Freedom (Gone For Soldiers)

by Jeffry S. Hepple

  Robert chuckled, tried the coffee and shuddered at the taste.

  “The bright side is that we’re not likely to be attacked while that detail’s out there,” Atkins said. “I can let my troops get a little extra sleep until they finish.”

  “Those troops of yours who aren’t already awake and frightened by the haunting?”

  Atkins chuckled and squinted into the darkness. “The Rebs should finish soon. They’ve already been at it for over an hour.”

  “Really? They must have a lot of dead to bury.”

  “More than I could count. They weren’t prepared for our Spenser rifles and we had the setting sun at our backs. We only lost two men.” He tasted his coffee, made a face and poured the rest of the cup onto the fire. “It was like murder. I suppose that why the idea of a haunting gained some credence.”

  Robert sipped his coffee. “This really isn’t that bad.”

  “Spoken like a true career soldier.”

  Robert smiled. “You know the Confederates could be digging rifle pits instead of graves over there.”

  “Oh Lord, I hope you’re wrong,” Atkins said, once again looking toward the enemy. “Those are Hood’s boys. He’s going to be coming for revenge this morning. I was hoping that would make him careless.”

  “He’s an experienced field commander, but known to be a little reckless.”

  Atkins turned back toward Robert. “Isn’t your brother with him, sir?”

  “He was. He went missing at Gettysburg.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

  Robert squinted toward the enemy. “I haven’t given up hope.” The sky was turning gray and reflecting enough light to make the Confederate burial detail’s white flags clearly visible. “Looks like they’re about finished.”

  “Yes, sir. Guess I should get my troops up.”

  “Yes you should. And quickly.” He pointed. “Look at the tree line. The enemy’s massing for an attack.”

  The regimental sergeant major, who had been standing silently by the fire, began barking orders.

  Atkins now had a pair of binoculars. “There’s a heavy column that’s moving to our left toward General McCook. Messenger?”

  “Sir?”

  “My compliments to General McCook. Inform him that the enemy is crossing from my left, moving to attack his flank in a column of companies doubled on the center.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Fetch my horse and General Van Buskirk’s,” Atkins shouted to an aide. He glanced at Robert. “General Van Buskirk, if I’m attacked my orders are to withdraw and join with General Wilder’s brigade. I’ll muster a detail to escort you to the rear.”

  “Do what you have to do and forget about me,” Robert said. “I’m just a tourist.”

  ~

  At the outbreak of the Civil War, John T. Wilder had enlisted in the United States Army as a private and was elected captain by his peers. He quickly rose through the ranks and saw his first combat at the Battle of Shiloh where he distinguished himself. Appointed as a brigade commander, he had obtained a personal bank loan to purchase Spenser Repeating rifles for his troops and he had trained them to become a quick-reaction force that was nicknamed the “Lightning Brigade”. Now, in the early September dawn, General Wilder was mounted at the head of his formed brigade, watching as the regiment of Colonel Smith Atkins fell in with his troops. “Where is Colonel Atkins?” he shouted.

  “Here, sir.” Atkins appeared from the ground fog and reined in his lathered horse alongside Wilder. “I tried to warn him, but he refused to believe me,” Atkins shouted.

  “Calm down, Colonel,” Wilder said. “You tried to warn who about what?”

  “I tried to warn General McCook that he was about to be flanked,” Atkins said, trying to curb the excitement in his voice. “Hood, of Longstreet’s corps, did a sweep around my lines. I saw it coming and sent a messenger to McCook. He told the messenger that I was full of horseshit.”

  “Let’s deal with the recriminations and excuses later,” Wilder said. “What’s McCook’s situation?”

  “He’s been completely routed. His corps was wiped off the field. His artillerymen cut the traces, left the guns and rode away on the mules toward Chattanooga.”

  Wilder looked toward the sputtering sounds of battle. “All right.” He pointed. “General Thomas is over there on Snodgrass Hill. While Longstreet’s reorganizing and regrouping after his fight with McCook, we’ll charge, recapture the abandoned guns, break through his lines, and join Thomas. Our combined force…” He stopped at the sound of a commotion behind him. “What the devil?”

