The Way of All Soldiers (Gone For Soldiers)

by Jeffry S. Hepple

  Robert looked at Quincy. “Do you agree with Nancy’s prophesy?”

  “General Sherman says that a strictly military victory is impossible,” Quincy replied. “He believes that the conflict will continue as long as the people of the South support the idea of a separate South.”

  Robert nodded. “I know. He says that that the South can’t be defeated unless it’s destroyed. But I asked what you think.”

  “I think that if we crush the South, as General Sherman recommends, we’ll win the war and make Aunt Nancy’s prophesy come true.”

  April 5, 1862

  Lee’s Mill, Virginia

  General George B. McClellan had landed his ponderous army on the peninsula formed by the James and York rivers and had then given orders to advance on Richmond.

  In response to McClellan’s marching orders, General Erasmus D. Keyes, the commander of IV Corps, sent forward a light-cavalry squadron, under the command of Major John Buford, to reconnoiter a route across the Warwick River.

  An hour later, Buford called a halt to his main body and waited as Captain Paul Van Buskirk and six cavalrymen rode toward him across a swampy meadow.

  Paul reined in his horse and turned in the saddle to point. “There’s a Confederate battery dug in next to a fortified mill on the high ground beyond those trees. I could be wrong, but I got the impression that it was part of an extended earthwork.”

  “Sergeant Haskell?” Buford called out.

  “Yes, sir.” The sergeant rode forward.

  “Take three good men with you and scout along the river to our left. I wanna know if the Rebels are entrenched anywhere on the other side.”

  “Yes, sir.” Sergeant Haskell pointed. “Shaw, Ernst and Campbell on me.” He rode out with the other three following.

  “Sergeant Major Kemper,” Buford called. “Dismount the squadron and take over for a minute. I’m gonna take a ride with Captain Van Buskirk.”

  “Yes, sir,” the Sergeant Major replied. “Squadron.”

  “Troop,” the four NCO acting troop commanders echoed.

  “Prepare to dismount,” Kemper continued. “Dismount.”

  “Come on,” Buford said to Paul. He tipped his head toward the trees. “Show me what you saw.” He moved his horse out slowly across the muddy ground and waited until Paul was abreast of him. “Do you know where we are?”

  “Yes, sir. I have a good map.”

  “No, that’s not what I meant.” He pointed. “The 1781 siege of Yorktown and the final battle of the American Revolutionary War was fought right over there.”

  “Yes, sir, I knew that. My grandfather brought me here just before he left for Mexico to show me the place where his father died. It was only a pile of rubble and I didn’t appreciate its significance at the time.”

  “If you’re right about the Rebel fortifications, history might be about to repeat itself.”

  “If it does, please don’t expect me to lead a forlorn hope.” Paul pointed to their front. “We should probably tie the horses at the edge of the woods and go forward on foot. It was just luck that kept us from being discovered when we blundered onto the gun emplacement.”

  “Did you see any infantry supporting the guns?”

  “I saw two guidons beyond the mill. I’d guess that there’s a full regiment over there. Maybe a brigade, but nothing larger.”

  “No way to get a better view?”

  “Not without being seen. The riverbank rises sharply all along here, and the Rebs are behind it. I’d rather be them than us.”

  “General Keyes is going to ask me for a troop strength assessment. I’d like to give him one.”

  Paul shrugged. “Then let’s pick a fight and see how many Rebs shoot at us.”

  “No thanks. I’d rather disappoint General Keyes.”

  They tied their horses at the edge of the woods and Buford unrolled his map. “That must be Lee’s Mill that you saw.” He pointed to a rectangle at the edge of the river on the map.

  Paul looked over his shoulder. “Yes, that’s it. The ground rises along this topo-line, parallel to the river. The river current’s sluggish and the watercourse meanders into bogs and shallow ponds. Everything below the berm is muddy with no solid ground.”

  “Bad ground for an attacker.”

  Paul nodded. “So bad that I doubt the Confederates would commit a large force to defending it.”

  Buford rolled the map. “General Keyes isn’t the type that likes theoretical troop strength reports.”

