“You couldn’t be more wrong. Robert will do whatever it takes to protect his country or his family.”
Thomas took a moment to absorb that. “Are you two going to get in any trouble for this?”
“Not unless someone is diligent enough to discover all the forged documents I’ve created.”
“What if they do?”
“Then I’ll go to England or France and wait out the war. Robert can take care of himself.”
“I can’t ask you to do this, Anna.”
“You’re not asking and it’s too late to stop us now.” She walked to the door and banged on it with her palm. “Guard.”
October 19, 1863
Galt House
Louisville, Kentucky
On the 17th, Ulysses Grant had been summoned by telegram to Louisville where he was to meet an “officer of the War Department who would give him instructions.” Grant immediately left Cairo by train for Louisville via Indianapolis.
As Grant’s train was leaving the station at Indianapolis, a messenger arrived, stopping the train and ordering it to wait for Secretary of War Edwin Stanton. When Stanton arrived, he dismissed his private train and rode with Grant to Louisville.
This morning, Stanton was ensconced in a suite at Galt House with a dreary view of the foggy Ohio River. He stood up from the writing desk as Grant was shown in. “Good morning, General. Did you sleep well?”
“Fine, thank you, sir,” Grant said. “And yourself?”
“I seem to have caught a cold which troubled me some. I suspect that it was the foul weather we encountered last night when we debarked the train.” He picked up a folio from the desk and gestured toward the sitting area. “Tea or coffee?”
“Coffee please.” Grant levered his way on his crutches to an armchair and waited for Stanton to sit before sitting down himself.
“Tea for me,” Stanton said to the hovering waiter. He waited until both cups had been filled. “If you’ll leave the coffee and tea pots on the buffet we’ll serve ourselves.”
The waiter did as Stanton requested and left the room, closing the door behind him.
“I’ve received a wire from Mr. Charles Dana in Chattanooga,” Stanton said. He saw the reaction on Grant’s face and raised his hand in a calming gesture. “No, no. This isn’t about General Van Buskirk again. In this wire Mr. Dana warns us that General Rosecrans intends to retreat from Chattanooga and he’s requesting preemptory orders to prevent that.”
Grant sipped his coffee without comment.
Stanton sat back. “Perhaps we should dispense with the matter of Mr. Dana’s request to have General Van Buskirk relieved, before we discuss how to handle Rosecrans’s intended retreat.”
“As you wish, sir.”
“Mr. Dana is valuable to me and I must do all that I can reasonably do to placate him in this, if possible. Having said that, I’m very much aware of your friendship with General Van Buskirk.”
“It isn’t a matter of my friendship, sir. Robert Van Buskirk is one of the finest minds in the Union army. And, if I may say so, he was absolutely correct in countermanding Mr. Dana’s order to retreat from the battle at Chickamauga and in using any method at all to get Rosecrans under control.”
“Yes, yes. I quite agree. I’ve handled it for now by granting General Van Buskirk a thirty-day leave of absence, which he didn’t want but clearly needed. Within those thirty days I’ll meet with Mr. Dana in person and I’ll try my best to talk some sense into him.”
“If he presses the issue?”
Stanton shrugged. “If it comes to it, Dana goes and Van Buskirk stays.”
“Thank you.”
“Now. About Rosecrans. Do you still advocate an attack on Mobile to draw Bragg away from Chattanooga?”
“No, sir. It’s too late for that now. We’ll have to reinforce Rosecrans from all available sources. General Sherman is already on his way.”
“Where is Sherman, exactly?”
“The last I heard was Corinth. I should have heard from him since, but there seems to be a hitch in our lines of communication.”
Stanton produced two documents from the folio and put them on the coffee table, facing Grant. “Both these orders create the new Military Division of Mississippi, and give you command. This new division includes the Departments of the Ohio, the Cumberland, the Tennessee, and all the territory from the Alleghenies to the Mississippi River.” He placed his hand on the order on Grant’s left. “This version of the order leaves all the department commanders as they are.” He touched the other order. “This version relieves General Rosecrans and assigns General Thomas in his place. Which do you choose?”