  “General Wilder,” an aide shouted. “There’s a civilian here who claims to be the Assistant Secretary of War. He insists upon seeing you.”

  Wilder gave Atkins a quizzical look.

  “Charles A. Dana,” Atkins said with a nod. “I saw him yesterday with General Rosecrans at the Widow Glenn’s house.”

  “Bring the Assistant Secretary forward,” Wilder called back. He turned in the saddle and watched as the former journalist rode into the circle of officers.

  “The battle is lost,” Dana shouted. “You must withdraw immediately to Chattanooga by the Dry Valley road.”

  “I disagree, sir,” Wilder replied. “The battle is not lost. I intend to join General Thomas on Snodgrass Hill and…”

  “I am giving you an order, General,” Dana interrupted.

  Wilder looked toward the enemy, then back at Dana. “I’m not convinced that you have the authority to order me off the field, sir.”

  “You will be convinced when you are a private soldier,” Dana shot back. “I am the Assistant Secretary of War.”

  “I know who you are, sir,” Wilder said. “But…”

  “Wait,” Atkins said, raising his hand. He turned toward his sergeant major. “Where’s General Van Buskirk?”

  “I’ll fetch him, sir.” The sergeant major pulled his horse from the group and gave him a kick.

  “I outrank Van Buskirk,” Dana argued. “He’s just a major general. I’m the Assistant Secretary of War. Besides, Van Buskirk has been masquerading as a representative of the General-In-Chief and will be brought up on charges.”

  “We’ll wait for General Van Buskirk,” Wilder said emphatically.

  “Too bad Longstreet won’t wait,” Atkins grumbled. “Our opportunity to break through is closing rapidly.”

  “Sending for General Van Buskirk was your idea, Colonel,” Wilder said a little heatedly.

  Atkins shrugged. “Sorry, sir. I’m just expressing my concerns in hope that the Assistant Secretary of War will reconsider.”

  “I’ll do nothing of the kind,” Dana said. “Let me state my order once more for the record. You, General Wilder, will withdraw immediately to Chattanooga, with all troops under your command, via the Dry Valley road.”

  “You’ll do no such thing, General,” Robert Van Buskirk said as he rode up. “Please form a detail, with a junior officer in charge, to escort the Assistant Secretary of War to Chattanooga.”

  “You have no authority over me,” Dana sputtered.

  “That’s true,” Robert said. “You can stay or go as you please. But I say that you have no authority on a battlefield and that General Wilder has no choice but to obey my orders.” He looked at Wilder. “The escort detail, please.”

  “See to it, Lieutenant,” Wilder snapped to an aide. “Take the Assistant Secretary to the rear and gather a detail of cavalrymen to escort him to Chattanooga.”

  “You’ll be court-martialed for this, Van Buskirk,” Dana blustered. “I already have a signed statement from General Rosecrans stating that you told him that…”

  “Shut up, Charlie.” Robert locked him in a baleful stare. “Go with this officer now or I’ll have you arrested and put into irons.”

  For a moment, Dana looked as if he might argue, but then he turned his horse toward the rear.

  “Thank you,” Wilder said to Robert.

  Robert shook his head
, then gestured toward the burgeoning enemy lines. “From the look of it, we’re too late. Dana’s interference managed to squander your opportunity. Longstreet’s amassed at least two divisions between you and Thomas. You’re outnumbered four to one.”

  “We can still recover McCook’s guns,” Atkins urged. “That is, I can, sir. Let me do it.”

  Wilder was watching Longstreet’s line. “I hate to leave the field without so much as firing a shot.”

  “If you do decide to retire,” Robert said, “you might want to gather up our hospitals at Crawfish Spring on the way. They’ll be unprotected.”

  Wilder sighed. “Colonel Atkins, what do you need to recover the guns?”

  “My regiment can do it alone, sir,” Atkins said.

  “Very well. We’ll be marching toward Crawfish Spring. We should be easy to catch.” He looked at Robert. “Are you coming with us or going with Atkins, sir?”

