The Way of All Soldiers (Gone For Soldiers)

by Jeffry S. Hepple

  Longstreet looked at the order. “Yeah, that’s fine. Would you take this to Hood for me please? He’s already pretty near where Lee wants him.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Longstreet gestured toward his troops that were spread out along a stone wall that stretched along the ridge above Fredericksburg. “What do you think of this ground?”

  “I was just saying to General Lee that I wouldn’t want to be a Union soldier trying to take this position, sir.”

  “What do you suppose Burnside was thinking when he decided on this tactic?”

  “He was probably thinking that he could surprise us, sir.”

  “It might have worked if the engineers had all gotten here on time.”

  “Yes, sir. But they didn’t, and now his soldiers are going to pay in blood.”

  Longstreet nodded. “Like you said, I wouldn’t want to be a Yankee comin’ up that slope.”

  “I best be going to see General Hood, sir. Otherwise General Lee will have my hide for lollygagging when I get back.” He saluted.

  “We wouldn’t want that.” Longstreet answered his salute and rode back to his troops as Johnny rode toward the rear.

  General John Bell Hood had a long face that made him look perpetually gloomy and had earned him the nickname “Wooden Head” at West Point. “Show me on my map, Colonel,” he said to Johnny. “This little scribble of yours makes no sense.”

  Johnny pointed to the railroad tracks on Hood’s map and swept his index finger down to a topographical symbol that represented a cleft. “From here to this cut, sir.”

  “Pickett’s there,” Hood said, pointing to the tracks.

  “Yes, sir. But he’s on top of Lee’s Hill. General Lee wants you along the ridge here.”

  “I need you to show me exactly.”

  “I’ll show you, General Hood,” General Thomas Van Buskirk said. He had walked up behind Johnny and Hood as they were looking at the map.

  “How do you know where Lee wants us?” Hood asked.

  “I’ve already surveyed that area,” Thomas said. It was an untrue statement but the lie was better than telling his commander that he needed a refresher course in map reading. “There’s a good defensive position along a secondary ridge about here that’ll give us a good field of fire and some natural cover.”

  “Very well, Tom,” Hood said. “You position the division and let your second in command move your brigade.”

  “Yes, sir.” He looked at his son. “Can you come along, John?”

  “No, sir. I need to inform General Jackson of the changes. He’ll be curling his left back away from your right to give you room.”

  “Well, get to it then. Maybe we’ll have a chance to talk before Christmas.”

  “I hope so, sir.” Johnny remounted and road south toward Jackson’s headquarters.

  ~

  Union Colonel Hall’s one hundred thirty-five infantrymen from the 7th Michigan and the 19th Massachusetts crossed successfully in the small pontoon boats and spread out in skirmish lines to clear the sharpshooters. As the Confederates withdrew street by street through Fredericksburg, the first bridge was completed by the engineers and Paul led his detachment of cavalry across. Edwin V. Sumner’s division began crossing at 4:30 PM, but operations were called to a halt at darkness after only about a third of Sumner’s troops were across.

  December 12, 1862

  Fredericksburg, Virginia

  Fredericksburg was in flames. The sun was an orange ball through the smoke-blackened eastern horizon, as the Union crossing was resumed. Paul, with his officers and NCOs, had spent the entire night in a hopeless effort to stop the Federal troops from looting the town. Too many had come across late in the previous evening with too few of their officers. As Union officers arrived today, they were shocked to see the scope of the destruction wrought by their subordinates.

  ~

  Robert E. Lee was uncharacteristically angry. “Those people have no more honor than the East Germanic Vandals that sacked Rome. The good Lord knows how many innocent civilians have been killed.”

  “I spoke to a town delegation last night on Telegraph Road, sir,” Johnny said. “They are quite sure that the town was completely evacuated before sundown.”

  “When did you have this meeting?” Lee asked.

  “Last night, after you’d gone to sleep, a messenger came requesting that you meet with them. I took it upon myself to speak with them on your behalf so you could rest – intending to inform you of anything that required your attention, of course, sir.”

