On the afternoon of the 20th, Kilpatrick struck Lovejoy’s Station on the Macon and Western Railroad but he was chased away by Confederate General Cleburne’s Division after a long and bloody fight.
August 21, 1864
Summit Point, West Virginia
On July 30th, the cavalry and guerrilla forces of Confederate General Jubal Early attacked and burned the city of Chambersburg, Pennsylvania and proceeded to systematically attack the B and O Railroad. Alarmed that Early could pose a threat to Washington, Stanton and Halleck instructed Grant to take immediate action. Grant responded by unleashing the cavalry of General Phillip Sheridan.
On August 7th, General Paul Van Buskirk’s cavalry brigade caught and soundly defeated the cavalry of Confederate General John McCausland and John Hanson McNeill’s Confederate Partisans in Moorefield, West Virginia. During the battle, Van Buskirk captured thirty-eight Confederate officers and three hundred seventy-seven enlisted men while killing or wounding about eighty.
When Robert E. Lee learned of the defeat, he dispatched units of Richard Anderson’s corps and the cavalry division of Fitzhugh Lee from Petersburg to reinforce Early. On the morning of August 16th, when the Confederate column was crossing the Shenandoah River, Paul Van Buskirk’s brigade attacked and captured three hundred prisoners before Fitz Lee came up to drive them toward Charles Town, West Virginia, where Sheridan was camped.
On the 21st, the combined forces of Confederates Early, Anderson and Fitzhugh Lee fell upon Sheridan. Badly outnumbered, Sheridan began a very effective delaying action toward Halltown that became too costly for the Confederates to continue.
Frustrated, Robert E. Lee reduced his forces at Petersburg again and sent more troops to the Shenandoah Valley.
September 1, 1864
Jonesboro, Georgia
Sherman rubbed his hands together gleefully. “We’ve almost got him, Professor.”
“Possibly. Very possibly.” Robert Van Buskirk was studying a map. “Davis’s right is joined with Howard and his left’s anchored on the railroad.” He looked at Sherman. “Send Davis at Govan’s position and, if he can carry it, Atlanta’s yours.”
“Agreed.” Sherman scratched out the order and gave it to a runner. “We can probably watch Davis from the ridge, if you don’t mind ducking cannon balls.”
Robert rolled up the map. “Can we ride up or do we have to walk?”
“We can ride.” He stepped outside his tent and signaled for their horses. “Stanley and Schofield are following the railroad toward the city. They might break through first.”
Robert nodded. “This could be the day we’ve been waiting for.”
They mounted their horses and rode up the hill to the crest where they could look down at Confederate General Daniel Govan’s fortifications. Facing Govan, across a fallow cotton field, Union General Davis was mustering his troops in response to Sherman’s newest order.
“If Davis is successful, I’ll have Howard send Blair around the right to get below Jonesboro and cut off any lines of retreat,” Sherman said.
“There’s a chance that we could capture Hardee’s entire corps if Stanley moves quickly enough,” Robert replied.
Sherman nodded.
As the sound of a bugle reached them, both men fell silent.
Below, Davis’s troops stepped out smartly at quick time, then about half way across the cotton field they increased the pace to double time.
Sherman flinched as the first Confederate cannonade ripped through flesh and bone. “Come on boys. Give it to ‘em.”
The Union infantry was now running. The fastest men hit the Confederate parapets and engaged the defenders hand-to-hand. Moments later the bulk of Davis’s men reached the parapet and went over the top like a wave.
“That’s it,” Sherman said, excitedly. “Captain Audenried? General Stanley must hurry to come around on the east of Jonesboro with the intention of capturing or destroying Hardee’s corps. Understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
Sherman looked for a courier and waved him over. “My compliments to General Howard. Blair is to immediately go around the right to cut off any lines of retreat for Govan’s forces. Got that?”
“Yes, sir.”
September 1, 1864
Atlanta, Georgia
It was nearly dark when General Quincy Van Buskirk climbed the stairs to the belfry of the First Baptist Church. “What are they doing, Captain?”
The officer turned to look at him. “I’m almost afraid to say it, sir, but it looks like they’re setting charges and incendiaries in all those warehouses.” He handed Quincy his binoculars. “I think Hood’s getting ready to abandon Atlanta.”
Quincy raised the glasses and focused on the row of buildings. “I don’t know if we should just let him burn down the city or try to stop him.”
“I think it’s too late to stop him, sir. They dumped lamp oil or paraffin on all the loading docks. One spark and that whole street will go up in flames.”
“We’d better get down if that’s true. Every building around here’s built of wood. I don’t want to get caught up here with no place to go.”
“I’m more than ready to get down, sir.”
September 2, 1864
Jonesboro, Georgia
General Sherman came out of his tent wearing boots and a nightshirt to find Robert Van Buskirk standing near the dying embers of a campfire. “What time is it, Professor?”
“A little past midnight,” Robert said. “Do you hear that?”
“Yeah. Is it guns?”
Robert shook his head. “No. I think they’re explosions.”
Sherman looked at him. “Hood destroying his excess supplies and pulling out?”
