Against All Odds

by Drew McGunn

  The alien accent grated on his ears. It was nothing like the typical drawl of most Texans. “Where ‘bouts you from?”

  The sergeant shrugged, his wary expression softened, “Naples. Kingdom of the Two Sicilies.”

  “All of you?”

  The soldier shook his head and pointed to one of his companions, who was leaning against a tree, tying a bandage around a leg wound. “Shamus is from Dublin.”

  While nearly all of Lamont’s 3rd South Carolina ware native sons of the South, some of the other regiments, drawing recruits from Charleston, had more foreign-born soldiers in their ranks. Regardless of where they hailed from, he didn’t have time to keep them as prisoners. And despite the burning hatred he felt for William Travis, killing them out of hand would be opening Pandora’s box. He pointed to the west, “Get out of here before I change my mind.”

  With that, he turned and started back toward the rest of his brigade.

  The 3rd’s attack worked. The enemy finally stopped hounding his men, and they made good time racing back toward the river. But when Lamont stepped out from dense tree line, Beaumont’s ruins were down-river. Several dozen barges burned where they’d been beached on the other side of the Neches.

  Worse though, in the middle of the river were two warships flying the lone star banner from their masts.

  ***

  8 May 1853

  Brevet Lt. Colonel Jesse Running Creek brushed a speck of coal dust from his uniform as he stepped off the station platform’s wooden planking. A crack of a whip over a team of mules alerted him to a heavy wagon laden with supplies rumbling by. Apart from a few soldiers hurrying about on the army’s business, the streets were empty. He peered through plate glass windows as he passed by several stores. The signs on their doors informed passersby they were closed, despite the goods and produce available within.

  His destination was a large hacienda style building in town. Don Garza, president of the Gulfco Farming Corporation, had left town after the Texian rebels nearly captured West Liberty the previous year. General Sherman now used it for the army’s headquarters.

  The hacienda’s red-tiled roof came into view as Jesse turned a corner. Soldiers stood guard outside its entrance. His feet landed on the mansion’s slate walkway as a church bell pealed under the warm noon-day sun. Down the street, the local Methodist church’s doors swung open, and townsfolk streamed down the steps and into the street. Jesse felt abashed, forgetting the day was Sunday. Of course, the stores were closed.

  The guards snapped to attention at Jesse’s approach. He felt their eyes on him, as one seemed to stare at the newly sewn shoulder straps embroidered with a golden oakleaf. “Colonel, is General Sherman expecting you?”

  Jesse waited for the guard to read his summons before being escorted into the house’s foyer. While he waited, he browsed the paintings on the wall as well as ivory figurines displayed on expensive marble-topped tables.

  Examining Señor Garza’s many baubles, Jesse lost track of time and nearly jumped when a voice from behind said, “General Sherman’ll see you, sir.”

  Sherman sat at the end of a long table which was covered by a vast map, in a room more suited for a chairman of the board instead of an army general. Sherman waved away Jesse’s salute, “Glad you were able to make it back here so fast given we can’t seem to keep the railroad running much on the other side of the Trinity.”

  Jesse relaxed as he studied Sherman. The former Ohioan, only a year older than his own twenty-eight years, appeared eager despite the heavy weight that came with command of the army.

  Jesse offered a smile, “Word has it that you’re getting ready to re-cross the Neches. My men are ready to lead the charge, sir.”

  A lopsided grin creased Sherman’s feature. “An army leaks secrets like an old boat leaks water. Still,” he said, gesturing toward the window behind him, “all those supplies we’re collecting tell the tale better than a gossiping old hen.”

  Jesse accepted the invitation to sit as Sherman continued, “I’ve already sent the orders out. McCulloch’s Division has been ordered to cross back over the Neches.”

  Jesse liked Henry McCulloch, the younger brother of Ben McCulloch, but he didn’t like feeling sidelined. It should be his Rangers leading the way.

  When he mentioned that to Sherman, the army’s commander threw back his head and laughed. “As God is my witness, Colonel, I admire your audacity. With officers like you and soldiers like your Rangers, we’d already be in New Orleans.”