Grant selected the copy on his right that replaced Rosecrans. “I’ll write an order assuming command of the Military Division of the Mississippi, and telegraph it to General Rosecrans. I’ll next inform Thomas that he’s to replace Rosecrans and order him to hold Chattanooga at all cost. Then I’ll telegraph Rosecrans and tell him that he’s been replaced by Thomas.”
Stanton nodded. “Please do that now. We can reconvene our meeting when that’s been accomplished.”
Grant retrieved his crutches, pulled himself to his feet, left the room and returned twenty minutes later. “Thomas must have been expecting the order. He replied almost immediately.” Grant looked at a scrap of paper. “He says, ‘We will hold the town till we starve.’ I think you’ve made a good choice, sir.”
“In General Thomas? Oh, yes. Well, it was really General Van Buskirk who recommended him. I probably should have consulted with you first, but...”
“No, no, sir. General Van Buskirk convinced me that Thomas was the logical choice. He told me that the Army of the Cumberland would have been destroyed without the valor of General Thomas.”
“How soon can you depart for Nashville?” Stanton asked.
“Tomorrow,” Grant replied. “My staff is making the arrangements now.”
“Is there anything I can do for you?”
Grant hesitated. “If you could communicate to General Van Buskirk that his leave of absence is voluntary and not an order…”
Stanton was shaking his head. “I think that’s a bad idea. I know how valuable he is to you, but the man I saw in Washington was on the verge of total collapse.”
“He’s grieving for his wife and brothers, sir, but he can work through that. I know him very well. He’s a rock. I’ve seen him do impossible things, like climbing a cliff in a raging storm to take out a Mexican gun emplacement, or clinging to a rooftop directing fire…” Grant blushed. “Forgive me, sir, but Robert Van Buskirk is my right arm. I need him. So does Sherman. He can work wounded.”
Stanton hesitated. “Let me think about it, please. I also have this problem with Dana demanding Van Buskirk’s scalp and I need some time to defuse that.”
“Of course, sir. I’m sure you’ll make the right decision.”
October 21, 1863
Washington, D.C.
Anna looked up from the desk in her temporary White House office as John Hay knocked on the open door. “Good morning, John.”
“There’s a U.S. Marshal here to see you, Anna,” Hay said.
She put her pen down. “Where is he?”
“He’s in Nicolay’s office right now. Do you want me to bring him here or would you rather talk to him somewhere else?”
She stifled a yawn. “Here’s as good as anywhere. But you don’t need to bring him. I’ll go get him.”
“No. Stay there,” Hay said. “I’ll get him.”
“Okay.” Anna primped her hair, straightened the stacks of paper on her desk and took a deep breath.
“Mrs. Lagrange?” He was tall and young with a smallpox-ravaged face.
“Yes. Come in.”
“I’m Deputy United States Marshal Malcolm Avery.” He showed her his badge.
“Have a seat, Deputy Avery. What can I do for you?”
The man sat down. “When was the last time you saw your brother William?”
“William? Hmm. Let me
see.” She thought a moment. “It was the Christmas of 1846. A few months before he murdered my husband. Why?”
“Because he escaped from a Federal prisoner of war facility in Ohio a few days ago.”
She shook her head. “No. You must mean my brother Thomas. We got word recently that he was a POW in Ohio. My brother Robert has gotten a leave of absence and he’s planning to go see him. Well – I guess not. Not if Thomas escaped.”
“It was William that escaped, ma’am, not Thomas.”
“No, I’m sorry, it wasn’t William,” Anna insisted. “You’re wrong.”
“Madam, I’m certain,” the deputy said. “He escaped and I intend to catch him.”
“I don’t doubt that someone escaped, Marshal, but whoever it was it wasn’t William. William’s dead. He was killed in 1849 by Captain Josiah Whipple, a Texas Ranger who was my husband’s partner and closest friend.
