Shattered Nation

by Jeffrey Brooks

  A sound rose above the axes chopping wood and the shovels slicing through the soil. After a moment, Cleburne realized that it was the sound of the slaves singing as they worked. One man would sing a single line, after which the rest of the slaves would sing out in response. It was a strange sort of music that Cleburne found incomprehensible and alien.

  Won’t you ring old hammer?

  Hammer Ring!

  Won’t you ring old hammer?

  Hammer Ring!

  Those who could stamped their feet or beat their tools against wood in rhythm to the singing. It was as though a barrier had been erected around the workers through which no harshness or hatred could penetrate.

  Got to hammering in the Bible!

  Hammer Ring!

  Got to hammering in the Bible!

  Hammer Ring!

  Got to talk about Noah!

  Hammer Ring!

  Got to talk about Noah!

  Hammer Ring!

  “They seem happy enough,” Benham said.

  “Well, we can’t read their minds, can we?” Cleburne said in response. He figured that he, too, would do his best to appear happy if the alternative was being whipped. But having encountered the irrational anger that the issue of slavery could raise among Southern men, he decided not to broach the subject. Cleburne clicked Red Pepper back into a walk and resumed the journey back to their division.

  “Good that we have the slaves to do such labor for us,” Benham said as he got his own horse back into a walk. “It frees up more white men for duty on the front line.”

  “It would be better by far if we raised combat regiments of blacks,” Cleburne responded.

  Benham turned and looked at his commander. “Shall we go over this again, General?” he asked. His tone had changed, from that of a dutiful subordinate to a man trying to talk sense into his friend.

  “Why not?” Cleburne responded. “It is absurd for the Confederacy to deny itself such a vast pool of available manpower. I believe my proposal to enlist slaves into the army is as valid now as when I first put it forward in January. More so, in fact, because of the heavy losses our armies have suffered both here in Georgia and in Virginia.”

  Cleburne remembered that strange cold night the previous winter, only a few days after Johnston had arrived to take command of the Army of Tennessee. At Cleburne’s request, Hardee had convened a meeting of the high command at the army headquarters. There, warmed by roaring fires and well-cooked food, the division and corps commanders had listened as Cleburne had read aloud his memorandum. It had called for the Confederacy to enlist vast numbers of slaves into the army, giving them their freedom in exchange for their military service.

  The reaction from his comrades had not been what Cleburne had expected. General William Bate, who led one of Hardee’s other divisions, had been furious and called Cleburne an abolitionist, which was as serious an insult as it was possible for a Southern man to make. General Walker, however, had gone even further, saying to Cleburne’s face that he thought he was a traitor. Only the presence of Hardee and Johnston had prevented a challenge to a duel, with all present at the meeting agreeing before departure that the matter was not to be discussed further.

  It had been one of the greatest disappointments of Cleburne’s life.

  “I know your motives were pure, my friend,” Benham said. “But you should have never written that memorandum. Certainly you never should have presented it to the high command of the army. When Walker notified the War Department about it, I believe he killed any chance of your promotion to corps command.”

  “We will see,” Cleburne said. “I know Johnston is considering me for command of Polk’s old corps. In any case, I do not see how I could have acted other than I did. I believe firmly that the case I presented was correct. My heart and soul are for the Confederacy, so how could I have kept silent about a plan which I honestly believe could save our nation.”

  Benham shook his head. This irritated Cleburne, who did not like seeing his idea dismissed so glibly, but he respected Benham as both an officer and a friend and tried not to take offense.

  “It’s difficult for a man not born and raised in the South to understand,” Benham said.

  “So I’ve been told,” Cleburne responded in a clipped tone. Hardee had told him. His close friend General Thomas Hindman had told him. Just about everyone to whom he had broached the subject had told him, for that matter.

  “You must understand that slavery, right or wrong, is central to the Southern way of life. If every other aspect of our society were planets, slavery would be the star around which they orbit. The whole point of secession, the whole point of the Confederacy, is to protect our way of life. Without slavery, we have no way of life, just a bunch of empty fields.”

  “But surely every Southern man can see that slavery is a millstone around our neck,” Cleburne protested. “Slavery is the only reason the Confederacy has not received diplomatic recognition from Britain and France. It allows the Yankees to fill their soldiers with false notions of a crusade to destroy slavery, when in truth their only goal is to reduce us to absolute subjugation for their own profit. It means that every time any of our territory falls into enemy hands, their numbers are increased by freed blacks who flock to join the Yankee army.”

  “I know,” Benham said.

  “On every front, the Yankees confront us with armies that are greatly superior to ours in number. Why do we deny ourselves such an immense pool of fresh manpower? Were we to enlist the slaves into our own forces, we could meet the enemy with armies equal in strength to their own, giving us every possibility of success and perhaps even allowing us to invade the North’s own territory.”

  “What makes you think the slaves would fight for the Confederacy?” Benham asked. “If the Union wins, slavery will be abolished, whereas if the Confederacy wins, it shall go on. The slave would gain nothing by fighting for us.”

