.”

  Grant turned abruptly, took Robert’s elbow and hustled him out before he could make another comment. “What was Lincoln’s advice to Anderson and your nephew about occupying Fort Sumter?” he asked as he closed the door of Halleck’s office. “It’s easier to get forgiveness than permission?”

  “Anderson didn’t have orders,” Robert argued. “That’s not the same situation as you’re facing. You’ll have to attack Donelson against Halleck’s orders.”

  “I won’t attack against Halleck’s orders. After we’ve taken Fort Henry, I’ll send him a telegram stating that Tilghman retreated from Fort Henry to Fort Donelson with his survivors and that I’ll attack Donelson in two days. He won’t dare tell me stand down.”

  “What if he does dare?”

  “We’ll attack Donelson anyway and hope that the President saves our tails.”

  “What’s this ‘we’ rubbish? I’m just a brigade commander.”

  “You can have a division for the asking.”

  Robert shook his head. “John McClernand and Charlie Smith have worked very hard to shape their divisions. It wouldn’t be fair to replace either of them. I’m perfectly happy with a brigade. I’ve never wanted more.”

  “That’s fine, as long as I can continue to call on you as an advisor.”

  “Have you had any complaints?”

  “Not yet, but you know how Army politics are. Sooner or later someone’s going to get jealous of a brigade commander functioning as a senior advisor.”

  “Let’s not worry about that until it happens.” Robert looked over his shoulder. “I guess you heard that Cump Sherman’s got your old job as commander of the District of Cairo?”

  “Yeah. He’ll do well there. He’s a master of organization.”

  “After we take Fort Donelson and move south we’ll need a fifth division.”

  “Cump’s not going to take a demotion to division commander.”

  “He said he would.”

  “When?”

  “At Christmas.”

  Grant laughed. “You’re pretty sure we’re gonna do this.”

  “No. I’m very sure.”

  February 2, 1862

  Cairo, Illinois

  It had been raining for days and the demarcation of the eastern horizon was barely visible against the swirling dark clouds. On the upper deck of the ironclad USS Cincinnati, Army and Navy officers were trying to stay dry under a tent-like structure that sagged and leaked. “Gentlemen!” General Grant shouted. “If you would please take a seat.” He waited until the shuffling and conversation had stopped. “To those of you who don’t know me, my name is U.S. Grant.” He waited for the chuckles and comments to stop, then nodded toward Robert. “General Van Buskirk’s going to brief us on the fortifications upriver.”

  Robert handed a mounted photograph to General McClernand. “This, gentlemen, is Fort Henry.” He waited until McClernand had looked at the picture and passed it on. “I should say that was Fort Henry, because over the last few days the river has risen and the fort is now nearly all underwater. A workman told me yesterday that the powder room is flooded and that there is no ammunition for the forty-two-pounders.” He paused until the laughter and jokes died down. “That’s not to say that Fort Henry is defenseless. There are still eleven guns trained on the river and six others positioned to defend against ground attack. The heavy guns, a ten-inch Columbiad and twenty-four-pounder rifled cannon, are able to engage targets three miles downriver.”

  “Did you get a look at Fort Heiman, across the river on Stewart’s Hill?” General Smith asked.

  Robert shook his head. “I can’t tell you anything about it other than it’s operational and close enough to bring fire on Fort Henry, sir.”

  “Could you tell if there were guns trained landward from there?”

  “No, sir. But it’s not really a fort; it’s just a gun platform on high ground behind an earthen berm.”

  “Anything else?” Grant asked.

  Smith shook his head.

  “Thank you, General Van Buskirk,” Grant said after another moment. He waited for Robert to move toward the back. “I will be in overall command of this operation. Flag Officer Andrew Foote is in command of the Western Flotilla. The four ironclads, USS Carondelet, USS St. Louis, USS Essex, and of course this gunboat, will be under his direct command. Navy Lieutenant Seth Phelps has direct command over the wooden-clad gunboats: the USS Conestoga, USS Tyler, and USS Lexington. My two division commanders are Generals John McClernand and Charles Smith. General Robert Van Buskirk triples as a brigade commander, our engineer and my advisor.”

  He waited a moment for comments, then went on. “We don’t have enough transports to move all the troops upriver at the same time so I’m depending on the navy to keep the flies off our first wave. If there are no questions, I wish you the glory of the coming days. May God Bless the United States of America.”

  February 7, 1862

  Washington, D.C.

  Anna Van Buskirk Lagrange wal
ked into John Nicolay’s office. “I got a note saying that the President wants to see me.”

  Nicolay smiled. “Go right in.”

  “What’s it about?”

