The Way of All Soldiers (Gone For Soldiers)

by Jeffry S. Hepple

  “Then we need to call for artillery,” Johnny said. “Pushing them off that hill by ourselves would cost us another two dozen men.”

  “Artillery won’t displace them. They’ll just move down the back slope. We’ll have to push them off.”

  Johnny pointed toward the hill. “That’s not typical Union cavalry, Beauty. Their horses are as good as or better than ours and they’re better marksmen with much better weapons. Those Spenser rifles fire up to twenty rounds a minute. We’re lucky to fire three. They hurt us badly this morning on open ground, even though we outnumbered them by three to one. If we attack uphill they’ll chew us up and then run away.”

  Stuart nodded. “I’m glad the Yankee generals don’t know how good Buford is or we’d be in trouble.”

  “I doubt it. Buford and Stoneman probably already have all the good horsemen in the entire North, and the Yankee generals are suspicious of the Spenser rifles.”

  “There’s another whole U.S. army in the far west that’s just brimming with good horsemen.”

  “But they’re busy fighting Indians so it isn’t likely that Lincoln will be calling those troops east,” Johnny said. “Do you still want to try to push Buford off that hill?”

  Stuart stroked his beard for a moment and then shook his head. “No. Let’s just watch them until Jackson arrives and we’ll let him decide what to do.”

  “I think we should tell General Huger and let him decide. He’s less likely to order us to attack on our own.”

  Stuart considered that for a moment, then nodded toward an aide. “Message to General Huger, with my compliments. Well-armed enemy cavalry has taken the high ground above the crossroads, giving them control of the railroad. Awaiting your orders. Got that?”

  “Yes, sir.” The aide turned his horse and kicked it toward Richmond.

  ~

  “What are they doing?” Buford asked.

  “Just watching us,” Paul said. He lowered the binoculars.

  “Trying to decide if this hill’s worth all the casualties we’ll cost them.”

  “Yeah. We gave them a lot more than they bargained for.” Paul looked through the glasses again. “Looks like they decided to call for reinforcements or artillery.”

  “If it’s artillery we’ll be safe on the other side of this hill. If it’s reinforcements we’ll fight a delaying action back to our lines.”

  “If they come by themselves, I pray to God that I don’t have to kill my brother.”

  Buford looked over his shoulder. “Corporal Pearson?”

  “Sir?”

  “Find the Third Corps telegraph operator and have a message sent to General Stoneman that a Confederate attack is imminent.”

  June 25, 1862

  White Oak Swamp, Virginia

  After repeated skirmishes and artillery attacks on the previous day, Buford took his cavalry into a heavily wooded area that straddled the White Oak Swamp. The tree trunks were heavy and dense enough to stop cannon fire from penetrating, yet the forest floor was free from dense undergrowth, which permitted the horses to maneuver. “Let’s just stay here,” Paul Van Buskirk said, watching the smoke from their campfires climb toward the gray, predawn sky. “This is perfect ground.”

  “You might not like it here in a bit,” Buford said. “We’re sittin’ smack in the middle of four opposing forces. Huger and Stonewall Jackson are comin’ from the south. Joe Hooker and Phil Kearny will be headed to meet them from the north.”

  “Hopefully Hooker and Kearny know we’re here and won’t call artillery in on us. I’m not sure if I trust this new system of telegraph communications.”

  “I talked to Dan Sickles from Hooker’s division yesterday,” Buford said. “His brigade has the right, and he asked us to send a detachment to guide him through the swamp, so I’m sure he knows we’re here.”

  Paul nodded. “Then all we have to hope for is that Sickles told Hooker and Hooker told Kearny.”

  “How’s your arm?” Buford asked.

  “Sore, but I can use it.”

  “Good. Then you can take a couple of platoons to meet Sickles.”

  “Send one of the troop sergeants, please. There’s bad blood between my family and him.”

  “Bad blood over what?”

  “Over Sickles killing Phillip Key.”

  “Are you kin to the Key family?”

  “Not exactly.”