  “That is why I say that we must promise the slaves their freedom if they are willing to take up arms on our behalf.”

  “But if you hand a slave a gun, how do you know which way he will point it?”

  “If we offer the Negro his freedom, why should he not fight for us?” Cleburne said heatedly. “I believe that blacks can be properly trained and disciplined as well as white men.”

  “But in undermining slavery, do you not see that you are striking at the very foundations of Southern society? When we begin to question slavery, when we begin to even consider the possibility that the black man might be equal to the white man, our very identity as a people is thrown into question.”

  “Surely every patriotic Confederate soldier, if forced to choose between independence without slavery or absolute subjugation to Yankee control, would unhesitatingly choose the former. Surely you would rather give up slavery than be a slave yourself.”

  Benham considered this. “When you put it like that, I suppose you are right. In that one sense, at least. But so long as the possibility of victory remains without recourse to the proposal you put forward, the vast majority of Southern men will continue to resist proposals such as yours with every fiber of their strength. In truth, I believe that if we ever attempted to recruit black soldiers, half the men in the Army of Tennessee would throw down their weapons and refuse to fight.”

  Cleburne sighed. “I cannot understand such attitudes.”

  “That’s all right, General. You weren’t born with them.”

  As they continued north, the sounds of the singing slaves eventually faded away.

  *****

  July 1, Morning

  Beneath the shade of his large headquarters tent, General Johnston stood over a table which was covered with a topographical map of the surrounding mountains and countryside. He was surrounded by half a dozen of his principal commanders. It was the first meeting of the high command of the Army of Tennessee since the Battle of Kennesaw Mountain.

  “First, allow me to offer my congratulations to you all for our great victory f
our days ago. Sherman threw everything he had at us, but thanks to the courage of our men and the favor of Almighty God, he was unable to break us. Our success brings us one step closer to victory.”

  The officers collectively muttered their thanks to the commander.

  Johnston held up a finger. “But let us not delude ourselves, gentlemen. While we repulsed the enemy’s attack, he will not be idle. We must assume that Sherman will revert to his previous strategy of moving around our flanks and force us back by threatening our line of retreat.”

  General Hood cleared his throat and began speaking. “My pickets are already reporting Yankee infantry moving southward across their front, toward our left flank.”

  Johnston eyed Hood closely for a moment before responding. He had trusted Hood and held him in high regard only a few days before. However, he trusted Senator Wigfall nearly as much as he would have trusted a member of his own family. Having heard what Wigfall had had to say about Hood, any trust he might have had in his corps commander had vanished like cigar smoke on a windy day.

  “And what size units are we talking about, General Hood? Are we talking about brigades or divisions?”

  Hood shook his head. “Not sure. Certainly big formations of infantry.”

  “I see. Keep your pickets out and inform me immediately of any new information. I would very much like to see more solid information, if it’s possible. General Wheeler?”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Keep your troopers deployed out in front of our left flank. They must keep a watch for any sign of a Yankee movement toward our left.”

  “Of course, sir.”

  “We must be vigilant, gentlemen. If we can accurately ascertain the movements of the enemy, we can maintain our position here on the Kennesaw for at least several more weeks.”

  Mackall walked up, nodding respectfully to the assembled commanders. “Excuse me, General Johnston, gentlemen. Senator Hill has arrived.”

  “Ah, yes! Bring him here, please.” Mackall nodded and moved to obey his orders. Johnston composed himself for a moment, knowing the potential importance of this meeting. While Senator Wigfall was an avowed foe of the Davis administration, whose views would automatically be suspect, Senator Hill was both a political ally and personal friend of Davis. As such, Johnston hoped he might be able to gain some leverage with the Davis administration if he could persuade Hill that his views on the military situation were correct.

  He turned to his officers. “Senator Hill has been visiting his constituents here in Georgia and is soon to return to Richmond. He has asked to be updated on the current military situation, so as to better inform officials in the capital.”

  “He will be meeting with President Davis?” asked Hood, a bit too quickly.

  “I would assume so, yes.” Johnston was tempted to ask why Hood would want to know such information, but held back.

  Senator Benjamin Hill was led into the tent by Mackall and quickly introduced himself to the assembled officers.

  “I do thank you for taking the time to meet with me, General Johnston,” Hill said. “I am sure that time is very precious to you in the midst of a military campaign, particularly one as important as this.”

  “Think nothing of it, Senator,” Johnston replied. “It is vital that the Congress in Richmond has a clear picture of the true situation here in Georgia and I believe you are in a unique position to help us achieve this.”

  “That is my hope.”

  Johnston gestured for everyone to sit down. “My chief-of-staff, General Mackall, has prepared a brief summary of the campaign up to this point, if you would care to hear it.”

  “Of course.”

  The men all turned their attention to Mackall, as two staff officers placed a large map of northern Georgia on a stand. The chief-of-staff began his presentation and spoke for about ten minutes. Senator Hill listened politely, asked intelligent questions, and seemed genuinely eager to learn what had taken place in Georgia. The more he observed Senator Hill, the more confident Johnston became. Most politicians Johnston had met over the years had been utter nonentities, but Senator Hill seemed to be made of more substance.