“Recently captured Confederate documents prove that your brother William was alive and at Gettysburg.”
“As a soldier?” She shook her head. “Impossible. William hated the army. He resigned his commission soon after he graduated from West Point.”
“He wasn’t there as a soldier but in some covert capacity.”
“William was always apolitical.”
“Apparently, according to these documents, the Rebs gave him a pardon for all past crimes in exchange for his service to the Confederacy. That’s a powerful incentive.”
“Maybe, but I still don’t believe any of it.”
“We’re in possession of documents that prove it.”
“Well then, if it really was William in that Ohio prison, where’s my brother Thomas?”
“Missing in action, ma’am.”
“Wait, wait. Thomas, who’s known to have been captured at Gettysburg, isn’t in any Federal prison; William, who’s known to have been dead since 1849, turns up as a POW who was captured at Gettysburg? Do you know how ridiculous all this sounds?”
“Do either of your brothers have any obvious identifying marks?” the deputy asked, ignoring her sarcasm. “Perhaps on their faces?”
“No.” Anna said. “Oh wait. Yes. Thomas has a recently acquired saber scar on his cheek.” She drew a line on her left cheek with her index finger. It was very obvious when I last saw him because his beard hadn’t grown back over it. It may have by now.”
“Well, the prisoner in Ohio had no scar,” the deputy said triumphantly. “The prison authorities shaved off his beard to be certain.”
Anna sat back in her chair. “Dear God. William’s alive?”
“Yes, ma’am. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.”
“What a nightmare. I hope you catch him soon.”
“I will,” the marshal said. “And I’ll catch his accomplices too. You can be certain of that.”
“Well, good luck, Marshal. Let me know if there’s anything I can do.”
October 24, 1863
Chattanooga, Tennessee
Grant and his staff arrived in Bridgeport, Alabama on the 22nd and began the journey to Chattanooga over sixty miles of muddy and nearly impassable roads. Because of his crutches, in places where the mud was too deep, or the road was blocked by wreckage or washed away, Grant had to be carried. To add to the misery, the stench of thousands of starved-to-death mules and horses followed them all along the way.
They arrived at General Thomas’s headquarters in Chattanooga late on the night of the 23rd. Early on the morning of the 24th, Grant was meeting with his classmate from West Point, Baldy Smith, who was currently the army’s Chief Engineer. “The route from Bridgeport is impossible,” Grant said to Smith. “I’ve been told that you have another plan.”
Smith nodded. “Yes, sir. I call it the ‘Cracker Line’ because initially we’ll only be able to transport light materiel like hardtack.”
“Explain it to me.”
Smith unrolled a map. “I can cut the route in half by building a bridge across the Tennessee River, here.” He showed Grant the spot on the map.
“Do we own that place?”
“No, sir. We’ll need to establish a beachhead just west of Chattanooga and another at Brown’s Ferry.”
“How did you plan to take Brown’s Ferry?”
“An amphibious assault combined with an advance from Bridgeport by Slocum and Howard’s troops.”
“How many in their commands?”
“About fifteen thousand.”
“Okay,” Grant said. “Take me through this Cracker Line from Bridgeport to here, step-by-step. Then I want to ride out and look at the bridge site.”
Smith nodded. “We’ll use riverboats between Bridgeport and Kelly’s Ferry. The riverboats may eventually be able to go as far as Brown’s Ferry but right now, after all this rain, the current through the gorge between Raccoon Mountain and Walden’s ridge is too strong.”
“How do we get from Kelly’s Ferry while the river’s this high?”
“We go overland through Cummings Gap in Raccoon Mountain, through the north end of Lookout Valley and across my proposed new bridge at Brown’s Ferry.”
“It sounds good, but I want to take a look before I approve it.”
“You might want to wait until tomorrow. It’s very muddy along the river right now.”
Grant nodded. “Good idea. I’ve seen enough mud for a while.”
Smith rolled up his map. “Assuming we do this, sir, you’re going to have to decide whether we bring food or ammunition. We’re very low on ammunition.”