  Buford looked toward the sunrise. “None of the troop sergeants understands the whole battlefield. It’ll have to be you, me, or Sergeant Major Kemper that guides Sickles. You’re the best choice.”

  “Okay,” Paul said.

  “Don’t just say okay. After what you just told me, I need you to convince me that it’ll really be okay.”

  Paul looked around to see if anyone was within hearing, then lowered his voice. “Phillip Key was a ladies’ man and my Aunt Anna was one of his many lovers. She was called as a witness in the Sickles murder trial and said some things that Sickles didn’t like. After the trial Sickles made several insulting remarks about her that were published in all the major newspapers. Her son, Pug - my cousin Quincy, that is – challenged Sickles to a duel. When Sickles refused to respond to his challenge, Quincy waited for him outside his office and broke his nose.”

  Buford chuckled. “I read about some of that in the papers, but not the part about Quincy punching Sickles.”

  “Probably because Sickles wasn’t in a hurry to have it spread around that he was a coward who couldn’t defend himself, and we weren’t eager to see Pug arrested for assaulting a U.S. Congressman. Oh, if you ever talk to my Aunt Anna, don’t tell her about Pug and Sickles. She doesn’t know.”

  “I doubt I’ll ever see her again.” Buford once again looked at the eastern horizon.

  “What about Sickles? Do you want me to guide him or not?”

  “If Sickles is a big enough fool to let that incident affect his military judgment, now’s as good a time as any to find out.”

  Paul nodded. “Very well.”

  “I have every confidence that you won’t say anything provocative,” Buford added.

  “Now’s as good a time as any to find out if I’m a fool.” Paul replied.

  Buford shook his head, chuckled, then stood up. “Sergeant Major?”

  “Sir.”

  “Get the men up, fed and moving. The attack’s scheduled for 8:30. I want the whole squadron locked, loaded and mounted before the first shot’s fired.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  ~

  The sun was up when Union General John C. Robinson made contact with units of Longstreet’s Division in the center and General Cuvier Grover began exchanging fire with skirmishers from Huger’s Division.

  “Where’s General Sickles?” Buford asked, rhetorically.

  “Do you want me to go up to find him?” Paul asked.

  “Anybody coming from the south is gonna be considered an enemy. You’ll have to wait here until he gets closer or risk takin’ friendly fire.”

  “The misalignment’s going to expose Robinson’s right flank once he gets beyond the woods.”

  “We’ll cover him.” Buford signaled the squadron and led the way into the open on the north side of the woods with his colors unfurled.

  Paul continued to use his binoculars to search for the brigade of General Sickles, and after about twenty minutes, he identified their guidon coming over the ridge above him. He signaled his detail to follow, then rode out of the swamp and turned toward the Union line. Behind him, Jeb Stuart’s cavalry raced out of a thicket toward the swamp to claim the position that Paul had just relinquished. Paul saw them, but he was too far from cover to turn and face such a large force, so he continued up the grade until he reached Sickles. “What kept you?” he shouted, turning his horse to ride alongside Sickles.

  Sickles was not happy at being questioned by a junior officer but had the good sense to let it pass. “We got tangled in our own abatis.”

  “Lee’s taken advantage of the misalig
nment and he’s sent his cavalry to occupy the woods and another brigade to hold the bridge that Grover’s trying to take.”

  “Can you handle the cavalry?” Sickles asked, looking over his shoulder at the two cavalry platoons that had come with Paul.

  “I can harass them, sir,” Paul said, “but my forty against Stuart’s twelve hundred’s a little lopsided.”

  Sickles raised his eyebrows. “Twelve hundred dismounted cavalry in that terrain is going to be a tough nut for my whole brigade to crack.”

  “Do you want me to send a messenger to Corps, General?”

  “Yes. But I’m not going to wait for reinforcements.”

  Paul nodded to his messenger, then pointed ahead. “The worst part of the swamp is right there. You can see where we rode through. You’ll have to form your line into a column of six or eight to cross it.”

  “Why didn’t I know this yesterday?”

  “I wouldn’t have the answer to that question, sir.”

  “Buford should have told me.”