  Jesse’s ears perked up as he heard the name of the largest city in the Southern Alliance. “Is that where we’re going?”

  Sherman cocked his head to one side, as though deep in thought. “Not ‘we,’ Colonel. I have a project for your men that requires that you remain here.”

  Aware of the frown on his face, Jesse crossed his arms and leaned back in the chair until it creaked in protest. Sherman pointed at the map. “When Davis retreated, not all of his men were able to escape across the Neches. I fear what they could do behind our lines if we don’t capture them.”

  Jesse’s arms remained crossed, but he leaned forward a bit. “How many of the enemy were left behind?”

  Sherman’s eyes traveled to a map pinned to the wall. “We don’t know. If we’re lucky, maybe a couple hundred. But it could be more than a thousand. Our balloon corps has spotted them a few times. We’ve conducted un-tethered flights over the area the north of Beaumont, but I fear they could become a thorn in our side.”

  Jesse started to rise from the seat when Sherman snapped, “If I didn’t make myself clear, Colonel, this is an order.”

  As Jesse settled back in his seat, his face flushed with anger, Sherman added, “President Travis has a way with words, sometimes. He’s afraid of something he called asymmetrical warfare.”

  Jesse forgot to be angry as he digested the words. Sherman continued, “I know, it’s enough to choke a mule. Basically, he means that the enemy can attack our farms, towns, and outposts that are hard to support or reinforce.”

  “Sounds to me like what the Comanche were doing before we put them in their place.”

  Sherman dipped his head, “That’s as good a way of explaining it as I’ve managed. If the choice were my own, I’d take your Rangers with me, but the fact is, President Travis asked for your command by name to stay and hunt down any enemy soldiers.”

  There was a note of finality in Sherman’s words. Jesse surrendered himself to the inevitable. As he was dismissed, he was already making a list of what he’d need to track down the secessionist soldiers left behind.

  Chapter 25

  18 May 1853

  The drums rolled as Horace Greeley committed the scene to memory. A color guard paraded down the street in front of the men of the 3rd United States Infantry Regiment, who stood at attention, presenting arms. The star-spangled banner fluttered in the warm, gentle breeze, held aloft by the color sergeant. Their destination, the old capitol building in Columbia.

  The ease by which the capital of South Carolina had fallen had caught Greeley by surprise. Since pushing Longstreet out of his first defensive position on the border with the loyal state of North Carolina, Lee had driven toward the state capital as fast as he could. The Southern army had attempted several times to interject itself between Lee and his target. Each time, the wily Virginian had used one part of his army to hold Longstreet’s attention while another swung around one flank or another. It didn’t hurt that as Lee moved southward, his army continued to receive a trickle of regiments released by their various states for Federal service.

  Greeley had expected Longstreet to put up a strong defense of the state’s capital, but the enemy army had swept through the town the previous day. Along with the army, the civil government fled, too. Now Lee’s Federal army held the city.

  The color guard reached the wooden steps leading into the Capitol building and pivoted on the color sergeant, turning to face the 3rd Infantry’s long blue line. Their regimental band burst into
music, playing Columbia, Gem of the Ocean. The popular song personified America as the goddess of liberty, Columbia. That a military band was playing it, in the state capital of South Carolina with the same name, was an irony Greeley appreciated.

  On a flagpole atop the state house rose the Stars-and-Stripes. It was now official; Columbia was a town under occupation. Greeley looked at the civilian populace who watched the ceremony. Made up mostly of women, children, and old men, the white population wore stony expressions. Slaves made up close to half the town’s population, and those on the street looked pensive, uncertain.

  Greeley thought about the dreadful Thirteenth Amendment that the loyal slave states had strong-armed upon the rest of the Union. Slavery in perpetuity in the states not under rebellion, their price of allegiance. Fifteen of the twenty-one loyal states had already ratified it. He was still heartbroken that New York had provided the fifteenth vote, and now only one more state needed to ratify the abominable amendment for it to become the law of the land. Even with President Seward’s assurance that another amendment to the constitution could be added, revoking the hateful amendment, he worried that it would be easier said than done.