“We have enough ammunition for a full day of battle. Unless we’re attacked in force and have to use it all, we’ll bring food until there’re no hungry soldiers or citizens in Chattanooga.”
October 28, 1863
Lookout Mountain, Tennessee
General Longstreet reported to General Bragg as ordered and accepted the offered chair.
“Explain to me how the Yankees were able to establish a beachhead so easily last night,” Bragg demanded.
“Baldy Smith launched fifty pontoon boats and two flat boats with about fifteen hundred men against our single line of sharpshooters,” Longstreet replied. “The position was indefensible.”
“How do we get it back?”
“At a very high cost. The enemy’s now entrenched and he has artillery well positioned on the other bank.”
“I’m told that they’ve already built a serviceable bridge across the river.”
“Yes, sir. They started at dawn and, although they’re still working on it, they were using it by noon.”
Bragg looked down at a dispatch on his desk. “On another subject, I’m growing weary of these false alarms from your signal party.”
“False alarms?”
“Yes. For example, this report, which claims that the enemy is advancing from Bridgeport in force with artillery and infantry, is false. What do you have to say about that?”
“I don’t have anything to say, sir. That same signal party has served me for two years without ever once sending me a false alarm. But I’ll investigate.”
Bragg cringed as a Union artillery shell exploded about two hundred feet below their position. “Someone tell Colonel Alexander to drop a few shells over those Yankee gunners.”
As Alexander’s guns opened fire, a messenger burst into the camp, shouting for General Longstreet.
“Here.” Longstreet stood up and waved.
“Sir,” the man said excitedly, “the enemy’s marching from Bridgeport along the base of the mountain. Artillery and infantry.”
“That’s preposterous,” General Bragg snarled. “We were just talking about that. I am sick and tired of these continuous false reports.”
“General,” the soldier replied. “If you’ll ride to a point on the west side of the mountain, I’ll show ‘em to you.”
“Very well,” Bragg said. “Bring me my horse.”
~
“That’s the Eleventh and Twelfth Corps from the Army of the Potomac under Hooker,” Longstre
et said, pointing down at the Union formation that was marching along the base of the mountain. “He’s got about five thousand men, as I recall.”
“I don’t see five thousand men down there,” Bragg said.
“There may be more behind this bunch or there may be some that already went by,” Longstreet replied. “But I’m sure that Hooker’s got right around five thousand men.”
They watched until the troops were out of sight.
“Here come some more.” Longstreet pointed.
Unaware of the enemy scrutiny, the Federal troops halted directly below and began to establish a bivouac.
“This must be the rearguard,” Longstreet said. “Guess we missed the bulk of the main body.”
“How many would you say there are down there?” Bragg asked.
“Fifteen hundred, thereabouts,” Longstreet replied.
“How far ahead do you think the main body is from here?”
“Two, maybe three miles. If I’m right about Hooker’s strength.”
“Let’s take them tonight,” Bragg said. “I’ll send you McLaws’s and Jenkins’s divisions.”
“Very well, sir.” Longstreet nodded.
“The action must be complete to provide sufficient time for the divisions to withdraw to the mountaintop before daylight.”
“I understand, sir.”
~
It was nearly midnight, very dark and Longstreet was getting nervous. “I don’t understand the delay. Jenkins should have launched his attack by now.”
“I’ll ride down there and find out, sir,” Johnny said.
“We’ll both ride down,” Longstreet countered.
The two generals mounted their horses and began the dangerous descent toward Wauhatchie station in Lookout Valley.
“Do we know who the Union commander is?” Johnny asked.
“A brigadier named John Geary. I can’t say that I know much about him.”
“He was the mayor of San Francisco around the time that my uncle was the military governor.”
“Which uncle? Jack?”
“Yes, sir. He, my Uncle Robert and my grandmother were in California during the Gold Rush. They had some exciting stories to tell.”
Freedom (Gone For Soldiers) Page 17