  Paul looked toward the woods. “He only told me that you needed someone to guide you through the swamp, sir.”

  “We’re going to be like ducks in a shooting gallery.”

  “If it makes you feel any better, sir, we’ll be the ducks in front of you and our horses are bigger targets.”

  Sickles pointed to a large number of red-clad men who were running toward Grover’s open flank. “What are those Zouaves doing over there?”

  “They must be one of the Georgia Zouave regiments, sir.”

  “I didn’t know there were any Zouave units in the Confederacy.”

  “Apparently General Grover doesn’t either,” Paul said. “He’s not firing on them.”

  Sickles turned in his saddle to look at his troops who were quite far behind the colors. “Now what?”

  Paul looked back too. “Your officers and sergeants are out of position. They must be trying to herd stragglers.” He took out his binoculars. “Your whole line’s breaking. They look like they’re all ready to run.”

  “They by-God better not.” Sickles turned his horse and raced back toward his brigade. A moment later his color bearer turned back too, followed by the rest of the brigade’s staff.

  One of the platoon sergeants in Paul’s cavalry detail rode forward. “You may not have noticed it, sir, but them ain’t bees buzzin’ around our heads.”

  Paul looked toward the thicket and the Confederate lines where hundreds of muzzle blasts were sending up puffs of smoke. “Well, with Stuart in the woods, the left flank of Jackson’s line’s exposed. Let’s go see how far we can roll up Stonewall with two platoons.”

  General Heintzelman, who had seen Sickles’s brigade break, sent forward reinforcements and had the telegraph operator notify McClellan. Moments later McClellan sent a message to all units instructing them to withdraw back to their original lines and to hold there until he arrived.

  ~

  “Now that I didn’t expect,” Stuart said, watching the small detachment of Union cavalry swing around to attack the left flank of Jackson’s Division.”

  “That’s Pea,” Johnny said proudly.

  Stuart shushed him. “Cheering for the enemy might be misunderstood.” He pointed toward the Union lines. “Am I mistaken or are the Yankees withdrawing?”

  “That’s what it looks like to me.”

  “Why are they doing it?”

  “I don’t know,” Johnny said. “But whatever it is, Pea’s going to be hung out to dry.” He pointed. “General Lee’s brought up another brigade. Pea can’t get back the way he came.”

  “He’ll have to surrender or try to cross the swamp right in front of us. Do you suppose he’ll surrender or will we have to kill him?”

  “We’ll have to kill him.”

  Stuart looked at Johnny. “I can’t let him go.”

  “I know. He chose the side he wanted to fight for. But I’m not going to shoot him myself.”

  Stuart stood up and shouted at his men. “That little cavalry unit is going to cross the swamp to our front. Aim at the horses and let’s try to capture the men alive. Pass it on.”

  ~

  Paul saw the Confederate infantry come up from his rear as his support withdrew. “Sergeant,” he shouted. “Spread the word to retreat through the swamp at full gallop. Every man for himself. Fastest horses first.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Paul watched as one by one, or in small groups, the troopers turned their horses north and began a mad dash for safety. The first three cavalrymen got through but the fourth and fifth horses went down, tangling with the two behind them when they fell. As the dead and wounded horses piled up, some of the troopers tried leaving the hardpan and were quickly mired in mud. When Paul’s platoon sergeant had sent the last man forward and raced after him, Stuart’s cavalry rode out of the woods and began to encircle them. Paul reloaded his pistol, drew his sword and rode toward Stuart’s line at a walk.

  ~

  Two and a half hours later, McClellan arrived. After looking over the field, he complained that the reports that had been sent to him had exaggerated the urgency of the situation and he ordered the attack to resume.

  June 26, 1862

  Mechanicsville, Virginia

  The sun was well up and the day was growing hot. Major John Buford was walking beside General Fitz John Porter, the commander of V Corps. Porter had been an instructor in cavalry tactics at West Point when Buford was a cadet and they had become friends in Texas and in Bleeding Kansas, since. “General, I just want to ride up there and look for the boy,” Buford said in a pleading voice. “If we’re attacked, I’ll pull back.”