Robert pointed toward a red glow that was spreading across the horizon. “Yes. And the crazy old coot must be burning the whole city behind him.”
“Lord.” Sherman looked for an aide. “Any reports from anyone about this?”
“No, sir. Nothing.”
“Could it be Slocum or Quincy engaging Hood?” Sherman asked Robert.
“It doesn’t sound like a battle to me. And the fire must…” He stopped talking as the sky flashed and then several seconds later the sound of a thunderous explosion rolled toward them. “An ammunition dump?”
“A railcar of munitions.”
“Lord. I hope Slocum and Quincy are well away from Atlanta right now.”
September 2, 1864
Lovejoy’s Station, Georgia
Robert Van Buskirk walked from the officer’s mess tent toward a small group of trees where Quincy was seated alone, on the ground, eating from a tin plate. “Feeling unsociable?”
Quincy looked up at him and shrugged.
Struggling with his stiff knee, Robert managed to sit down next to his nephew. “When did you get back?”
“A few minutes ago.”
“I was worried about you.”
“Why?”
“Your division came back last night without you.”
“Hood moved the Union prisoners of war when he started torching the warehouses. I took some volunteers with me to look for them. General Caudal should have told you that.”
“He did. That didn’t stop me from worrying.”
“The mayor of Atlanta and a committee of leading citizens surrendered the city to one of Slocum’s aides this morning. They’re petitioning Sherman for protection of non-combatants and private property. Somehow they seem to think that the fire was our fault, not Hood’s.”
“Don’t change the subject.”
“I wasn’t aware that there was a subject.”
“Leaving your division to go off on an adventure was irresponsible. That’s exactly the kind of thing that our ancestor John Van Buskirk did during the Revolution. That kind of brash behavior is the reason that he’s not a prominent figure in American history.”
“I don’t care about American history, our family’s history or old and long-dead John Van Buskirk’s flaws,” Quincy replied an
grily. “I have enough dead people whispering in my ears without worrying about him.”
“You’d better worry about a living general named Sherman,” Robert said, a bit angrily. “He’s not going to be happy when he hears about your escapade.”
“I don’t care about him either. Or you, for that matter. I’m not here for you or for Sherman; I’m here for me. I’m here to do what I think I must do. You can both go to the devil.”
Robert watched him for a moment, then struggled to his feet and limped back toward the main bivouac area.
~
“The boy’s just suffered through a terrible wound, the death of his wife and his mother,” Sherman said.
“That doesn’t excuse irresponsibility,” Robert grumbled. “He’s a major general and a division commander. As such he has no business leading a commando raid.”
“A what raid?”
“Commando. It’s an Afrikaans word for small, clandestine military units that creep into native villages at night.”
“You wouldn’t be in this distemper if he’d freed the prisoners.”
“What?”
“If Quincy’s commando raid had been successful, you wouldn’t be annoyed. It’s his failure that bothers you.”
“That’s not true,” Robert fumed.
“Well,” Sherman said, “I’m not going to let your foul mood keep me from savoring this victory.”
“Nor should you,” Robert replied. “Have you written to Grant or the President yet?”
“No. I’m trying to think of something eloquent to say.”
“I suggest short and to the point,” Robert said. “Too eloquent runs the risk of sounding like a boast.”
September 3, 1864
Washington, D.C.
“Atlanta is ours, and fairly won.” Lincoln looked up from the telegram at John Nicolay and John Hay. “Short and to the point.”
“It’s a great day, sir,” Nicolay said. “This is exactly the kind of news we needed to invigorate your reelection campaign.”
“I wish Anna was here to share it,” Hay said.
“So do I. And didn’t I tell you that I don’t want to talk or even think about the election?” Lincoln grumbled.
September 7, 1864
Atlanta, Georgia
Robert Van Buskirk leaned out of the railcar window to shake hands with Sherman, who was mounted on his horse. “Stay out of trouble.”
“Safe trip,” Sherman said with a grin. “Tell Grant he’d better hurry or I’ll be in Richmond before he is.”
“I will.” Robert looked over Sherman’s head at the other mounted officers and men around the railroad station. “Tell Quincy… I don’t know. Tell him I’m sorry, I guess.”
“I’ll tell him.”
The train jolted violently as the engine pulled forward and all the slack in the couplers was taken up. Robert steadied himself, waved, then closed the window and sat down. “I apologize,” he said to the young woman who was seated across from him. “I didn’t realize that anyone else was sitting here.”
“I was sitting on the other side but moved across while you were talking to General Sherman. My name is Elizabeth Murray. My family and close friends call me Betty. I’m a relative of yours, more or less, but not close enough to be on a family nickname basis.”
“A relative? Of mine?”
“Yes. Urilla Murray Van Buskirk is my cousin.”
“I wouldn’t say that too loudly,” Robert said. “There’s a substantial price on Urilla’s head.”
“I know. That and my own politics have caused me some difficulty.”
The train lurched again and began to pick up speed.
“Do you live here in Atlanta?” Robert asked.
“No. I live in Richmond but I’m going to Washington to rejoin my theatrical company.”
“You’re an actress?”
“Yes. My company was here doing Othello when the siege began. I was arrested on suspicion of being a spy for the Union.”
