“I asked you the same question,” Jackson snapped. “Report! Without the blasphemy, and with your salute, General.”
Astride his horse behind Jackson, Sandie smiled, enjoying Loring’s discomfiture. Leave it to the Scared Turkey, he thought, to remain ignorant of what every man jack of the army already knew.
Flustered, Loring saluted. “I am on the march, General Jackson. Under orders and on schedule. This jack-n-ape refuses to yield the road. He is behind schedule and refuses to turn it over, that which is mine by rights. What is more, he refused a direct order from his superior officer, me, to do just that. I demand his arrest!”
Jackson ignored Loring and looked to the major. “You are French’s quartermaster? What have you to say? Out with it!”
The major saluted smartly. “Yessir, that’s right. We were delayed this morning on account of a bridge over yonder, needing repair. Got that done quick as we could, got here an hour behind schedule. Marching orders say delays don’t change a thing, when we get here, we go. So I reckoned I should keep my wagons rolling. General Loring here insisted, and when I wouldn’t give him the road, he seized the road and stopped the wagons.”
Sandie nodded. He knew what the marching orders called for. He and Harman had written them. But where is Polk, he wondered? Should not Polk be sorting this mess out?
“General Loring,” Jackson snarled, “this man is correct. You are in the wrong. Worse, you have compounded this delay by almost an hour. I will not tolerate any further deviation from orders, is that understood?”
“But..” Loring sputtered.
Jackson shouted him down. “Do you understand?!”
Loring assented sourly. “Yessir.”
Jackson barked orders for Loring’s men to clear the road, which were smartly obeyed. He then quietly told Sandie “Send to French today. Admonish him about that bridge. He had almost two full days to send an engineer to inspect it.”
“One of those days was the Sabbath” Sandie replied.
“Yes, and I was building a bridge. French could have been at least inspecting one.”
May 2
Early afternoon
McPherson’s Headquarters in the Field, Army of the Tennessee, USA
South of the Tennessee Line
McPherson and his immediate staff had just made their planned stop when the first courier of the day galloped up. Already almost twenty miles from Huntsville, his desire was not so much for the luxury of a hot meal, but to allow couriers from Huntsville, such as this one, to catch up with him. The muddy rider handed his dispatch to one of McPherson’s aides, who brought it to the General.
Reading its contents, McPherson exclaimed “Capital! Capital!”
McPherson heard cheers of “Black Jack! Black Jack!” and looked up. Logan was pounding down the road at the gallop. Not bothering to dismount, he slowed his mount and walked him over to McPherson.
“Mac,” he said, tipping his hat. “So, we’re certain it’s Tuscumbia?”
“Indeed I am. It’s the logical place. With the shoals there, the Rebels can protect their pontoon bridge from the Navy’s gunboats. If they want to run their supply line through there, the pillars from the old bridge are still standing. Those can be turned to a more permanent span easily enough.”
“What is more,” McPherson said, waving the dispatch, “Minty says he poked his head into Anderson this morning, about 15 miles west of Athens. There was no sign of the Rebels there. My guess is that they have yet to cross the river. Why, I do believe we’ve stolen a march on them!”
Logan understood. Dodge’s XVI Corps started from Athens this morning. His own corps was about as far along. Without the need to cross a major river, that put their army a full day’s march ahead of Polk’s, and to Grant’s veterans a full day of hard marching meant at least 25 miles.
McPherson had planned his first campaign as an army commander carefully and cautiously, weighing all the variables. He had elected not to intercept Polk’s Army of Mississippi in central Alabama, because of the dense forest that lay between him and Jasper. That was no place to have an army. Instead, he preferred to catch Polk in open ground and without a river to his back, and that meant meeting the Bishop somewhere in southern Tennessee.
“What does Sherman have to say about it?” Logan asked.
“He approves. I imagine he will be pleased when I tell him I think we’ve bagged a march on the Johnnies.”
Sherman had been clucking like a mother hen, burning the wire with messages. Even so, Sherman had limited himself entirely to asking questions, and offered no advice or instruction unless McPherson asked for it. It was quite a contrast to the prodding from pedantic old Halleck back at the War Department, who had been prodding him to attack Polk for weeks.
