STONEWALL GOES WEST
A NOVEL OF THE CIVIL WAR
AND WHAT MIGHT HAVE BEEN
R.E. THOMAS
BLACK GOLD MEDIA
This is a work of fiction. All of the names, characters, places, and events portrayed are products of the author’s imagination or used factiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, places, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
BLACK GOLD MEDIA
Copyright © 2013 by R.E. Thomas
ISBN-13: 978-0988892200 (print)
ISBN-10: 0988892200 (print)
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To my father,
my first and best example
of a man pursuing his dreams
CONTENTS
Introduction
Acknowledgements
Part I
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Part II
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Part III
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Author’s Note
INTRODUCTION
The death of Lieutenant General Thomas J. Jackson stands as the great “what if?” of the Civil War. The only event during the war that comes close to producing the same amount of speculation is the battle of Gettysburg, and many scenarios for a Confederate victory at Gettysburg are based on the survival and presence of Stonewall Jackson.
Southerners probably first began wondering what might have been if their beloved Stonewall had lived in the wake of Lee’s defeat at Gettysburg. Indeed, in Michael Shaara’s landmark novel, The Killer Angels, they began wondering after the first day of that battle. Shaara put the following words into the mouth of the irascible Isaac Tremble, summing up the sentiments of many:
“General Ewell, we have got to take that hill. General Jackson would not have stopped like this with the bluebellies on the run and plenty of light left and a hill like that empty.”
Yet the difficulty with sending Stonewall Jackson to Gettysburg has always been one of realism, since it demands Jackson emerge from the violent and confused clash in the dense, second-growth forest around Chancellorsville with either light wounds or no wounds at all. That was most unlikely. The friendly fire incident that claimed Jackson’s life also killed several of his aides, and Jackson was struck by no fewer than three bullets. Major General A.P. Hill was himself wounded upon replacing Jackson, and Lieutenant General James Longstreet was wounded in another friendly fire incident at the Battle of the Wilderness a year later, just a few miles from where Jackson was shot.
All of these officers were killed and wounded doing what good officers did during the Civil War, namely overseeing things personally and exposing themselves to danger in the process. As it turned out, the Virginia Wilderness around Chancellorsville was a particularly lethal place to do that.
So imagining Stonewall Jackson as escaping Chancellorsville unscathed misconstrues the kind of man he was, as well as doing a disservice to the particularly horrific combat that took place in the Virginia Wilderness in 1863 and 1864. However, the injuries Jackson suffered need not have been mortal. The majority of patients who endured amputations such as Jackson’s survived.
If Jackson had recovered from his wounds, his recovery would have come too late for him to have participated in the Gettysburg Campaign, but what might have happened after that? It is from that question that Stonewall Goes West springs.
As a consumer of military history, one of my pet peeves is a book lacking maps, since regional and battlefield maps greatly simplify following the course of events. This is so much the case that I have often been forced to sketch out crude maps of my own when the author and publisher of a given book have failed to provide them.
Sadly, publishing constraints forced me to commit the sin of omitting maps from Stonewall Goes West. Instead, I have drawn a set of maps and made them available on my author’s website (stonewallgoeswest.com) and my author’s Facebook page (facebook.com/stonewallgoeswest).
Another issue affecting clarity in this novel was how to name the various military units in a way that wasn’t a burden to the reader, but at the same time didn’t sour the tenor of the narrative. My solution deviates from the nomenclature of the period to some degree, but I felt it necessary and shall explain my method.
At the top, the North preferred to name field armies after rivers (“Army of the Potomac”), whereas the South preferred territorial designations (“Army of Northern Virginia”). This is a crucial distinction in Stonewall Goes West, as it separates the Federal Army of the Tennessee (named for the river) and the Confederate Army of Tennessee (named for the state).
The Confederate Army often referred a given corps, division or brigade after the man permanently assigned to lead it. Hence Archer’s Brigade, Heth’s Division, and Hill’s Corps at Gettysburg. I have adopted this system to refer to both Federal and Confederate units, and chose to do so for two reasons. One is that referring to a unit by the name of the man leading it reinforces its connection to that character, and makes it easier for the reader to follow what that character is doing in the story. The other is that the Federal method, which might refer to the above arrangement as 3rd Brigade, 2nd Division, 3rd Corps, produces stumbling blocks in the text that only those who are intimate with military terminology could easily navigate.
The exception to that rule is the corps of the Federal Army. These were identified using Roman numerals (“II Corps”), a system still in use today. I have kept that system because I found it visually distinctive, and it highlighted the differences between the Federal and Confederate armies without becoming cumbersome and confusing.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
A book may have only one parent, but always has many midwives. Writing a work of alternate history is a daunting task, because when well-done it is still at its heart still historical fiction, and therefore carries the special burden of accurately weaving accurate details into what is otherwise a fictional story. I am therefore thankful that I had a huge volume of readily accessible material to work from, and that so many people proved helpful in bringing this tale to life.
