A Blaze of Glory

by Jeff Shaara

  There was a hint of sarcasm in Beauregard’s praise, and Johnston tried not to notice. After a silent moment, he said, “I have believed for a very long time … that hope is God’s gift to the young. This army still believes in our cause, and I am certain that the men who made the march from Murfreesboro still have the spirit for the fight. It is not so easy to share their spirit when one views this war through tired eyes …” He stopped, suddenly realized Beauregard was appraising him, measuring every word, a test perhaps, maybe even something ordered by President Davis. Johnston cleared his throat, chose his words with more care.

  “Despite the condemnation of this army’s performance by those who … well, those who were not there … no matter our past difficulties, we must do what the country requires of us.”

  Beauregard coughed, harsh and liquid, a handkerchief to his mouth.

  “I am not here to replace you. Surely you are confident of that.”

  “I am not confident of very much these days. There have been mistakes made, errors by some that were out of my control. In my position, losing control is an error itself. There is much yet to be learned by the men in this command who are not accustomed to the stench of war. If God has given me any of that hope, it lies in believing that failures will be corrected.” He paused. “Pierre … if I may address you that way …”

  “Address me any way you please, sir. I am in your service.”

  The arrogance was unmistakable, but Johnston took him at his word.

  “Thank you. However, your service is something we should discuss. I do not have to explain to you the outcry against my command, the lack of faith from the people, from the politicians, from many in this army. I propose … with President Davis’s approval of course … that my command of this army be placed in your hands. Your work here has been exceptional, and I am confident that will continue. Beyond that … you inspire a confidence from our soldiers that … for some time now … I have not. If you feel there is greater benefit to this army, that you command the campaigns we must surely confront here, I will not object.”

  Beauregard seemed surprised, the handkerchief dropping away from his mouth. He stared at Johnston for a long moment, the sickness apparent in the darkness of his eyes.

  “A most generous gesture, sir. In different circumstances, I could see us shoulder to shoulder, inspiring this army to great victories. But this is your command. I serve as I am called upon to serve, and now that you are here … by rank, and by the confidence of the president, this is your army.”

  Now Johnston was surprised. Beauregard coughed again into the white cloth, lay back, the effort behind his magnanimity seeming to pull the last bit of fire from the man.

  “Can I get you anything? Water? Something … stronger? I do not keep spirits in my headquarters, but surely Mrs. Inge has something in the house. She is a most gracious hostess.”

  Beauregard shook his head, and Johnston watched him, didn’t know what else to do. He pondered the man’s words … different circumstances. Yes, if he was well, this might be his stage after all. But even he knows a sick man cannot lead a fight. And … the president does not like him, not at all. That must play into this. But still … the army needs this kind of man, needs something to give them more hope than I have done. Johnston said, “Your loyalty to this command is noted and I must say … appreciated. As an alternative, I would recommend to the president, with your approval of course, that you be designated as my second in command, effective immediately.”

  Beauregard reacted only with a weak wave of his hand, a slow nod. The cloth stayed on his mouth, the sound of labored breathing making Johnston uneasy. Beauregard made no effort to sit upright, said in a soft voice, “That will be most acceptable. Great good will come of this, I am certain of that. There are good men commanding this army.”

  Johnston nodded.

  “I suspect that very soon, they must demonstrate just how good they are.”

  After the Federal victories at Forts Henry and Donelson, the withdrawal of Johnston’s army across the vast Kentucky–Tennessee line included outposts that stretched to the Mississippi River. But one key outpost was too important to abandon, the crucial river strong points at New Madrid, Missouri, and nearby Island Number Ten. Both had been well fortified with troops and heavy artillery, and they were a formidable barrier essential to preventing Federal gunboats from sweeping southward to Memphis. In early March, when Federal forces pressed their attacks toward those strongholds, General John McCown had seemed to lose confidence in his own command, and had withdrawn his forces from New Madrid with what Johnston considered to be careless haste. Though the position on Island Number Ten was continuing to hold out against a relentless siege by Union general John Pope, Johnston felt he had no choice but to relieve McCown, and so, he replaced him with his own chief adjutant, Colonel William Mackall. Whether Mackall could fare any better would be decided by the ingenuity and power that Pope’s overwhelming forces brought to bear. But Johnston’s confidence in Mackall had come from years of service with the man, who was as much a friend as an efficient staff officer.

