Further direction, he thought. I should move right now, advance behind the curtains of the Harpeth and Cumberland, cross the Cumberland River at Clarksville, swing in behind, and cut the railroad to Louisville. The entire United States would panic, and Sherman and McPherson would have no choice but to attack me, lest every enemy soldier from Nashville to Decatur and Chattanooga starve.
Jackson’s features twisted into an angry frown as he realized he couldn’t, at least not yet. He needed to feed his men, just as he needed his pontoons if he was to cross the Cumberland. That meant at least two days to rest his men, regroup, wait for his bridging train, and distribute rations and ammunition. He clenched his fist and his teeth, and resolved it would be no more than two days.
“Excuse me, General, but you are the Stonewall Jackson, are you not?”
Jackson looked up. A wary, middle-aged civilian was standing a few yards away. Jackson wondered for a moment who the stranger was, but realized he must be the owner of the house he was sheltering behind.
Jackson’s features relaxed. “Yes, yes. If I may trouble you, does your lovely town have a Presbyterian house of worship?”
The man brightened. Stonewall Jackson, here, in my backyard! “Delighted to be of service,” he answered smartly. “Yes, sir, General, we do indeed. The Presbyterian Church is at Five Points, ah, that’s 5th and Main.”
Jackson nodded. He had ridden right past it and not noticed. He thanked the man and started for his horse.
“General Jackson! Won’t you come in and have some coffee? We don’t have any real coffee, mind you, but we do have a supply of Kentucky coffee.”
Jackson pulled himself up onto his horse, and smiled. “No, no, but thank you.” I must pray, he thought. The victory was incomplete and more battles waited for them, but that was Providence. It was also Providence that they still had a victory, if only a partial one, and with it part of Tennessee was liberated. What they had was good, and thanks were due.
Upon reaching the church, Jackson told the lieutenant that led his escort “Go find the pastor and tell him I’m here. If he is having his breakfast, insist on my behalf that he finish first. I’ll wait.” With that, Jackson dismounted, sat down on the church steps, put his back up against the door, and fell soundly asleep.
9 a.m.
Headquarters in the Field, Army of the Tennessee, USA
Brentwood Crossroads
Brentwood
McPherson heard the clopping and clapping of riders coming on hard from a hundred yards off, and after turning to look down the Franklin Pike, he saw a splash of red under the hat of the lead rider, far in front of the others.
That must be Bill, he thought. His spirits instantly lightened, as a feeling of relief passed through him.
He watched as Sherman thundered on fast, right up to the place he was standing. As smooth as any man in the cavalry, Sherman brought the horse up, about, and to stop on just the right spot, and then rolled smartly off the saddle.
Stepping forward with his hand extended, McPherson said “Bill, I didn’t reckon you were already in Nashville, but I should have.”
With a wide smile, Sherman took shook his hand and slapped him on the shoulder. “Damn, Mac, am I glad to see you. I ran into Logan on the way. Had some words. What’s the situation here?”
“Well, I have Sweeney covering the approaches from Franklin and Nolensville. The cavalry ought to arrive shortly, unless they ran into trouble with Forrest. Then I’m pulling Sweeney back.”
Sherman frowned. “Jackson and Forrest. A match made in hell, right there. This fellow of yours, Bobby Minty, he seems to have done well enough against the devil in the saddle, didn’t he?”
“He did, he did indeed. I’ll tell you, my cavalry have taken a real kicking. Holly Grove, Lawrenceburg, covering our retreat. Not a clear win in the lot, Bill, but their morale has never been better. Minty has the style, that Irish pugnacity with a dash of British parade ground panache for good measure. He’s got my enthusiastic endorsement as Kilpatrick’s permanent replacement. Get him his star, soon as you can, that’s my advice.”
Sherman withdrew a cigar from its case, struck a match, and started puffing it alight. He muttered “I’ll draw up the papers today,” cigar clenched in his teeth. Taking the cigar out, he pointed away from the road. “We need to talk.”
The two withdrew a short distance. “Before you get started, Bill, I just want to say... I lost at Lawrenceburg, and I know it. I haven’t had a chance to write it up, but my resignation will be on your desk this evening.”
Sherman was non-plussed. Even though this sort of thing was customary, that McPherson might tender his resignation was the last thing on his mind. “Poppycock. I won’t accept it, Mac, and neither will Halleck or Grant. You stay right where you are.”
“Bill, you and I know the press will kick up a whirlwind over this, and I don’t have that many friends in Washington. Think about this. I’ll be more trouble to you than I’m worth.”
“You have the commanding general of the United States Army, its chief of staff, and the commander of its largest military department behind you. All three of us. Mac, if Horace Greeley, some other syphilitic newsman, or any grubby, bullying politician takes a swing at your head, he’ll do it through the protests of Halleck, Grant’s resignation, and my dead body.”