  “And was there anything that requires my attention?”

  “No, sir. They were mostly entreating us to save their homes and shops. I explained to them that if we made any attempt to occupy the town it would result in more destruction, not less. They seemed to understand.”

  “Our men are not trained for urban combat.”

  “I didn’t see any point in confessing that, sir. Perhaps I was remiss.”

  “No, no. You did the right thing. I was just commenting to remind myself that we might need such training for the future.”

  December 13, 1862

  Fredericksburg, Virginia

  Fog had rolled in at dawn to mix with the smoke of house fires across the river. General John Buford dismounted, gave his reins to an aide and fell in among the generals who were trying to get clarification of their orders from General Burnside. Burnside saw him and beckoned. “What are you doing here, General? You should be protecting our left.”

  “I was facing Jubal Early and D.H. Hill down there, sir,” Buford replied, “but Jackson called them to join his main defenses.”

  “Stuart’s still there,” Burnside replied.

  “Yes, sir. And General Stoneman’s still on him. Where’s the rest of my division?”

  “On the other side.” Burnside pointed. “I need you to take up a position on their left. First Corps will be attacking soon. Cross with them.”

  “Yes, sir.” Buford reclaimed his horse and rode back south to the headquarters of General John F. Reynolds where he dismounted and waited to be admitted to Reynolds’s tent.

  Reynolds looked up impatiently as Buford came in. “General Buford?”

  “General Burnside says I’m to cross with you and link up with my division,” Buford replied. “I’ve been on the far left flank and I have no idea of the situation in Fredericksburg.”

  “I won’t be crossing myself,” Reynolds said. “My orders are to send a division. I’ve chosen General Meade. He can fill you in on whatever you need to know.”

  “Where will I find him?”

  “Somewhere by the pontoon bridge would be all I could tell you.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Buford turned and walked out through the fog toward a large body of men who seemed to be waiting for something to happen. “Can anybody tell me where I can find General Meade?” he shouted.

  Several men shouted back and pointed toward the river. Buford didn’t understand any of the replies and just walked on toward the river.

  General George G. Meade was mounted on horseback near the pontoon bridge with his staff officers and General John Gibbon and General Abner Doubleday. “General Reynolds says I’m to cross with you and link up with my division,” Buford said to Meade. “I’ve been on the left flank and don’t know the situation in Fredericksburg.”

  “Fall your cavalry in behind General Gibbon’s division,” Meade replied. “All right, gentlemen. Let’s move out.” He turned his horse away from the others leaving Buford gaping.

  “I’m over there, General Buford.” Gibbon pointed. “You’ll need to find our rear, General Doubleday’s division is right behind us but he’s in reserve. If you get behind him you’ll miss the party.”

  “Obliged,” Buford grumbled. He made his way through the fog, the mud, the milling men and frenzied wagon traffic to his cavalry, mounted and then led the way to the rear of General John Gibbon’s formation.

  “What are we doing, sir?” Colonel Terrance Pea
rson, in command of Buford’s Second Regiment, asked.

  “The orders I’ve been given are contradictory, so other than crossing the river, I can’t really say,” Buford answered. “Pea’s over there someplace to the right. I guess when we get across you could try to find him and I’ll follow along with Gibbon, wherever he’s goin’. That way we’re sorta following all the orders.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Meade’s division began crossing at 8:30 AM. On the other side, they turned away from Fredericksburg, and continued following the river to turn right on the Richmond Road. As they attained the road, their flank immediately came under fire from Stuart’s Virginia Horse Artillery commanded by Major John Pelham. Meade sent General Solomon Meredith’s brigade to deal with Pelham and the firing ceased at around 9:30.

  At 10:00 the fog lifted and Jackson’s main batteries opened up from Prospect Hill. Buford moved his cavalry to the right, out of the beaten area, and wondered what he was doing here.