  “Neither,” Robert replied. “I’m going to ride around Longstreet to join Thomas at Snodgrass Hill.”

  ~

  General James Negley was deploying artillery on Horseshoe Ridge when General Robert Van Buskirk rode up and dismounted. “To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure, sir?” Negley asked with a perfunctory salute.

  Robert stepped close to Negley and gestured toward the cannons. “I was on my way to see General Thomas at Kelly’s field and noticed that your guns are facing south,” he whispered.

  Negley blinked. “Yes?”

  “The enemy is coming from the northwest.”

  Negley’s face turned red. “Of course. I just arrived myself and didn’t notice. I’ll have my artillery officer adjust them immediately.”

  “Good.” Robert mounted his horse. “Top of the morning to you, General.”

  “And to you, sir. Thank you. I’ll be joining you as soon as I get this embarrassing situation resolved.”

  “No harm done,” Robert said. “I doubt that anyone else noticed.” He rode along the ridge toward Thomas’s headquarters at Snodgrass House through groups of retreating Union troops who were felling trees and erecting breastworks. Behind him, he could see the guidon of the 82nd Indiana. Colonel Morton Hunter at the front of the column threw him a salute and a wave. Robert took off his hat and waved back.

  As Robert arrived at Snodgrass House, Thomas was deploying the 21st Ohio, part of Negley’s division, toward the right flank. Armed with five-shot Colt revolving rifles, the 21st could lay down a withering barrage. Robert waited until the unit had moved out, then dismounted and led his horse toward Thomas. “Nice morning for a war, Tom.”

  Thomas grinned and saluted Robert. “I’ve been expecting you, General.”

  Robert shook his hand. “Cump told me to look you up.”

  “Did he, now? How’s he doing?”

  “Seems fine to me, but I never thought he was any crazier than the rest of us.” Robert gestured toward all the activity. “Looks like you’re unofficially in command of the Army of the Cumberland.”

  “I’ve heard nothing from Rosecrans. Have you?”

  Robert shook his head. “I saw him yesterday for a short time. He’s withdrawing his headquarters to Chattanooga. I don’t plan on seeing him again.”

  “What’s the situation on the left?”

  “It’s mostly crumbled. There was a mix-up of some kind that opened a hole in the line. Longstreet exploited it, and rolled up both exposed flanks. There’re some escape routes open, though. Anyone that can get around Longstreet should be coming your way. I was with Atkins and Wilder early this morning so I’m unclear about exactly who you might expect.”

  “Then I suppose we’ll just sit here until ordered to do otherwise.”

  Robert nodded. “I’m just here to observe. I’ll try to stay out of your way.”

  “When this is over…”

  “Grant will send Sherman. Don’t worry.”

  ~

  At 1:00 PM, the Confederate brigades of Humphreys and Kershaw struck the Union right flank. In defense of their position, the 535-man 21st Ohio Regiment expended nearly forty-four thousand rounds before the Rebels withdrew.

  By afternoon, General Gordon Granger, in command of the Reserve Corps, had grown tired of waiting for orders from Rosecrans and began a march toward the sound of battle. Two of his brigades, under command of James B. Steedman, reached the Union position just as Confederate Bushrod Johnson’s division was advancing against the western end of Horseshoe Ridge. Faced with the reinforcements, Johnson withdrew to regroup. He was soon reinforced by three brigades from Hindman’s division but a new assault by Johnson was spoiled by the arrival of Union General Ferdinand Van Derveer’s brigade from the Kelly Field.

  ~

  General James Longstreet was enjoying a lunch of Nassau bacon and Georgia sweet potatoes with his staff when a summons from Bragg arrived. Longstreet folded the message and put it in his pocket. “We’re not accustomed to potatoes of any kind in Virginia,” he said. “This is quite a luxury.”

  “They are very dry,” Johnny Van Buskirk said. “As is my canteen.”

  Longstreet nodded. “After our meeting with the commander we’ll send a detail to the river for water. Can’t make coffee without water.”

  A shell from a Union gun burst in the nearby trees sending fragments ripping through the camp. A mounted courier had the book he was reading struck from his hands and a moment later Colonel P. T. Manning, Longstreet’s chief of ordnance, fell to the ground, clutching at his throat.