McPherson relaxed, and out came his warm, grateful smile. “Alright, alright. You have me convinced.”
Sherman took several rapid puffs from his cigar, clouding the air with smoke. “Besides, your army is about to get a lot larger, and I need you at the head of it.”
“Sir?”
“XX Corps is already in Nashville, or most of the part that matters anyway, and A.J. Smith’s men ought to disembark from their river transports in Louisville tomorrow. From there, they go straight to the train station and roll down here. We’ll send that mean-spirited mick Sweeney to work under Smith, and reconstitute the XVI Corps. Sturgis will soon depart from Memphis with Grierson’s cavalry and some others. In a matter of days, you’ll have three infantry and one cavalry corps under you.”
McPherson stood in silent wonder. He had known about all the different pieces, of course, but he never imagined they could be brought together so quickly. Or that they were being brought together in the first place.
“Of course, Smith and Hooker have the same problem you do, only worse: they left behind equipment to speed their journey. I have all the cannon I need to re-arm them right here in Nashville, but we still need wagons, horses, mules, and all manner of accoutrements. It will be weeks before we’re ready to move out. But we will have all the manpower in just a few days. And that reminds me, I’ll be accompanying you. Thomas can see to Hardee on his own.”
McPherson replied flatly “Yessir. I understand.”
Tapping his foot, Sherman said “No, you don’t, Mac. You don’t. My decision is no reflection on you. Not in the slightest bit. It’s just that Joe Hooker ranks you by a year, so if I’m not here, he assumes command by default. Technically, Hooker’s XX Corps answers to me, to get around that problem. De facto, it’s part of your army. Also, it deflects some of that political lightening you spoke of before. Just keep in mind Grant’s doing the same thing with Meade and his Army of the Potomac back east.”
“Ah.”
Still tapping, Sherman gesticulated off to the southeast. “I would have preferred one of the other Cumberland army corps, but Thomas wanted to keep them. Can’t say I blame him. Remember how we felt when they broke off bits of our army after Vicksburg, piddling away detachments for this and that foolishness?”
“Yes, I do. Contemptible misuse of a damn fine army.”
“That is was, that it was. Now, I have some other news for you. While you were fighting Jackson at Lawrenceburg, Grant met Bobby Lee in the Wilderness. Sorry to say, he got licked.”
McPherson frowned, but said nothing, so Sherman continued.
“Yes, but do you know what Grant went out and did? Got word of it just
this morning. He picked up and took off, trying to get ‘round Lee’s flank. You know Grant, always moving on.”
McPherson brightened. Chuckling, he said “Yes, that sounds just like our man.”
“Indeed. Now, you see about getting the rest of your boys into the Nashville lines, then come see me. There’s work aplenty to go around.”
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Keen students of history understand that while human events might be fluid, the direction those events take are limited to only a handful of potential options, in much the same way that topography dictates where and how a river might change its course. Geography, material resources, opposition, past choices, personalities, weather, and other factors often too numerous to count combine to ensure that while people have choices, as a practical matter they never have many of them.
Stonewall Goes West was likewise guided and constrained by the very real circumstances of the Civil War. To cite just a few: Leonidas Polk really did propose mounting a raid into Middle Tennessee; Joseph E. Johnston suggested changing his base and invading West Tennessee; John Bell Hood crossed the Tennessee River and invaded Middle Tennessee in November 1864. These things and much, much more shaped this story and informed its sense of realism.
Keeping these constraints in mind, the most challenging feat of all was crafting a major, fictitious Civil War battle in a place where no such thing ever took place. Putting together the Second Battle of Kettle Run was one thing, since it closely adhered to the very real events of the Bristoe Campaign and took place in a region that hosted part of several major Virginia campaigns, so the area’s features were thoroughly documented.
The Battle of Lawrenceburg was a different matter entirely. The physical details for the Battle of Lawrenceburg were composed using historical records, period maps, and a thorough exploration of the town and its environs made in 2007. Wherever possible, authentic names were used to describe landmarks and topographical features. Time and modern development can markedly change a landscape, however, and no amount of research could ever describe the Lawrence County of May 1864 in perfect detail. The gaps were filled by imagination, and those gaps weren’t small. If at some point in the future, someone shows me a distant ancestor’s letter describing a farmstead where some important part of the story took place, all I can say is that I tried to find that letter, having it would have made my task a little easier, and ultimately Stonewall Goes West is a work of fiction.
Coming Spring 2014
MOTHER EARTH,
BLOODY GROUND
Part Two of the Trilogy
Stonewall Jackson continues the struggle for Middle Tennessee against
William T.Sherman
Stonewall Goes West: A Novel of The Civil War and What Might Have Been (Stonewall Goes West Trilogy) Page 27