Sherman’s largely hands off approach pleased McPherson, because against his expectations, he found he needed no reassurance or support from headquarters. Far from being an extra burden, he found the challenge and responsibility of an independent command exhilarating. Sherman just needs more to do, McPherson thought. Bill always became fidgety when he wasn’t kept busy.
Logan said “Well, the boys are a little tender in the feet after spending the winter in camp, but they are making time. I reckon I’ll make Pulaski tomorrow.”
McPherson nodded. “Good. You take care, John.”
May 2
After dark
Army of Tennessee, CSA
Florence
Jackson required most of the day to put the bulk of his army across the Tennessee River, as the bottleneck of the single span reduced progress to a trickle. Left behind to screen the army from prying eyes, Forrest’s cavalry crossed the river the next day.
Before dawn on Tuesday morning, May 3rd, Red Jackson’s cavalry rode north and east, spreading out through Anderson and up to the Tennessee line. Stewart’s Corps followed, taking the Loretto Road through Masonville, Green Hill, and ultimately Lexington. Polk and Hood used Andrew Jackson’s Military Road, screened by a brigade detached from Forrest. By the end of the day, both infantry columns were astride the Tennessee line.
PART III
LAWRENCEBURG
MAY 1864
CHAPTER 8
May 4
Dawn
Minty’s Division, Army of the Tennessee, USA
Lawrenceburg, Tennessee
Newly installed in command of McPherson’s sole cavalry division, Robert Minty’s orders were to occupy Lawrenceburg, the county seat and crossroads town, and to develop more information on the whereabouts and movements of Polk’s Army of Mississippi. His Federal cavalry had begun encountering advance parties of Rebel horsemen, never more than a squadron in size, starting late the previous afternoon.
An Irish immigrant in his middle 30s with five years’ experience as a junior officer in the British Army before coming to America, Minty had wise eyes. Those eyes balanced his flamboyant style, and distracted from his energetic and a pugnacious nature. He responded to the Rebel presence with a plan to concentrate his horsemen that night, punch through to Lawrenceburg, and have a look around. He put his division on the Pulaski Road well before dawn, and they met the first Rebel pickets at sun-up, four miles west of the town.
Those butternut troopers were mostly asleep, so the Federal advance guard captured many and scattered the rest with almost no resistance, and with only a few shots fired to raise the alarm. Minty had seen this sort of ill-preparedness from the Rebels before, and he was not the sort to let such an opportunity pass. He sent his old command, the Saber Brigade, lunging into town.
The Sabers caught the Rebel horsemen only just mounting up in their camp, on the southern outskirts of Lawrenceburg. The Federal cavalry softened up their disorganized foes with a short, terrific fire from their rapid-loading Sharps carbines, drew their pistols and sabers, and charged through the Rebel camp. The butternut cavalry reeled and ran to the south, down the Military Road or across the open fields.
Minty looked on with satisfaction. It was his opi
nion that most Confederate cavalry, while undeniably fierce in a fight and gifted with a natural talent for raiding, were an ill-disciplined lot and otherwise of little use in the more routine tasks of screening an army and gathering intelligence.
If the job lacked dash, Minty thought, the Rebels aren’t much for it. And catching them with their trousers down in the early morning was first rate sport.
Leaving one brigade to secure the town, and the important junction of the Pulaski and Military Roads along with it, Minty led his other brigades south in search of more trouble. As soon as the Federal cavalry was back on the road, the sky opened up with the dregs of the spring rains. The Military Road was not macadamized, but it remained relatively firm. Five miles south of town, at a junction with a local road, Minty encountered more Rebel cavalry.
He instantly recognized that these weren’t the butternuts the Sabers had chased out of Lawrenceburg, and they were in brigade strength at least. As his first priority was to hold the town and its crossroads, Minty elected to retire on Lawrenceburg, and throw out a defensive line on some defensible ground south of town. He also sent word of the morning’s developments to Dodge’s XVI Corps, then marching west on the Pulaski Road.