  Porter shook his head. “I can’t let you do it, John. I’m as concerned about Paul as you are. The Van Buskirks are my cousins. But I need you here.” He pointed across Beaver Dam Creek. “A.P. Hill and D.H. Hill have two divisions right there, and I must know if Jackson’s headed this way too.”

  “When McClellan ordered that needless general retreat he left my two platoons out there with no support,” Buford said hotly. “Then, three hours later, he ordered the same men that he’d just called back to retake ground they’d fought for all morning. He’s a lunatic.”

  “That’s enough.” Porter looked over his shoulder, then scowled at Buford. “I’m going to forget you said that.”

  Buford kicked a mud clod and sent it spinning toward three mounted officers. One of the three horses shied away and almost unseated the rider.

  “Get back to your squadron,” Porter said sharply. “I want to know where Jackson is and I want to know immediately.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  ~

  “What’s the danged holdup?” Jeb Stuart asked, as Johnny Van Buskirk rode into their camp.

  Johnny dismounted. “General Jackson’s late.”

  “I knew that much when I sent you to headquarters,” Stuart groused.

  Johnny walked to the fire and poured himself a cup of the dark liquid that was purported to be coffee. “General Lee’s plan was for General Jackson to attack Fitz John Porter’s north flank and for General A.P. Hill to advance when he heard Jackson’s guns. General D.H. Hill was supposed to follow in support of General Jackson and General Longstreet was supposed to support A.P. Hill. Until Jackson shows up, everybody’s just waiting like we are.”

  “Did you ask General Lee if he wanted us to go look for General Jackson?”

  “I didn’t see General Lee.”

  “Why not?” Stuart asked.

  “General Hill stopped me and sent me back.”

  “He’s got no right to order my officers around. He may outrank me but I don’t report to him.”

  Johnny shrugged. “He was angry as a swarm of bees so I wasn’t about to argue with him. Your orders to me were to find out what the delay was. I found out.”

  Stuart nodded. “Which Hill?”

  “What?”

  “Which Hill sent you back? A.P. or D.H.?”

  “A.P. He also sa
id that if Jackson didn’t show up soon he was going to attack Porter on his own.”

  ~

  At about 3:00 PM, Buford rode into Porter’s headquarters at the head of his squadron. Porter was outside and came to meet him. “General,” Buford shouted. “I still can’t find Jackson, but A.P. Hill’s about to hit General McCall’s brigade with about eleven thousand men.”

  Porter looked to an aide. “Send Martindale and Griffin’s brigades to reinforce McCall.”

  “Yes, sir.” The man vaulted into his saddle and raced out of the camp.

  Porter looked up at Buford. “I need you on the right flank, facing right, until I can extend and reinforce it.”

  “Yes, sir. But you do understand that I don’t know where Jackson is.”

  “Yes, I understand. I’ll pull McCall, Martindale and Griffin back to the entrenchments once they’ve established contact. We’ve got fourteen thousand infantrymen and thirty-two guns between here and Ellerson’s Mill. We can hold off the whole Confederate army long enough to get reinforced.”

  Buford saluted and galloped back to his troops.

  A.P. Hill struck General McCall with a furious frontal attack but McCall’s retreat was orderly and effective, costing Hill a high number of casualties for every foot he gained. Even after Martindale and Griffin arrived to reinforce McCall, Hill continued to throw men at them, even though it was costing him dearly. Finally, when Porter’s artillery began to engage Hill’s troops, they broke and ran.

  McCall, Martindale and Griffin formed their brigades in marching order and returned to Porter’s lines on Beaver Dam Creek.

  ~

  “General Jackson is bivouacked on Fitz John Porter’s flank,” Jeb Stuart said to Robert E. Lee.

  “Did you speak to him?” Lee asked.

  “No, sir. We were needed to help General Hill contain his troops. They took a bad beating from the Yankee infantry and panicked when Porter’s batteries opened fire.”

  Lee turned in a circle. “What’s that gunfire that I hear now?”

  “It’s A.P. Hill attacking again, sir,” Stuart said. “He now has General Longstreet and D.H. Hill behind him.”