  The ceremony now over, most of the soldiers from the 3rd marched away, back to the army’s camp outside of town. Those that stayed guarded the state house or patrolled the streets. Seeing General Lee and several other officers head inside the capitol building, Greeley hurried after them. His next report needed to be sent north by courier before the end of the day. His readers would devour a quote from the victorious general. Despite being a slave owner, Lee would be the toast of New York once word of Columbia’s fall reached Gotham.

  Greeley found Generals Lee, Buell, and several others arranging chairs around a table in one of the capitol’s many rooms. When Lee spotted him standing at the door, the general waved him into the room. “Mr. Greeley, I trust the Tribune’s readers will celebrate the rebels’ defeat.”

  Thinking of the deep South lying prostrate before the rest of the Union, Greeley couldn’t keep a smile from his face. “Indeed, sir. My readers would like to know your thoughts on the matter.”

  Was that a note of distaste passing over the general’s face? Greeley wasn’t sure. Lee had a reputation for treating kindly everyone with whom he interacted. Lee pointed at the table, which was covered with map rolls and stacks of paper. “Tell your readers that war is an evil and cruel thing. It separates and destroys families and friends and mars the purest joys and happiness God has granted. It fills our hearts with hatred instead of love for our neighbors and devastates the fair face of this beautiful world. On that table are the names of several thousand who will lie in the soil of the land we invaded to preserve our national union. Make sure your readers understand the cost of this war.”

  Greeley knew he should have felt something, a sadness perhaps for the great loss of life. But the war was the fault of the slaveholding Southern aristocracy. Were it not for their rebellion, those men would still be alive. Lee’s somber expression gave him pause. Instead, he said, “You’ve liberated nearly half of South Carolina. As the enemy has fled before you, more than ten thousand slaves have been freed from their bondage. What will you do with them?”

  As Lee returned his stare, he seemed to weigh the question. Greeley grew uncomfortable with the silence before the general finally said, “I have long felt that in this enlightened age, there are few that will fail to acknowledge, that slavery as an institution is a moral and political evil in our country.”

  Greeley found himself nodding at the general’s words, “Indeed. But those few are determined to rip the heart of our nation apart.”

  A look of sadness flitted across Lee’s face, “Indeed, Mr. Greeley. As the Scriptures admonish us, those who sow the wind, shall themselves reap the whirlwind.”

  Lee stepped over to the table and found a sheet of paper. “The need for secrecy now past, I am at liberty to share this with you.”

  As Greeley scanned the document, Lee continued, “Once word of Columbia’s fall reaches Washington, President Seward will release the document in your hand. It will free any slave within any state that remains in rebellion beyond the end of next month.”

  Greeley struggled to grasp the meaning of the words. Was this the beginning of the end of slavery? He tried to stammer out a question as his mind grappled with this new development, Lee said, “My hope is that our rebellious brothers will see President Seward’s proclamation as an olive branch and surrender before the deadline.”

  “Do you really think South Carolina or Mississippi will surrender before they’re defeated on the battlefield?”

  With a sad shake of his head, Lee said, “No.”

  ***

  1 June 1853

  “Let me get this straight, since the beginning of this cluster…” Will stopped in mid-speech. The look of confusion on George Fisher’s face was enough to silence him. The corpulent Hungarian immigrant deserved better than his temper. Even Juan Seguin, who sat next to the Secretary of War, across the desk from Will looked surprised. Taking a deep breath, Will stepped over to the window of the Executive Office. The corner office in the Capitol building overlooked Congress Avenue. It had been a few weeks since it had last rained and dust billowed behind wagons as they rolled through the street.

  Will pinched the bridge of his nose and drew in another ragged breath as he tried to bring his emotions under control. With a heavy sigh, he turned around and said, “My apologies, George, please continue.”