  Mackall had served Johnston as far back as California, well before the war. Then, both men wore blue, and Mackall had kept his loyalty to Johnston even as the War Department did not. As commander of the U.S. Army’s California district, Johnston had widespread and absolute authority in a place very far from the eyes of Washington. It had been a difficult command, covering territory that blanketed thousands of square miles, from his headquarters at Benicia, near San Francisco, all the way to the newly established border with Mexico, below the San Diego Mission. Much of the population of California was Mexican, most of whom knew little of politics, and why, in 1848, their flag had suddenly changed to the Stars and Stripes. The American victory in the Mexican War put California and most of the Southwest into American hands, and with the sudden discovery of gold a year later, California took on enormous significance. A strong military presence was essential, and Johnston had been chosen without controversy as the man for the job. But the election of Abraham Lincoln changed the complacency of many of the residents, including the newly arriving Easterners.

  The angry talk of secession from the Southern states encouraged something of a rebellion among many of the locals around San Francisco and the smaller town of Los Angeles. Noisy voices and angry calls from newspapers and other ambitious leaders began to suggest that a war that would divide the Union might create an opportunity for California, that the state should look first to its own interests. If California seceded, there would be very little that Washington could do to control such a problem so very far removed from the spreading violence east of the Mississippi. Johnston was suddenly confronted with a stirring cauldron of unrest, stoked by the fires from ambitious political forces who longed for California to become an independent nation. Johnston made every effort to strengthen the army’s presence, quieting some of the voices, but when Johnston’s adopted home state of Texas voted to secede, Johnston was faced with a far more personal problem, one of conscience. Like so many of the army’s Southern officers, he knew he could not continue to serve a Federal army that might force him to wage war against his own home. His resignation sent deep shock waves through California, but unbeknownst to Johnston, those shock waves struck harder in Washington. His statement of loyalty to Texas, and thus, the Confederacy, produced an aggressive response from the War Department, who sent General Edwin “Bull” Sumner to relieve Johnston as quickly as Sumner could make the journey westward.

  Sumner’s arrival was a complete surprise to Johnston, and there was talk throughout the army that Johnston had actually been arrested, rumors running rampant that after his resignation, he had begun some kind of subversive activity against the army. Despite the suspicions in Washington, Bull Sumner seemed to know better, and rather than treat Johnston as a scoundrel, he had paid homage to Johnston’s long service by allowing him to leave Benicia on his own terms, as long as he left quickly. Johnston obliged, and the loyal ad
jutant, Mackall, had gone with him.

  Mackall had now served Johnston as his senior staff officer all through Johnston’s command in the new Confederate army. But Johnston knew that his friend’s abilities and experience qualified him for a command beyond Johnston’s own headquarters. Whether or not the defense of Island Number Ten would be successful, Johnston had complete confidence that he had sent the best man available to do the job. But Johnston was losing a great deal of sleep over the fate of the army Mackall would command. Island Number Ten was now too far upriver from any serious reinforcement, and thus was too far removed from the more immediate concerns facing the army at Corinth. And from all reports, the Federal forces laying siege were far too strong for Mackall to resist for very long.