A few individuals personally contributed to my research, and therefore deserve special attention. Kathy Niedergeses at the Lawrence County Archives was instrumental in helping me construct the landscape for the Battle of Lawrenceburg. Edwin G. Frank, a professor at the University of Memphis and President of the West Tennessee Historical Society, steered me in the right direction on several crucial matters, as did Ann Toplovich at the Tennessee Historical Society.
I must also extend thanks to the people who assisted me with the nitty gritty of making this book happen. Several years of publishing experience gave me a firm
foundation for producing this novel, but I could never have done it all alone. On the editorial side, I owe some thanks to Amy Brown, Scott Peters, and Elena Pavlova. On the artistic side, Cindy Flora turned my vision of a one-armed Stonewall Jackson giving orders to Patrick Cleburne and Nathan Bedford Forrest into reality, while my former Wilson Center colleague Lianne Helper did the cover design. Without the help of all these people, crafting this book into shape would have been impossible.
I must also acknowledge the support that came from my family. My mother and father-in-law were my biggest fans as I plowed through multiple drafts of Stonewall Goes West, while my sister was the one who reminded me that my father, J.K. Thomas, would have been the first to approve of what I was doing. Finally, I must thank my wife, who has never wavered from supporting me in spending however much time was necessary (including the diversion of some of our precious vacation time) to finish this project.
PART I
OLD DOMINIONS
OCTOBER TO DECEMBER 1863
CHAPTER 1
October 13, 1863
3 p.m.
Lee’s Headquarters, Army of Northern Virginia, CSA
The Warren Green Hotel
Warrenton, Virginia
Jackson tightened the grip on his reins by reflex, the sole outward sign of his irritation. His orders were to halt on the northeastern outskirts of Warrenton, to rest his men, and permit them time to cook rations. He thought the stop a mistake, hadn’t agreed, had even argued against it, but he had obeyed faithfully. Obedience was a soldier’s duty, and that was that.
So the men had fallen out, built their fires, boiled acorn coffee and foraged white cabbage, and fried hoecakes. They would have food in their bellies, Jackson thought, but they should be pressing on, as soon as possible. The army was losing time, and he would happily trade the full bellies of the men to get that time back.
He stopped in front of the Warren Green Hotel. Horses were tied up all up and down the street, and a dusty courier sat in a rocking chair on the front porch, strumming out the notes of “Bonnie Blue Flag” on the strings of his fiddle.
Jackson fumbled his dismount, stumbling off, caught in the stirrup. A man caught him, set him aright, and asked “Are you well, sir?”
Turning, Jackson saw it was Lee’s chief aide, Major Walter Taylor. Jackson had known Taylor since before the war, as his former student at the Virginia Military Institute, and thought he had grown into a slim, dapper young man, but one who looked more like a banker than a soldier, what with his well-combed hair and neatly trimmed goatee.
“Yes, Major” Jackson stammered. I shouldn’t be this tired or this sore, he thought. It’s making me careless.
Might have been softness from months of bed rest, or might have been the wounding and the loss of his left arm that went with it, but whatever it was had left him feeling weaker, compromising what he thought of as his already precarious health.
Worried as he might about it, health didn’t matter so much Jackson, not when compared to his duty. Whatever the cause, he reckoned he should be overcoming his frailties, and doing so more speedily. He had already spent the entire summer recovering from his wounds, and was as impatient to return to his old strength as he had been to return to duty.
Straightening first his cap and then his coat with his one hand, he said to Taylor “I’m reporting as ordered.”
“General Ewell is already here, sir” Taylor replied. “Follow me, please.”
Jackson nodded, motioned to a pair of his aides, and then followed Taylor into the hotel. The Warren Green was still in presentable condition, in spite of the war. Armies had marched and counter-marched across northern Virginia for three years now, Warrenton was a crossroads town, and the Warren Green had been used as quarters and headquarters by both sides many times over. Jackson’s West Point classmate and the one-time commander of the northern Army of the Potomac, George B. McClellan, had said his goodbyes on these steps. Perhaps it was a shared sense between the armies that they would all pass this way again that spared it from ransacking.
Taylor showed Jackson and his party into the dining room, now serving as a map room. Jackson went to the table, while behind him his men quietly exchanged pleasantries with Taylor. Dick “Old Baldy” Ewell, with a wooden leg and a rooster’s face, stood on his crutches next to General Lee and studied the map, Ewell’s own staff officers standing behind them.
Jackson strode up to his commanding officer and saluted. Lee took a step forward, and with a look of concern, asked quietly “General, I do hope you are well.”
“Well. I’m well, sir.” Jackson replied flatly. I must look still worse, he thought ruefully.
Lee nodded and stepped away.
Ewell stepped awkwardly forward, and extended his hand. Jackson took it for a firm handshake, and Ewell grinned and stammered “Erm, Thomas,” still finding it awkward to address his old chief as his equal. “How the heh... how are you? Holding up?”