  Johnny was the first to reach Manning. “I don’t see any wounds.”

  Manning’s face was turning blue and he was clawing at his throat.

  “I think he might have inhaled a bit of sweet potato,” Longstreet suggested.

  Johnny pried open Manning’s mouth and dragged a glob of orange mass from the Colonel’s throat with his fingers.

  Manning pushed Johnny’s hand away, drew a wheezing breath and coughed. “Thank you,” he gasped. “Thought I was a goner.”

  “Our leader awaits,” Longstreet said, signaling for his horse.

  ~

  Confederate General Braxton Bragg was very upset. “No, General Longstreet. Your request for reinforcements from General Polk’s corps is denied. There is not a man in the right wing who has any fight in him. This battle is nearly lost.”

  Longstreet was stunned. “With all due respect, sir, we’ve had a great deal of success on the southern end of the battlefield.”

  “Your success is driving the enemy to Chattanooga. All opportunity to destroy the Army of the Cumberland has been squandered.”

  Longstreet took a moment before he answered. “What are your orders, General?”

  “Continue to press the enemy, of course.”

  “Very well, sir. Will that be all?”

  “Yes, yes. You’re dismissed.

  At about 4:30 PM, Longstreet sent Preston’s division to attack Horseshoe Ridge. Preston, like all others before him, was repulsed. Longstreet’s report stated that twenty-five unsuccessful assaults had been attempted on Snodgrass Hill that day.

  As the sun set, Thomas received orders from Rosecrans to take command of the army and to undertake a general retreat. Bragg believed that he lacked the resources to mount an effective pursuit so he permitted the Union army to slip away, unmolested.

  It was a costly day for both sides. The butcher’s bill was roughly equal with Union losses of 16,170 and Confederate losses of 18,454.

  September 20, 1863

  Johnson’s Island, Danbury, Ohio

  The guard shoved the prisoner into the cell and slammed the door closed.

  “Don’t say my name,” the prisoner said to the two occupants of the three-man cell.

  Confederate Generals Isaac Trimble and James Archer were both staring at the raggedy man.

  “I had the Yankees at Fort Delaware completely in the dark until some fool private saluted me and called me General,” the prisoner said. “I don’t know why they transferred me here. Maybe they think you’ll te
ll them my name.”

  “They don’t need us to tell them your name, Tom,” Trimble replied.

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re the only Confederate general officer still missing in action from Gettysburg,” Archer said. “Now that they know you’re a general, even the Yankees are smart enough to figure out exactly who you are.”

  Thomas Van Buskirk looked confused.

  “Your brother’s on the Union MIA list, Tom,” Trimble said. “Sorry.”

  “Presumed dead,” Archer added.

  “Which brother?” Tom asked.

  “Jack,” the two men said together.

  Thomas Van Buskirk sat down on the vacant cot. “Shit.” He put his head in his hands. “Not Jack. Jack was the best soldier of us all.”

  “Well, you’ve been MIA for almost three months and here you are,” Archer said.

  Trimble nodded. “Jack’s as stubborn as you. He could be in a Confederate prison somewhere.”

  September 29, 1863

  Lookout Mountain, Tennessee

  Confederate General D.H. Hill, accompanied by two aides and a small cavalry detachment, rode into General James Longstreet’s camp and dismounted.

  General Johnny Van Buskirk crossed from the headquarters tent to greet him. “Good morning, General Hill.”

  Hill touched his hat brim. “Is General Longstreet available?”

  “Not at the moment,” Johnny replied. “He’s been notified that you’re here and he should be with us shortly. Would you care to wait in his tent?” He pointed.

  “Fine,” Hill replied. He turned to his aides. “I’ll be meeting alone with General Longstreet.”

  Johnny led Hill into the tent and pointed to a chair. “Please have a seat. Would you like coffee while you wait?”

  “No thank you.” Hill sat down and removed his gloves. “Is General Longstreet aware that General Polk has been put under charges for failing to open the battle of the 20th at dawn?”

  Johnny nodded. “Yes.”