  “I already gave you my suggestion for head counting, Major.”

  “Don’t get snippy, Captain. I was just thinking out loud.”

  “Sorry, sir.”

  “No need. Show me these cannons.”

  They had just started into the woods when a huge explosion ripped through the trees showering them with twigs, sticks, branches, leaves and dead birds.

  “Shit.” Buford ran to catch his panicked horse while Paul struggled to untie his. From their left, another cannon fired, then a third fired further away.

  “They’re not firing at us,” Paul shouted.

  Buford swung onto the saddle and rode back to Paul. “You’re right. They’re firing shot through the treetops at somethin’ else.”

  Paul pointed north. “Vermont flag.”

  The Federal infantry that Paul had just pointed out was withdrawing, but at the same time, an artillery battery was unlimbering.

  “Let’s get back before we’re caught in the crossfire from the cannons,” Buford suggested.

  Fifteen minutes later, when they reached the headquarters of General Keyes, the decision to dig in and bring forward the siege guns had already been made by General McClellan, who had arrived before Buford.

  Since he had nothing to offer in a siege, Buford dismissed his squadron, gave up his mount to his groom and walked with Paul toward the mess tent. “If you had to take a wild guess at troop strength, what would it be?”

  “At the mill? I’ve seen nothing to make me change my initial estimate of a small brigade or even a regiment.”

  “I wonder if George McClellan knows something that we don’t.”

  “He’s getting his information from General Keyes. What could Keyes know that we don’t? In fact, how could Keyes know as much as we know?”

  Buford flinched as a siege gun fired from behind them. “Jesus those things are loud.”

  Paul nodded. “Well, I don’t suppose what we know matters much now. If that really was only a brigade over there, it won’t be long until they’re reinforced.”

  “Seems like nobody really understands the value of surprise.”

  April 6, 1862

  Near Yorktown, Virginia

  Brigadier General Winfield Scott Hancock rode into Buford’s camp before dawn. “Where’s Major Buford, Captain Van Buskirk?”

  Paul, who was drinking coffee near a small campfire, stood up. “Asleep in his tent, sir. Should I rouse him?”

  “How long will it take you to get your squadron in the saddle?”

  “Fifteen minutes, sir.”

  “You have thirty. Meet me over there by that tall grove.” He pointed. “We’re going to perform reconnaissance around a temporary dam on the Warwick and see if we can blow it and eliminate the water obstacle it’s created.”

  “Yes, sir.” Paul waited until Hancock was riding out, then turned toward Buford’s tent.

  “I heard,” Buford said, ducking through the flaps as he buttoned his tunic. “Bugler?”

  “Sir,” came the answer from the darkness.

  “Boots and saddles.”

  Twenty minutes later, as Buford’s cavalry was about to move out to the designated spot and meet Hancock, a messenger arrived stating that General McClellan had countermanded Hancock’s orders and that the cavalry was to remain in camp.

  ~

  Across the river, Confederate Major General John Bankhead Magruder had been doing his best to convince the invading Yankees that his regimental-sized Army of the Peninsula w
as vast and undefeatable. During the previous day, Magruder had paraded several squads in a continuous line to raise dust and show the occasional head bobbing above the dirt ramparts. He had also made good use of a 6-pounder, moving it to random positions, firing one shot and moving it again. This morning his pickets reported the infantry of the 6th Maine and 5th Wisconsin commanded by W.S. Hancock was marching toward him with no cavalry. The slow-moving columns gave him time to concentrate his meager forces at Hancock’s front.

  ~

  Hancock’s skirmishers easily pushed back the Confederate pickets capturing two in the process. Because his orders from Generals McClellan and Keyes prevented him from attacking the works, Hancock marched back to report that he had found a weak point in the line which could be carried with acceptable losses. Unknown to Hancock, this was the same place that Buford’s cavalry had discovered on the previous day.

  For reasons unknown, Keyes sent his report to McClellan stating that the line could not be carried by direct assault.

  ~

  To Confederate General Magruder’s astonishment, instead of attacking, McClellan began entrenching his army parallel to the river and preparing it for a siege of Yorktown.