  ~

  Progress on the Union right wasn’t much better. General Edwin V. Sumner’s division was approaching seven hills west of the town that were separated by gullies. Known collectively as Marye’s Heights, the hills were connected by Telegraph Road that followed a meandering topography line. A four foot high stone wall that paralleled the road had been fortified by Confederate troops with gun platforms placed at every strategic point.

  To Sumner’s immediate front, a canal wandered off to his left and then turned toward the river about two hundred yards from Fredericksburg. The only bridges over the canal were very narrow, which would force the attacking Federal troops to form into columns of two or four, making them excellent targets.

  ~

  On the left, at about 12:30 a dispatch rider from Burnside ordered Buford to join the rest of his division in Fredericksburg. Thirty minutes later the Union artillery ceased firing and Meade moved up toward the ridge where Stonewall Jackson’s infantry was concealed in the woods.

  ~

  Robert E. Lee was waiting impatiently as Johnny Van Buskirk rode in. “What has happened?”

  “There was a gap in General Jackson’s line between General Lane and General Archer on our right, sir,” Johnny replied. “Meade flooded through it and turned both flanks.”

  “How bad is it?”

  “General Greg is dead, sir. Casualties are very high. Some of the companies had stacked arms to take cover from the Federal barrage and they were all captured or killed.”

  “Our reserves of Generals Early and Taliaferro must push those people out and reform the line.”

  “Yes, sir.” Johnny rode out toward Generals William B. Taliaferro and Jubal A. Early’s positions.

  ~

  On the right, when the fog lifted at 10:00, Sumner gave General Nathan Kimball the order to move out. Kimball’s troops advanced on line through heavy artillery fire, then formed columns to cross the canal and streamed back into line formation. They advanced up the grade taking terrible punishment from Confederate artillery. When they were about a hundred yards from the ridge, Longstreet’s riflemen appeared from behind the stone wall and raked Kimball’s infantry with a murderous volley. The survivors continued through a second and third volley, but when Kimball was wounded, his force withdrew with over twenty-five percent casualties.

  The next three brigades under Colonels Oliver H. Palmer and John W. Andrews were turned back with fifty percent casualties.

  Colonel Samuel K. Zook led the next charge, but his brigade fared no better.

  The Irish Brigade under General Thomas F. Meagher tried and failed.

  The final brigade, led by General John C. Caldwell, reached to within forty yards of the wall before it too was destroyed.

  The dead and wounded covered the ground in heaps.

  ~

  On the left, Confederate General Jubal Early counterattacked driving Meade and Gibbon’s troops out into the open fields where the Union troops were reinforced by the brigades of Generals Hiram G. Berry and John C. Robinson, and a fierce fight ensued.

  ~

  In the center, General John Buford had at last rejoined with his detachment commanded by Colonel Paul Van Buskirk. His orders were to stop the looting and wanton destruction of Fredericksburg. However, as the cavalry patrolled the streets, they found no living humans and almost nothing of value to protect.

  ~

  On the right, Union II Corps commander, General Darius N. Couch, sent the brigade of Colonel Joshua Owen at the Confederate left followed by the brigades of Colonel Norman J. Hall and two regiments of Alfred Sully’s brigade. The battle lasted two hours, but never reached the ridge.

  December 14, 1862

  Fredericksburg, Virginia

  Johnny Van Buskirk rode into General James Longstreet’s camp, dismounted and walked to the fire where Longstreet and Robert E. Lee were seated on camp stools. “General Burnside has requested a ceasefire to retrieve his dead and wounded, sir,” he said to Lee.

  “Granted,” Lee said.

  “No,” Longstreet blurted in a pained tone. “Please, no, General.” He pointed toward the stone wall at his front. “We’ll have to face those men on some other battlefield. There’s thousands of ‘em out there.”

  Lee nodded. “I may live to regret it, General Longstreet, but that is my decision.” He looked up at Johnny. “My compliments to General Burnside. The ceasefire will begin at 10:00 AM and continue until 2:00 PM.”