9 a.m.
Polk’s Corps, Army of Tennessee, CSA
Redding Ridge
South of Lawrenceburg
Upon receiving word that his advanced cavalry had been chased out of Lawrenceburg, Polk left the bulk of his corps behind to go forward and have a look for himself, not bothering to notify anyone else in the army of the early morning scrape just yet. About three miles south of Lawrenceburg, he found his advance cavalry, Johnson’s Brigade, who looked to be in low spirits. Stopping just long enough to spare the Alabamans some kind words and inquire where the front was, Polk rode on and found William Hicks “Red” Jackson already there.
“Red, I didn’t expect to find you here,” Polk inquired. “You are supposed to be out by Pulaski way, yes?”
Red’s whiskers and serious expression gave him a terrier-like appearance, complementing as much as clashing with his barrel chest and bulky limbs. “Yeap, but I had to come this way first. Roads and such. It’s all in my marching orders, sir. I shouldn’t worry too much about me being in your way. The Yankees are just over there, opposite this ridge.”
“Show me, if you please” Polk ordered.
Polk found Red had thrown out a line of dismounted troopers on a rise called Redding Ridge. On the left was Shoal Creek and some very rough, thickly wooded ground. The ridge extended a few miles east, ending at an elevation, Haynie Hill, located right in front of a little stream, Haynie Branch. Beyond that, all was rolling plains and farm country. The Military Road ran north, through the left-center.
Red said “Yankees have a dismounted brigade deployed over yonder,” pointing to a low ridge about three-quarters of a mile away, “and more blue bellies are prowling in the farms to the east, screening the Pulaski Road I reckon. Johnson said they came in from there, so I reckon more Billies must be coming up that way, but I have yet to have a look myself.”
They rode to the top of Haynie Hill for a better vantage point, where the cavalryman continued with a more detailed explanation the ground. Polk pretended to listen, but preferred to study the ground for himself and to draw his own conclusions, peering through his field glasses and applying his God-given talent. After all, Polk was not only a scion of one of the South’s leading families, and thus born for military command, but had been to West Point too.
The Bishop soon deduced that the left of Redding Ridge was an unattractive place for launching an attack, and that the right would be much more profitable. On the right, the troops could move quickly over the open ground, and Haynie Hill afforded a magnificent gun platform. Fixated on the ground around Haynie Hill, Polk ignored what Red had said about another hill his scouts had found beyond Shoal Creek, a hill that dominated the town and the enemy position, and as of yet, had no blue troopers on it.
After a time, Red asked “Do you want me to push the Yankees out of Lawrenceburg, sir? Or have a gander at the Pulaski Road?”
Polk pondered that. His orders from Jackson required him to march to the Maury County line today, but said nothing of him fighting to reach it.
“No, Red. I do not. We have no orders to force an engagement. We must refer this matter back to the commanding general.” Polk then remembered that Red was attached to Stewart, and Jackson was traveling with Stewart, so both generals would soon know what was transpiring here. He had to send his own message forthwith.
Polk’s also realized that, as the vanguard of the army, he would be required to deploy to confront the Federals. That would put him around the road, on the left and left-center and far from Haynie Hill, the place he expected any major Confederate assault would spring from. Polk silently cursed his luck.
“What about those heights past the creek, General Polk?” Red Jackson asked eagerly. “I could detach some troopers...”
“No, no, no!” Polk snapped, his mood souring rapidly. After pausing to compose himself, he continued more graciously. “Your cavalry is all we have to face the faithless invader for now. We can’t have you dividing your strength at a time like this. Go on back to your men, and see if you cannot discern what the Yankee is doing on the Pulaski Road. Dismissed, General.”
10 a.m.
Headquarters in the Field, Army of the Tennessee, USA
Lawrenceburg
McPherson was in Pulaski when he received Minty’s report about his rout of the Rebel cavalry in Lawrenceburg. He instantly set out down the Pulaski Road, overtaking the head of Dodge’s XVI Corps just two miles west of town. Riding into Lawrenceburg, he was met in the town center by Minty and Grenville Dodge.