Jackson smiled warmly. Ewell had been a bachelor and a profane man for most of his life, but after he lost that leg he found both love and God from his sickbed. Still, old habits and all.
“About as well as you are,” he replied.
After Jackson’s wounding at Chancellorsville, Lee promoted Ewell and gave him a corps, while A.P. Hill became the acting commander of Jackson’s old corps. So it was that Old Baldy Ewell, Little Powell Hill, and James Longstreet all led infantry corps to Gettysburg, while Jackson lay in bed and recuperated. With Jackson returned to duty, Hill had gone back to his division. Longstreet was detached to Tennessee, which left Lee’s army in the hands of Jackson and his former lieutenant, Ewell.
Lee brought the pleasantries to an end by calling on Major Taylor to start his presentation. “Gentlemen, four days ago this army marched with the objective of reaching around the Federal right flank, taking advantage of their detachment of the XI and XII Corps to Tennessee. While we disengaged from the Rapidan and made for the Federal flank with some success, General Meade wasn’t fooled long, and pulled back.”
Taylor indicated positions on the map. “We know the bulk of the Federal force lies to the southeast of our position, about ten miles away, in the vicinity of the Orange and Alexandria rail line. General Stuart reports that Kilpatrick’s cavalry and the III Corps, under the command of William French, with perhaps as much as 25,000 men altogether, are several miles north on the Warrenton Turnpike, shielding their right flank.”
Jackson’s brow furrowed at the mention of French. Lee noticed this, and recalled the bad blood between the two men, back in the Old Army.
Taylor paused for a moment, and then said “Union numbers are thought to be at least 85,000 men. Perhaps as high as 95,000.”
Lee spoke up. “Gentlemen, Meade has no intention of stopping here. Those people are still retreating, even as we speak, indeed may continue retreating into the night. After we catch our breath, this army will march again for the Federal flank and rear. Your thoughts?”
Ewell murmured “Meade has conducted a skillful withdrawal, and that’s a fact. He kept his army together, put a strong rear guard in all the proper places. To reach his flank again, we must march much farther than he. I fear he won’t give us any opportunity.”
“Yes, the Yankees have always been very good at retreating,” Taylor said. Everyone laughed at that. Even Lee chuckled.
Everyone except Jackson, who instead looked up from the map at Taylor and asked flatly “Have we any reports of an enemy presence at Thoroughfare Gap?”
Taylor looked back quizzically. Thoroughfare Gap was at least 10 miles west of French’s position. Maybe a cavalry patrol had been out that way, but only maybe, and there were no reports about it one way or the other. “No, General Jackson, we have not. Although I would describe our knowledge of what goes on at the Gap as scanty at best.”
Jackson nodded. “Good, good. I propose to send a brigade of cavalry at once to occupy Thoroughfare Gap, by way of Georgetown village” he said, pointing to the map,
tracing his finger along his desired route. The twang of the Virginia hill country seeped into his voice, just as it did whenever Jackson became excited. “After passing the Bull Run Mountains, the cavalry turns north and moves on back roads and overland, leaving guides as they go, emerging unseen at Thoroughfare Gap. I then follow with my entire corps. Once clear of the Gap, I march east and fall upon the enemy flank.”
An awkward silence followed. It was Lee’s habit to allow his chief subordinates to chew matters over, but Ewell was clearly too accustomed to taking orders from Jackson to readily question him at a council of war. Longstreet was gone, and there was no one else of such standing there. Speaking up was therefore left to Major Taylor.
“That is a march of some 20 miles,” Taylor eventually said, skeptically. “When do you propose to be in position to attack?”
Jackson imagined the roads, the country, both of which he already knew firsthand, and the time it would take to move all those horses, men, guns and a minimum of wagons. “If the cavalry is sent at once, I will follow immediately. I can clear the gap by day-dawn, and in position to attack by 10 o’clock tomorrow morning.”
That was optimistic, Lee thought. Very optimistic. I doubt that, doubt it very much. Noon sounded better.
“Why not advance directly, General, on the Warrenton Turnpike?” asked Colonel Chilton, Lee’s chief of staff.
Jackson looked directly at Lee and shook his head. “The enemy expects it. Even if we escape notice during the night, we will surely be observed at first light. We must attack where least anticipated, or the enemy will pull back all the quicker for it.”
Lee finally spoke up. “I believe you should give yourself more time, General.”
Jackson replied “As you say, sir. 11.”
Lee imagined Jackson’s plan unfolding. Those people only had a few ways north, across Broad Run. Milford and the railroad bridge at Bristoe Station were closest. Even if the Federals should march through the night, many of their troops would still be south and west of Broad Run at noon. Jackson’s Corps would then smash their flank, push across their line of retreat, and in so doing, cut off one or two of their corps. Of course, it would improve matters greatly if the Federal retreat was delayed...
Stonewall Goes West: A Novel of The Civil War and What Might Have Been (Stonewall Goes West Trilogy) Page 1