“Were you imprisoned?”
“Not in the literal sense of the word. James Etheldred Williams, the owner of the Atheneum Theater and a member of the City Council, spoke up on my behalf. I was therefore detained in a comfortable dressing room in his theater. It was called house arrest.”
Robert nodded.
“The Atheneum Theater was on the upper floor of a large warehouse on Decatur Street,” she continued. “General Hood’s soldiers set me free before they put it to the torch.”
“That must have been frightening.”
“To say the least.”
“What part do you play in Othello?” Robert asked after an uncomfortable silence.
“Desdemona.” She smiled. “I know. I’m too old. But makeup can work miracles.”
“You don’t look too old to me.” He blushed. “I mean…”
“Thank you. I’m almost thirty, but I’m fortunate that my figure can still pass for a younger woman’s. A bit full, perhaps, but not too. Not across my hips, at any rate. That’s the important measurement when a mature woman is trying to appear girlish.”
Robert’s face was very red.
“Can you tell me what I’ve said that’s embarrassed you so, General?” she asked.
“Uhh.”
“Are you not a married man?”
“Yes,” he said. “That is, I was married. My wife died recently.”
“Ah, that explains it.”
“Explains what?”
“Why you were embarrassed with discussing my figure.”
“I wasn’t discussing – anything of the sort.”
“Is it my dress, perhaps?”
“What?”
“It’s an evening dress. Too formal and perhaps a bit too scant for traveling, but my clothing all burned with Atlanta, you see, and this was the only dress I could find in the entire city.”
“Yes, I see.”
“Bare shoulders are the accepted fashion in the South, but I think it may be considered risqué in the North.”
“I couldn’t really say.”
“Will you be staying in Washington?”
“No, no. I’ll be with the army.”
“Too bad. I should have enjoyed your company.”
“If you’ll excuse me. I must have a word with the conductor.”
September 12, 1864
Martinsburg, West Virginia
One of Fitzhugh Lee’s aides rode into the bivouac area and saluted Lee. “Sir, there’s a civilian at the picket line asking to see you. He told the pickets that he used to be General Van Buskirk.”
“Johnny Van Buskirk?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Did you see him?”
“No, sir. The sergeant of the guard told me.”
“Could you recognize Johnny Van Buskirk if it is him?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Go see. And if it is him, escort him through the pickets, Lieutenant.”
“Yes, sir.”
A few minutes later the aide returned, followed by Johnny Van Buskirk who was mounted on a small bay mare.
Fitz Lee walked closer to him. “Well, well. Johnny Reb. You look better than the last time I saw you.”
“I’ve got a new leg.” Johnny rapped his knuckles on his knee. “I can ride reasonably well, but I haven’t quite mastered mounting and dismounting yet. Could you give me a hand?”
“Sure thing. What do I do?”
“When I get my weight on my left leg, just boost my right leg over the horse’s rump. I can do the rest.”
“Okay. Ready?”
“Yup.” Johnny grunted as Lee pushed his right leg over the horse, then he supported himself with his arms, kicked his left foot free of the stirrup and dropped to the ground. “Thank you.”
Fitz Lee walked around the horse and shook Johnny’s hand. “Have you talked to Richmond again?”
“No. I’ve been in New York getting my shoulder fixed and learning how to use my new leg.”
Fitz Lee led him back to the
campfire. “I’ll bet they’ll give you your commission back now.”
“I don’t want it back. Not yet, anyway.”
“Really?” Fitz Lee sat down and gestured to the chair beside his.
“I want to join you as an irregular.” Johnny sat down and released a catch on his prosthetic leg that permitted it to bend at the knee.
“We don’t have any partisans with us anymore.”
“But they’re still authorized.”
Fitz Lee shrugged. “I suppose.”
“It doesn’t have to be official. You don’t have to pay me.”
“Okay,” Fitz Lee said after a moment. “But for now, until you can mount and dismount on your own, during battles you stay in the rear with the luggage.”
Johnny nodded. “Fair enough.”
“There is one other thing.”
“What?”
“We’re opposing Sheridan’s cavalry and Pea’s one of Sheridan’s brigade commanders. He’s been giving us lots of trouble.”
“Who? Sheridan or Pea?”
“Pea. He’s captured damn near a thousand of our men.”
“Really? With only one brigade?”
“He’s been smart and lucky. He’s also become the most hated man in the Shenandoah Valley. Can you deal with that?”
Johnny shrugged. “You were there the day he went north and I went south. Nothing’s changed since then.”
“Okay. I just wanted to be sure.”
“How long will we be here in Martinsburg?”
“Until General Early decides that we’ve done enough damage to the B and O Railroad.”
“Well.” Johnny yawned. “Guess I better go find a spot to set up camp and get some sleep.”
“Don’t be silly. There’s room in my tent for you.”
“Are you sure?”
“I put up with your snoring for five long years at West Point, didn’t I?” He waved his hand at an aide. “Have someone get Mr. Van Buskirk’s things off his horse and have them put in my tent. Then have his horse fed and groomed.”
Freedom (Gone For Soldiers) Page 31