  December 20, 1862

  Memphis, Tennessee

  During the summer of 1862, the US Navy revised their ranking system to align it with that of the US Army, creating the new rank of rear admiral. At the same time, the seven gunboats and fifty-nine troop transports of the Western Gunboat Flotilla, commanded by Flag Officer David D. Porter, were transferred from the army to the navy and renamed as the Mississippi River Squadron under the command of acting Rear Admiral David D. Porter.

  Porter, who had been in the Navy since he was ten years old, had a reputation as being insubordinate and might not have attained the command if it had not been for the praise that was heaped upon him by his friend General William T. Sherman and by General U.S. Grant. “Welcome aboard, Cump,” Porter said, offering his hand to Sherman.

  Sherman shook his hand warmly. “Let me introduce you to my adjutant, Colonel Quincy Van Buskirk.”

  Porter shook Quincy’s hand. “Actually, Colonel Van Buskirk and I are cousins. I think we met briefly in Cairo at his Uncle Robert’s hotel, not long ago.”

  “Yes, sir,” Quincy acknowledged. “I got a letter from Uncle Robert recently asking me to explain to you that he was a reluctant member of Fitz John’s court-martial board and had tried everything he could think of to be removed.”

  “I understand completely,” Porter said. “Robert could never do anything that was less than honorable.” He looked at Sherman. “During the Mexican War, I served as first lieutenant aboard the USS Spitfire at Vera Cruz when General Winfield Scott led the amphibious assault on the city. The city was defended by a series of forts and the Castle of San Juan de Ulúa. We were able to defeat the castle and all the forts from sea, except the one on the cliffs of La Mancha. That fort was taken out by a young army officer who rowed himself to the base of the cliff during a gale, climbed the cliffs and blew the fort’s powder room. That officer was Robert Van Buskirk. His actions were, beyond a doubt, the most heroic of any in the war, but he was never recognized for them. I, however, will never forget.”

  Sherman nodded, then looked at Quincy. “Did you know about that?”

  “Yes, sir,” Quincy said. “My grandfather told me, but Uncle Robert doesn’t like to talk about it.”

  “Come up to the bridge and have some coffee while your troops are loading,” Porter suggested.

  “No, thank you,” Sherman replied. “We just wanted to double-check to be certain that you knew about the additional troops that need to be picked up at Helena, Arkansas.”

  “Steele’s division, yes,” Porter said. “We should
still make Vicksburg before Christmas. “Where is General Grant?”

  “I’m not absolutely sure,” Sherman said, “but if all has gone by plan, he’ll be waiting for us on the Yazoo River, at the enemy’s rear.”

  Quincy had been watching the troop-loading operations on the dock when his attention was drawn to a group of women who were debarking from the hospital steamer, Red Rover. Four of the women were dressed as nuns and the other two as nurses. “Excuse me, sir,” Quincy said to Sherman. “I think I know one of those nurses.”

  “Go ahead,” Sherman said. “Just get back before we sail.”

  Quincy ran down the gangway and across the dock. “Ginger!” he shouted.

  Ginger Van Buskirk turned around and after a moment recognized him. “Quincy!” She waved, then turned to one of the nuns. “Will you excuse me, Sister? That’s a family member.”

  “Certainly,” the nun replied.

  “Can I come with you?” the other nurse asked Ginger.

  “Sure,” Ginger took the younger woman’s hand and pulled her along toward Quincy. “Look at you,” she said excitedly. “A colonel.”

  Quincy put his arms around her, picked her up and spun her in a circle before putting her down. “I heard you’d joined the Navy and that Abe had gone to New Mexico.”

  “I knew you were here someplace but not exactly where.” Ginger glanced at the young woman. “Quincy, I’d like you to meet Nurse Christina Davenport. Chrissy, this is my almost nephew, Quincy Van Buskirk.”

  “How do you do?” the girl said, offering her hand.

  “My pleasure,” Quincy said, shaking her hand.

  “Oh.” Ginger took Quincy’s arm and looked around to see if anyone else could hear before whispering, “Chrissy and I are passing.”

  “You’re doing what?” Quincy asked.