  “I’ll never tell.”

  She gave him an imitation glare, then walked down the hall and knocked.

  “Come in,” Lincoln called.

  Anna went in and closed the door. “You sent for me, Mr. President?”

  “I did indeed.” He got up from behind his desk and walked to the couch. “Please take a seat.”

  Anna sat down in an armchair and smoothed her skirt.

  “How’s young Quincy?” Lincoln asked.

  “Back with General Sherman, somewhere in the West. That’s all I know.”

  Lincoln sat on the couch and unfolded two telegram copy forms. “This is from General Halleck.” He read: “‘Fort Henry is ours. The flag is reestablished on the soil of Tennessee. It will never be removed.’ General Grant is moving on Fort Donelson.”

  She nodded. “This morning’s Chicago Tribune called it one of the most complete and signal victories in the annals of the world’s warfare.”

  “Dang it,” Lincoln said. “We need to get out in front of the press – form the news, so to speak.”

  Anna smiled. “You mean you’re not already forming the news, sir? I seem to recall that John Hay is very fond of describing all victories as signal and he also uses the annals of the world’s warfare at every opportunity.”

  “Well you caught me, didn’t you,” Lincoln said with a chuckle. “I never realized how much we depended on you for writing press releases and such until you were gone.”

  She shook her head. “I won’t come back, Mr. President. Mrs. Lincoln won’t stand for it.”

  “I was thinking of a way that you could help me without having to come back to the White House.”

  “What way is that?”

  “We could send a packet to your hotel by messenger with rough drafts and you could send your finished copy back the same way. Of course, we would sometimes have to meet here but I’ll manage Mrs. Lincoln on those occasions.”

  “I have a job as a columnist for the Daily National Intelligencer, Mr. President, and I write freelance for several other papers.”

  “Oh.” Lincoln seemed surprised by that. “Well then…” He stopped at a knock on the door. “Dang it. I asked not to be disturbed.” He looked at the door, then shrugged. “Come in,” he called.

  John Nicolay appeared. His face was pale and he was holding a telegram in his hand.

  “Bad news?” Lincoln asked, holding out his hand.

  “I’m afraid so.” Nicolay gave him the message, then hurried out.

  Lincoln read the telegram and looked up at Anna. “Your brother Robert is missing in action and presumed dead.” He gave Anna the message.

  “This says he was aboard the USS Essex when the boiler exploded,” she said, after reading the message. “Could that be accurate?”

  Lincoln nodded. “I know about the Essex. It was in the after-action report that was sent to General Halleck. A cannon-shot bounced through a gun port and ruptured her middle boiler. Thirty-two men were killed or wounded, including her commanding officer, William D. Porter. Some of the dead were so badly burned by the steam that identification is impossible. I’m very sorry, Anna.”

  Anna stood up. “I’m going to Kentucky. I can identify my brother’s body regardless of how badly he was burned.”

  Lincoln got to his feet. “It seems like I should be trying to talk you out of that idea, but I don’t think I will.”

  “That’s why you’re a great man.” Impulsively, Anna kissed him on the cheek, then hurried out.

  ~

  Nancy read the telegram, then sat down heavily on the couch. “What does it mean? Presumed dead?”

  “It means they have some unidentified bodies and they think one of them is Robert.”

  “What do we do?”

  “We go to Kentucky and find Robert, dead or alive. Get packed.”

  February 15, 1862

  Hickman Creek, Tennessee

  Anna turned the team of four horses off the Dover road and onto a heavily traveled track of frozen mud toward a log cabin. She had bought the farm wagon and team from a farmer at the steamer landing before dawn for an outrageous price and had set out immediately in search of General U.S. Grant. Nancy had hardly spoken a word during the entire trip and was sitting on the wagon seat beside Anna, seemingly oblivious to everything, including the bitter cold and biting wind.

  A string of saddled horses in front of the cabin were covered with greenish-brown US Army blankets. Several men in blue uniforms were loitering near a small campfire. A corporal with a rifle at sling-arms detached himself from the group, raised his hand in a signal to halt and walked toward Anna and Nancy.

  Anna hauled the horses to a stop. “Is this the Crisp residence?”

  “It is, Ma’am,” the man replied. “But the family ain’t here.”

  “I’m actually looking for General Grant. I was told his headquarters were here. My name is Anna Van Buskirk. This is my sister-in-law, Nancy Van Buskirk. We’re seeking information about General Robert Van Buskirk.”

  “Just a minute, Ma’am. I’ll tell the lieutenant.”

  “Thank you.” Anna covered Nancy’s gloved hand with hers. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes.” Nancy didn’t look at her.