  Over the following days, while McClellan’s men dug, Magruder received a steady stream of reinforcements.

  McClellan’s artillery of fifteen batteries included two 200-pounder Parrott cannons, twelve 100-pounder Parrott cannons and more than fifty rifled 20-pounder and 30-pounder Parrott cannons. The Union arsenal of McClellan’s command also contained 4.5-inch Rodman siege rifles and mortars, ranging in size from 8-inchers to huge 13-inch seacoast mortars which weighed over ten tons and launched projectiles weighing over two hundred pounds.

  When McClellan’s decision to wait reached the White House, President Lincoln said to Father Blair, “If General McClellan isn’t going to use his army, I’d like to borrow it for a time.”

  April 6, 1862

  Pittsburg Landing, Tennessee

  Grant’s army was encamped, bivouac-style with the troops in tents, around a small log church near the Shiloh Branch. General U.S. Grant was sitting in front of his tent whittling. He looked up as a rider came into the camp. “What the devil are you doing here?” he growled.

  “Nice to see you too, Sam.” Robert Van Buskirk dismounted carefully and tested his leg before relinquishing his horse to an aide. “Nancy and I got so sick of each other’s company that there was going to be a murder if I didn’t get out of Cairo.” He walked slowly to the tent and dragged a canvas chair out next to Grant. “Have you got any more of those ten-dollar cigars?”

  “Hundreds.” Grant gave him one.

  “What’s going on here?” Robert asked as he clipped the cigar.

  “Halleck’s command’s been enlarged to include Don Carlos Buell. I’m waiting for Buell to arrive from Nashville and for Halleck to take command of our combined armies.”

  “Halleck to take command of you and Buell,” Robert repeated, puffing on the cigar.

  “Yeah. Halleck’s going to lead both armies south to seize the Memphis and Charleston Railroad.”

  Robert nodded. “That’d cut the Reb supply line between the Mississippi River Valley, Memphis, and Richmond.”

  Grant nodded and continued to whittle.

  “I take it that you’re not fond of the idea.”

  “Halleck’s a fine general.”

  Robert waited to see if Grant was going to add anything, then said, “I saw Quincy in Cairo. He said Cump’s doing fine.”

  Grant looked up at him. “Cump’s doing better than fine. He’s here commanding a division.”

  “Really?” Robert grinned. “That’s good news. What about Charlie Smith? I heard he broke his leg.”

  “It looks bad. They don’t think he’s gonna make it.”

  “From a broken leg?”

  “It got infected. Something about bone marrow infection. The doc tried to explain it to me, but I didn’t understand. Anyway, Charlie’s wasting away.”

  “Who’s got Charlie’s division?”

  “William Wallace. A fine man. You know him?”

  Robert shook his head. “I saw his name on the roster but I’ve never met him. Is he related to Lew Wallace?”

  “No.”

  “Is he still with you?”

  “Lew? Yes, sure. He’s north of here at Crump’s landing.”

  “So you’ve got what – six divisions now?”

  “Yeah, that’s right, six. William Wallace, Lew Wallace, John McClernand, Stephen Hurlbut, Benjamin Prentiss and Cump Sherman. And before you ask, you’re on my personal staff until that leg gets better.”

  “Okay. No argument.”

  “Which means you’re gonna work on me?”

  “Never entered my head.” Robert looked around at the neat rows of tents. “You don’t look like you’re expecting trouble. Where’s the enemy?”

  “Cump says Corinth.”

  “I hope he’s right. There’s not a trench or defensive work in sight.”

  “You just got here and already you’re telling me what I’ve done wrong?”

  Robert looked at him for a moment to see if he was offended or teasing but couldn’t tell. “You know me, Sam. I’m a natural born worrier. I always entrench when I’m camped in enemy territory.”

  Grant looked toward an arriving courier and accepted the pouch. “One of Buell’s divisions just arrived in Savannah,” he said to Robert after reading the message.

  “Which division?”

  “Brigadier General William Nelson. Do we know him?”