  Since his arrival in Mississippi, Beauregard had witnessed firsthand the pitfalls of assembling a scattered and disorganized army. Those men who had retreated with Johnston from Murfreesboro were for the most part a veteran group, and behaved like one. But around Corinth, the assembled masses were a ragged bunch, tossed together from outposts that ranged from Texas to Georgia, from the Florida Gulf Coast to Arkansas. Discipline was not only difficult, in many instances, it was nonexistent, which had immediately created a serious problem with the civilians in every place the army was building their camps. Depredations against the population, which included assaults and widespread theft, had to be confronted, and confronted with a firm hand. The one man who seemed suited to the task had already arrived at Corinth. General Braxton Bragg had responded to his superiors’ desperate call for reinforcements by marching his forces northward from the coast near Mobile and Pensacola. Johnston and Beauregard both understood that Bragg’s reputation for ruthless discipline made him a perfect choice to take on the task of whipping the army into shape, often literally. Bragg was roundly disliked by his subordinates, and it was his passionate love of the stick and his willingness to execute the most brutal offenders in his own command that gave him his reputation as a martinet. But right now, with a patchwork army in a desperate need to face up to an organized Federal threat, Bragg’s ruthlessness was exactly what the army required. As a result, Bragg was appointed as Johnston’s new chief of staff, with the authority to bring discipline and training to the gathering hordes any way he could. As a carrot for Bragg, Johnston assured him that when the inevitable fight came with the advancing Federals, Bragg would be assigned to command an entire corps in Johnston’s army. Even Bragg’s lack of popularity could not diminish the greater need the army had for experienced generals who could lead so many untested soldiers into a fight.

  ROSE COTTAGE, CORINTH, MISSISSIPPI

  MARCH 24, 1862

  They came mostly alone, the staff officers staying back, taking the cue from Johnston himself. Bragg seemed willing to take over the proceedings, sat at the head of the dining room table, reacted to the gathering with the same kind of straight-backed, unsmiling discipline he applied to the troops. But the four men present were the most senior commanders of the newly assembled army, and of the four, Bragg held the lowest rank. Johnston sat in one corner, a position he preferred, would allow Bragg to assume a mantle of authority, at least until anyone else chose to take it away.

  Beauregard’s illness had put him on his back again, and Johnston still worried about the man, had begun to suspect that the other generals were wondering if the Creole might ever recover, a missing link this army did not need. With the disasters already inflicted on Johnston’s command, the army in the West had challenges far beyond Corinth. From Arkansas had come word of a new disaster, a sharp fight at Elkhorn Tavern, a place known to the Federals as Pea Ridge. General Earl Van Dorn had already been ordered south by Beauregard, to add his forces to those around Corinth, but the fight in Arkansas had been unavoidable, and so, as badly as Van Dorn’s troops were needed at Corinth, they were now reeling under the crushing blow from the Federals and likely wouldn’t be moving south for weeks.

  The third man Johnston had summoned to his new residence was more than a capable commander. He was one of Johnston’s oldest friends.

  Leonidas Polk had long been an ordained minister, had climbed through the hierarchy of the Episcopal Church to assume the respected position as bishop of Louisiana. But the war had brought Polk back to the roots that Johnston knew well. Polk had been at West Point with Johnston, and the two men had maintained a warm friendship for all the years since. Though some had criticized Bishop Polk for what seemed to be a contradictory reverence for both the Word and the musket, Johnston never doubted that Polk would serve the Cause. Tall and handsome, Polk was always a serious and thoughtful man, and Johnston believed that he would become one of the army’s brightest stars. Johnston knew his army needed all the stars it could get. Polk was also the only man in the high command who had fought and defeated the Federal commander they were now expecting to confront: Ulysses Grant. That fight had taken place the previous November, at Belmont, Missouri, and though neither side could trumpet a major strategic triumph, Grant and his three-thousand-man force had been outmaneuvered and beaten back with a considerable cost in casualties.

  As they found their places in the dining room of the home that had become Johnston’s headquarters, Polk sat to one side of the table, seemed to position himself where he could keep a watch on Beauregard, shared Johnston’s obvious concern. It was another trait of the man Johnston had come to admire, and Johnston could never look at the man’s eyes without thinking of Polk’s genuine grief over the death of Johnston’s first wife, Henrietta. It was a time in Johnston’s life that could never quite be stored away, and Polk seemed to know that, would never speak of those days, unless Johnston brought it up.