  The story Mackall told was, of course, well-known to the officers themselves. Since the campaign had opened in early May, the Army of Tennessee had repeatedly blocked the route of Sherman toward Atlanta. Each time, however, Sherman had eventually forced the Confederates to retreat by using his superior numbers to outflank them. At Dalton, at Resaca, at Cassville, at Allatoona, at New Hope Church, and at Lost Mountain, the story had always been the same. Every step of the way, the Confederates had inflicted significant losses on their opponents, but had inevitably been compelled to give ground to avoid being surrounded.

  In the midst of the presentation, Johnston frowned as Mackall described the incident at Cassville, which had taken place on May 19.

  “So, thanks to fast marching and skillful maneuvering, we had obtained an advantageous position, concentrating the full strength of the Army of Tennessee against only a part of Sherman’s force. Had the attack been carried out successfully, we could have achieved a decisive victory.”

  “What went wrong?” Hill asked.

  “General Hood, upon moving his corps forward against the exposed Yankee forces, discovered what appeared to be an enemy cavalry force astride his right flank, thus forcing the cancellation of the attack.”

  Hood sat upright, an angry look on his face. “It was a misfortune of war! If that force of Yankee cavalry had not shown up in the wrong place at the wrong time, my attack would have gone forward and would have put the Yankees to flight.”

  “How can a small force of cavalry stop an entire infantry corps?” Hill asked, confused.

  Johnston didn’t say anything. Hood’s face betrayed what Johnston perceived to be fear, or, at the very least, agitation. “It doesn’t matter,” Hood said. “It concerns military technicalities which a civilian like yourself would not understand.”

  Hill looked at Hood for a moment, examining him with the eye of a politician. “I see, General Hood,” he said without much expression.

  Johnston considered speaking, wanting more than anything to state his conviction that the attack had failed because of Hood’s incompetence. Hood could have easily salvaged the situation by detaching a brigade to cover his right flank and going forward with the attack. But as he looked around at the faces of the other men, including General Hardee and General Wheeler, Johnston felt compelled to hold his tongue. After all, he was a Southern gentleman, even if Hood was not.

  Mackall now took back control of the conversation. “From late May until the present, Senator, we have been engaged with Sherman’s army in a series of engagements between Allatoona and our present position here on the Kennesaw line. The incessant rain has made maneuvering exceedingly difficult, but we have inflicted heavy losses upon the enemy while being driven back only a few miles.”

  “Thank you, General Mackall. Your presentation was most informative.”

  “Do you have any questions, Senator Hill?” Johnston asked.

  “Several, General Johnston, if you’ll forgive me. First, am I right in assuming that the Chattahoochee River is the last major obstacle between Sherman and Atlanta?”

  “Yes.”

  “And obviously you will want to maintain a position on the north side of the Chattahoochee River for as long as possible, yes?”

  “Of course.”

  “And how long do you believe you can do this?”

  “It has taken Sherman more than a month to drive us from New Hope Church to our present position, a distance of only a few miles. You may make your calculation from that.”

  “Senator Hill,” Hood said. “Respectfully, I must disagree with General Johnston. When we abandon the present line of Kennesaw, in my opinion we will retreat across the Chattahoochee River very rapidly.”

  Johnston jerked his head toward Hood. “How do you figure that?” he asked, anger in his voice. Openly disagreeing with the comman
ding officer in the presence of others was a serious breach of military etiquette. Openly disagreeing with the commanding officer in the presence of a senator was incalculably worse.

  “Because this line on Kennesaw Mountain is the strongest we can expect to have this side of the Chattahoochee. Once we leave this line, any operations we engage in will be mere delaying actions until we cross the river.”

  “Nonsense,” Johnston said sharply. “We have already surveyed multiple defensive positions between here and the river. We can hold out on the north bank of the river for a long time.” His tone made it clear that Johnston expected Hood to keep his mouth shut for the remainder of the meeting.

  Hill nodded, processing everything he was hearing. “I hope you’ll forgive me for asking questions that may sound simple. As I am not a military man, the details often elude me.”

  “That’s quite all right, Senator.”

  “Please tell me, concisely and specifically, what it is you need to bring this campaign to a successful conclusion.”

  Johnston took a deep breath. This was the moment he had been waiting for. He stood and stepped toward the map. He ran his finger along a black line that ran along the route of Sherman’s advance from Chattanooga.

  “This is the Western and Atlantic Railroad. As it has fallen into enemy hands, it is now the key supply route for Sherman’s forces. Virtually all the enemy’s food, ammunition, and other supplies come to them along this single railroad.”

  “A jugular vein, so to speak.”

  “Exactly.”

  Hill nodded. “I understand.”

  Johnston’s fingers moved north on the map, above Chattanooga. “The Union supply base at Chattanooga is linked to Nashville, Louisville, and the great cities of the North by only a few railroads. These railroads constitute the weak link in Sherman’s plans.”