  Robert nodded. “He was a Navy officer before he joined the army. Kind of fat and jolly. Very likeable. His nickname is Bull. Everybody calls him that; even his subordinates.”

  “Oh yeah. Bull Nelson. Now I remember.” Grant took up a message pad and scribbled instructions. “I’m telling him to bivouac over there rather than trying to cross the river this late in the day.” He handed the message to the courier, then he gestured toward the church. “Here comes Cump. Didn’t take long for the camp gossips to tell him that you’re here.”

  Robert struggled to his feet and held out his hand to Sherman,

  “You’re not supposed to be here,” Sherman said, gripping Robert’s hand. “Sit back down.” He held on until Robert was seated, then went to fetch himself a camp chair.

  “The Professor’s concerned over our lack of entrenchment and fortification,” Grant said to Sherman.

  “No,” Robert said. “Well, yeah. A little, maybe.”

  “There is no enemy nearer than Corinth,” Sherman pronounced.

  Robert didn’t reply.

  “Your nephew, Quincy is a pistol if I ever saw one.” Sherman chuckled. “We had a bully in one of the rifle companies. And of course, you know how soldiers are. Men kept getting beat up, but nobody would say by who. We knew, of course, but without a complaining party, there wasn’t much we could do. So anyway, Quincy staged this prize fight with gloves and a referee and everything. Very official. Then he fixed the fight card so that he and the bully were the first bout scheduled. I gotta tell you that I thought he was gonna get killed. That kid, the bully, is six foot six and weighs close to three hundred pounds. I shouldn’t have worried. Quincy took him apart. It was a three-round fight and Quincy pounded him until he was almost out in the first two rounds, then he finished him before the third bell. He won’t be bullying anyone again, that’s for sure.”

  Robert nodded but didn’t reply.

  “Guess you don’t approve,” Sherman observed.

  “How you command your division is none of my business, Cump,” Robert said. “Nor are your defenses here my business.”

  “Don’t be like that,” Grant complained. “We both prize your advice.”

  Robert smiled. “Sorry. I’m just tired. I’ve been sitting around too much and the trip from Cairo wore me out.”

  “Why don’t you take a nap?” Grant suggested. “I still have two bunks in my tent.”

  “
I think I will,” Robert replied. He got up and limped into the tent.

  “He shouldn’t be here,” Sherman whispered. “Charlie Smith’s dying from a broken leg.”

  “What can I do?” Grant asked in a hushed tone. “He’s a grown man and a General in the United States Army.” He got up. “Think I’ll ride the perimeter.”

  “Are you letting Robert worry you about our defenses?”

  “I’m not exactly worrying, but I’m wondering. Want to ride with me?”

  “Sure. Let me get somebody to bring my horse.”

  April 6, 1862

  Pittsburg Landing, Tennessee

  Robert Van Buskirk had fallen asleep before sundown and had slept until 5:00 AM when a nature call forced him to get up. He was still fully dressed but the damp predawn air chilled him. As he started back toward Grant’s tent, he heard the distant clatter of small arms fire. He listened for another few seconds, then hurried into the tent. “Sam. Sam. There’s a fair-sized battle underway to the south. Sam?” He groped in the darkness for a lamp, then lit it with a match. Grant’s bed was empty.

  Robert hobbled back out of the tent. “Sentry?”

  “Sir.”

  “Pass the word to prepare for attack and send me a messenger.”

  “Yes, sir. Sergeant of the guard! Sound the alarm.”

  Robert went back into the tent to search for a map as the camp began to react.

  “What’s going on?” Sherman appeared in the doorway, half dressed.

  “There’s a fight going on south of here. I don’t know who it is or where Sam is.”

  “Grant’s horse fell on him yesterday evening – right after you came in here to take your nap. He’s at the hospital in Savannah getting checked out.”

  “That means that you’re in command, Cump.”

  “Me? No. I just got here. I’m…”

  “You’re senior to everybody. Technically you even outrank Sam.” Robert pointed over his shoulder where unit commanders were forming their men. “Please, Cump. This is no time for your unfounded self-doubts.”