Dodge, an engineer and railroad man before the war, had a stooped posture and piercing eyes, traits that combined to make him look like some mean-spirited old man, well ahead of his 33 years. Shaking hands with McPherson, he asked “How goes, Mac?”
“Well enough. Report, please.”
Dodge glanced at Minty, who crouched, picked up a stick, and started drawing on a patch of soft, muddy dirt. “General, I put the Sabers out in a dismounted line on a ridge two miles south of here, off the Military Road. Their right is anchored on a double horseshoe bend of Shoal Creek. That bend is wide open, and overlooked on our side by Raven’s Bluffs, a steep set of cliffs. A man would need to be stupid or blind drunk to try and force that place. The ridge extends about three miles, sloping down onto the flatter country due east. We’ve taken to calling it Oak Ridge, after that a wooded hollow down behind the east end. White Oak Hollow, the locals call it.”
Minty then went on to describe the Rebel position on the opposite ridge. To McPherson, it looked as if things were working out just as he had planned it. In little more than an hour, Dodge would start deploying on Oak Ridge, blocking the road. Logan’s much larger corps was right behind. If Polk attacked, McPherson would smash him. If Polk tried to get around him, he’d strike him on the march and cut him to pieces. Finally, if Polk retreated, he would hound him back to the river, and crush him there.
But first, he had to look at the ground and see for himself if this was the place to fight. “May I have a tour, Colonel Minty?”
“Yessir, but there is one more thing. Not ten minutes ago, my scouts informed me of a hill, Wildcat Ridge, just beyond the creek. It dominates out right flank, sir. I just sent my reserve over to secure it.”
“Then let’s start there,” McPherson replied.
Arriving at the hill, he could see what Minty meant. Dodge whistled and muttered “Damn.” The hill towered above the surrounding country, and from it they could look directly upon the top and rear of Oak Ridge. If the Rebels got artillery up on Wildcat Ridge, McPherson knew it would unhinge his entire defense. He had to keep this hill or else leave and find some other ground to fight on.
“Dodge, Veatch’s Division is at the front of your column, is it not?” McPherson asked. “I want you to send Yat
es’s Sharpshooters up here, quick as you can, and some artillery.”
XVI Corps had only two divisions, Veatch and Sweeney, while Logan’s XV Corps had four. When Logan gets here, McPherson thought, I can post a whole brigade on this hill, but in the meantime the sharpshooters and their Henry repeaters are the best I can do.
10:30 a.m.
Headquarters in the Field, Army of Tennessee, CSA
Military Road
South of Lawrenceburg
When Jackson received word that his cavalry had been driven out of Lawrenceburg, he left Stewart’s Corps and rode for the front. As he gave Polk instructions on where to deploy his corps, he was told by Red Jackson about a dominating hill, Wildcat Ridge, lying northwest of the Federal line.
“Show me!” Jackson demanded.
Supplied with a guide, a few aides, and a small escort, Jackson departed. Once on the Military Road, the small party soon encountered the marching ranks of French’s Division. Riding down alongside the column, Jackson’s party was met with waves of hearty cheering. He ignored the rolling fanfare, too busy to reprimand French and his officers for the disobedience to his orders regarding secrecy and that he was not to be cheered.
After a few miles, the guide turned off the road and led the way across a ford in Shoal Creek. The party then turned north, and rode parallel to Shoal Creek until they came within sight of the big hill. Jackson withdrew his field glasses from their case, and set about surveying the hill with a gunner’s studied eye.
Yes, yes, he thought. That hill commands the enemy right flank and center. With artillery up there, I can make their defense untenable, drive them back through the town, catch them in a disorderly withdrawal and cut them to ribbons. A few hundred blue troops are already there, so the enemy knows the importance of this place...
Jackson returned his glasses to their case, and without saying a word to anyone, turned his horse around and started back for the ford. By the time they were back on Military Road, the head of Loring’s Division was coming up. Having made up his mind, Jackson dispatched an aide to summon Loring.
Stonewall Goes West: A Novel of The Civil War and What Might Have Been (Stonewall Goes West Trilogy) Page 16