  At the large table, Bragg cast a quick scornful glance at the prostrate Beauregard, one hand pounding the table in a light drumbeat of impatience. He turned, looked at Johnston, said, “So, General, are you well? Is the army living up to your expectations?”

  It was a clumsy attempt to draw praise, and Johnston thought of a phrase, a scolding lesson he had once given his son. Those who fish for compliments catch only minnows.

  “I am well, Braxton. General Beauregard is not so fortunate. But we are here to address our strategic situation, and there is some urgency.”

  Beauregard let out a faint high groan, sat up, said, “If I may be allowed, sir.”

  Bragg grunted, but knew better than to object.

  “If you feel up to the task, sir.”

  Beauregard ignored the comment, said, “As you all know, we have received definite intelligence that the enemy is encamped barely twenty miles from this very spot. We also received some word from one cavalry outpost that the Federals under General Grant were on the move, driving southward directly toward our position, which caused considerable concern among the troops. Fortunately, those reports were proven false. But the enemy is most definitely in place, is assembling considerable stores of supplies and armament, and when General Halleck feels the time is right, General Grant will be ordered to advance. As I have anticipated since my assignment here, it is more than apparent that Corinth will be his target. I am not confident that we are fully prepared to meet him.” Bragg grunted, and Beauregard still ignored him, continued. “Anticipating that the Federals would strike the railroad junction here, it has been my goal to assemble an army with numbers sufficient to defend this place at great cost to the enemy. That, at least, has been accomplished. There are other concerns, however, that should be addressed. The lack of proper armament for our troops is chief among them.”

  There was a light rap on the doorjamb, and Johnston saw Wickliffe, one of his staff officers, now an aide to Bragg. Bragg huffed, “Yes, Captain. Speak up. Important matters here.”

  Wickliffe had served Johnston far longer than he had Bragg, seemed to share everyone else’s hesitation about dealing with Bragg at all. He said to Johnston, “Sir, we have received a lengthy and urgent report from Colonel Forrest.”

  Bragg turned toward Wickliffe, seemed genuinely angry.

 
“Forrest? He’s, what, a cavalry scout? Now why would you interrupt our meeting to tell us of some scout? We have just been discussing the grotesque inability of our outposts to scout anything with any accuracy. They spread rumor as efficiently as they spread their horse manure.”

  “Excuse me, Braxton. I should like to hear what Colonel Forrest has to say.”

  Bragg turned to Johnston, seemed to clamp down his objections, shrugged. Wickliffe seemed relieved, said to Johnston, “Sir, Colonel Forrest reports that a patrol under his command … Captain McDonald … observed an entire division of Federal troops encamped at the Duck River, not many miles from the town of Columbia, sir. Colonel Forrest reports the troops were General McCook’s Division. They were halted on the far side of the river because of our destruction of the bridges in that area, but are working to make their way across. A prisoner was captured, sir, and revealed much.” The captain paused, seemed to swallow hard, nervous. “According to Colonel Forrest, General McCook’s Division is the vanguard of a much larger force, sir.”

  Bragg sniffed.

  “McCook? Several of those McCook fellows in the blue coats. Ohio bunch, right? What in God’s name is so damn important about a bunch of Ohio infantry at the Duck River? That’s a pretty haul from here, if I recall.”

  Beauregard coughed, fought to control his voice, said softly, “General McCook commands a division in the Army of the Ohio.”

  Bragg didn’t look at Beauregard.

  “That’s what I just said.”

  Beauregard ignored the slight, said, “Buell’s Army of the Ohio. The latest we heard, they were camped around Nashville.”

  Wickliffe nodded furiously.

  “Yes, sir. That’s what Colonel Forrest said. But no longer, sir. The colonel says they’re on the move. Colonel Forrest stresses in the strongest terms, sir, that this can only mean that General Buell’s forces are intending—”