  A second lieutenant, with rosy cheeks and ice in his mustache, walked to the wagon and touched the brim of his hat. “I’m sorry for your loss, ladies. General Van Buskirk was a fine man and he’ll be missed by us all. But this is a battlefield.” He pointed. “Fort Donelson is just there. If you listen you can hear the sound of musket fire.”

  “We’ll speak to General Grant.” Anna set the brake, looped the reins around it and jumped down. “Come, Nancy.” She held up her hands.

  Nancy waved Anna back and jumped down, but she lost her balance when her dress caught on the seat, and she fell on her hands and knees.

  The lieutenant rushed forward to give her a hand up. “I wish I could help you ladies, but General Grant’s a tad busy right now. If you could…”

  “Thank you, Lieutenant,” Anna said, taking Nancy’s arm. “We’ll speak to General Grant now.” Turning her back on the stammering young officer, she crossed the yard of frozen mud with Nancy in tow, stepped onto the porch and pushed the door open without knocking. “General Grant. I’m Anna Van Buskirk, Robert’s sister. This is his wife, Nancy.”

  Grant was standing in his long underwear with a cigar in his mouth and holding his trousers as if about to step into them. For a moment, he just gaped, then he signaled the other men in the room that he wanted privacy and continued to dress. “I was at the river talking to Flag Officer Foote, slipped off the plank and fell in the water,” he said. “I came back here to put on some dry clothes. If you’d come in a minute or two sooner we’d have all been really embarrassed.”

  “I know we shouldn’t be here…” Anna began.

  “Of course you should,” Grant interrupted. “But I can’t do anything more right now. Not until this operation’s concluded.” He sat down to pull on his boots.

  “All we want is your authorization to view the remains of the dead,” Anna replied. “We’ll know Robert if he’s among them.”

  “Well if that’s all you want, I could have saved you a trip,” Grant said, buttoning his shirt. “I examined every one of those dead men very carefully and none of them was Robert.”

  “You’re sure?” Anna asked.

  Grant nodded. “He’s been my friend for all of my adult life and I’m absolutely sure that he wasn’t among the dead.” He pulled up his braces and found his hat.

  Anna and Nancy exchanged a confused look.

  “What does that mean?” Nancy asked. “Is he alive?”

  “I don’t know the answer to that,” Grant said. “He could have fallen into the river and been carried away by the current. He could have been captured or –
well anything’s possible.” He listened for a moment. “That’s too much gunfire. I gave strict orders that no action would be initiated until I returned. I need to go. Stay here.” He buckled on his sword and pistol belt, grabbed his cape and hat, then started for the door but it burst open before he reached it.

  “General,” an aide shouted. “The Rebs are attacking General McClernand and his lines are breaking.”

  Grant rushed out and was on the aide’s horse before the aide was off the porch.

  Three days earlier, the majority of Grant’s troops had left Fort Henry to march the five miles to Fort Donelson. It had taken most of the day to cover the distance because of very effective delaying actions by the cavalry of Nathan Bedford Forrest. Grant had arrived just before dark and, after seeing that Martha Crisp and her son were safely escorted to a family member’s home that was beyond artillery range, he established his headquarters at the Crisp farm. His orders to his troops were to make no provoking moves until the fleet arrived.

  On the following day, General Charles F. Smith, ignoring Grant’s orders, sent two of his brigades forward to probe the Confederates’ right. He lost a few men and gained nothing beyond a reprimand from Grant.

  At almost the same time, General John A. McClernand ordered two regiments of Colonel William F. Morrison’s brigade and one regiment from Colonel W.H.L. Wallace’s brigade to capture a battery that was zeroed on their position. When Morrison was wounded, the attack failed. Some of the wounded perished in grass fires ignited by cannon and musket fire. Grant was so angry that he chastised McClernand publicly. McClernand, a politician in uniform appointed by Lincoln, complained officially to the President, and Grant later apologized. The apology proved to be a mistake.

  During the night of the 13th, the weather had turned unseasonably cold with blowing snow and freezing rain. The Union troops spent a miserable night without coats or blankets and unable to start campfires for fear of Rebel sharpshooters.

  On February 14th, Flag Officer Foote’s small fleet arrived with six gunboats and twelve transports, carrying ten thousand Union reinforcements under the command of General Lew Wallace. With Wallace’s division in the center, Grant was able to anchor his left to McClernand’s right and his right to within four hundred yards of Smith’s left. After deploying Wallace, Grant had been rowed out to Foote’s current flagship, USS St. Louis, where he urged Foote to immediately engage the fort’s batteries.