  “While it’s true that General Sherman’s army crossed the Sabine River the day before last with fourteen thousand men, that’s not the sum total of our army, sir.”

  Gesturing him to continue, Will leaned against his desk.

  “While it’s true that we’ve mobilized thirty-five battalions, totaling twenty-six thousand men, let’s not forget that we’ve also received support from seven regiments of volunteers from the United States. That’s an extra five thousand men who’ve joined in defending our liberty.” Fisher sagged in his chair. Dark circles under his eyes showed a man nearing exhaustion.

  Will grimaced, despite Fisher’s optimistic tone. “It doesn’t change the fact that we’ve lost half the army, George, in only one year.”

  Seguin leaned forward, “Buck, while it’s not good, it’s not as bad as that. We’ve got four battalions, three thousand men that have been stationed elsewhere. Also, the Yankee volunteers have taken heavier casualties, too.”

  Will shook his head, “I regret that as much as either of you. They were thrown into battle without the training our own soldiers have gone through.” He rummaged through a folder next to him and handed it to Fisher, “I know you want more soldiers, but we can’t afford to mobilize more of our militia. If we do, we’ll be taking men out of the factories. Can General Sherman manage with what he’s got?”

  Fisher’s eyebrows narrowed as he thought. “Perhaps. They’re joining Colonel West’s light brigade of Marines as well as United States Marines and Infantry. If the information Commodore Perry provided me is correct, they'd swell our combined land force to about twenty-two thousand. The question is, between Sherman’s land army and Perry’s naval forces, will it be enough to capture New Orleans?”

  Fisher inclined his head, “I pray to God it is, sir. In truth, between Admiral Moore’s squadron and Commodore Perry’s, there should be enough of a fleet to blast any fortification protecting the Mississippi River to Hell and gone. I understand that General Davis has taken over the defenses of the city. He escaped into Louisiana with no more men than we have. Most of the enemy’s forces have shifted to the east. The Yankees have consolidated their gains in the western part of South Carolina. They’ve launched another army from Kentucky into Tennessee.”

  Will let a rare smile cross his face at that news. “Which brings us to Missouri. Is it true the Federals have arrested Governor Price?”

  “Indeed,” Seguin said. “It’s funny what a bit of news will do. When President Seward released h
is Emancipation Order, he was hung in effigy across the deep South. But the smart among them didn’t miss that any state that rejoins the union voluntarily before the first of July will be covered under the Thirteenth Amendment. Moderates among the Missouri secessionists decided they’d not risk the loss of their property. They made common cause with the German unionists in Springfield and Saint Louis. And now, Governor Price is in prison and the Missouri legislature has repudiated their earlier vote for secession.”

  He scratched as his clean-shaven chin, “It makes you wonder; will this move preserve slavery in Missouri?”

  Will returned to his chair and leaned back until it squeaked in protest. “Unfortunately, for a little while. Despite Seward’s strong abolitionist sentiment, he’s playing a long game. The nine Southern states that voted to secede, their seats in Congress weren’t even cold before Wisconsin and Jefferson were admitted as free states. The Southern states that don’t rejoin in the next thirty days, I do believe that Seward will free their slaves. Then what?”

  Seguin said, “The remaining slave states will be outnumbered.”

  Will nodded. “Exactly. Five or six slave states surrounded by twenty-five or more free states. I wouldn’t be surprised if the Whigs make a concerted effort to turn Delaware into a free state.”

  Fisher chimed in, “Easier to do in Delaware than anywhere else. Less than two thousand slaves in a state with nearly a hundred thousand souls.”

  “The question is what happens next,” Will said. “Will the remaining slave states let the vile institution die out? Will they opt for compensated emancipation or will they watch it all stripped away when some enterprising Yankee congressman introduces an amendment to abolish the newly passed Thirteenth Amendment?”

  Seguin chuckled. Will noted the skepticism in his vice president’s voice. “It takes three-fourths of the states to pass an amendment. Do you really think the Whigs can pick off one of those states to abolish the amendment?”