Shattered Nation

by Jeffrey Brooks

  “Very well, General,” said Marble. “Very well, indeed. Your last line was one for the history books.”

  “It does have a certain ring to it, does it not?”

  “It does. Rest assured that the entire text of your speech will be reprinted in tomorrow’s paper, along with a very complimentary editorial.”

  “I am glad to hear it.”

  A few minutes later, the two men were in a carriage, rolling through the streets of New York City. The clip-clopping of the horse’s hooves was largely drowned out by the noise of the people on the sidewalks, of which McClellan took little notice. Marble’s eyes occasionally glanced quickly out his window, drinking in as much visual information as he could even as he focused on his conversation with McClellan.

  “Well, I believe your speech today will remove any doubt about your intention to seek the Presidency,” Marble said.

  “That was the idea. You, and every other citizen of the United States, may now consider me a candidate for the highest office in the land. I shall not deign to make any sort of official announcement of the fact, but I shall instead let the facts speak for themselves.”

  “I noted in particular your repeated statements asserting the supremacy of the Constitution. These statements will, of course, be seen as attacks on the Lincoln administration, because of the high visibility that has been given to the arrest of anti-war advocates and the closing down of newspapers.”

  “Good,” McClellan said emphatically. “That is precisely how I intend them. But I wish to be as subtle as possible when it comes to Mr. Lincoln specifically. Obviously, I would consider it beneath my dignity to openly criticize Lincoln by name. That is a task I shall leave to you and others.”

  “And a task I fully intend to accomplish. With great pleasure, if I may say so.”

  McClellan smiled, looking out the window as the streets of New York City flowed past him. “That man will pay dearly for his treatment of me, rest assured.”

  Marble nodded. “Lincoln’s removal of you from command of the Army of the Potomac was entirely unwarranted, particularly as it came on the heels of your victory at the Battle of Antietam. A few months from now, he will be looking back on it as the greatest political miscalculation he ever made.”

  “History will so record it,” McClellan answered.

  With great effort, Marble was able to hide his amusement at this response. McClellan had a habit of making such pompous statements, all of which struck Marble as faintly ridiculous. Clearly, the frequent comparisons of McClellan to Napoleon earlier in the war had gone to the man’s head. As far as Marble was concerned, the two men were similar only in terms of their short statures and massive egos.

  “I believe the strategy we have agreed upon will work to perfection,” the newspaper man said. “The military campaigns in both Virginia and Georgia have bogged down, which is exactly what you told me would happen months ago. Casualties are higher than they have ever been and it is clear to everyone that the Lincoln administration is completely mismanaging the war. Inflation is wrecking the economy and opposition to the draft is increasing daily. All we have to do is sit back and maintain our criticisms in the press. The Republicans will destroy themselves.”

  “I have heard it said that one should never interfere with one’s enemies when they are making a mistake. I am quite confident about our chances in November.”

  “I have no doubt that we will easily carry New York, New Jersey and Pennsylvania, which by themselves garner us sixty-six electoral votes. That’s more than half of what we need to win the election. Throw in Indiana, Ohio, Kentucky and a few other states, and we will achieve a decisive electoral victory.”

  “I am glad you are so confident,” McClellan said.

  Marble smiled. “Oh, I should have mentioned it earlier. Vallandigham is back.”

  McClellan’s eyebrows shot up. “Is he?”

  “He crossed the border from Canada a few days ago, according to a wire I received from Detroit.”

  “And Lincoln hasn’t had him arrested again?”

  “Apparently not. I doubt he will, considering the public outcry the first time. Lincoln might be a backwards Illinois guttersnipe, but he does have sound political instincts. He will avoid making Vallandigham into a martyr if at all possible.”

  “I suppose having that Copperhead whipping people up around the country could suit our purposes.”

  “Agreed. But if I may venture an opinion, General McClellan, you should personally keep your distance from the man. Direct association between the two of you would leave you open to charges that you are unpatriotic and don’t support the war effort.”

  McClellan nodded. “I am fully aware of that. I agree that he and I should not meet. You, however, should do so if you think it worth your while.”

  “We’ll see.”

  “Vallandigham is an agitator. Let him agitate, I say. The more embarrassment he causes Lincoln, the better it will be for me.”

  “Very well,” Marble said. “Let the wheels begin to turn, then.”

  *****

  July 5, Morning

  President Davis held Hood’s most recent letter in one hand and a telegram just received from Johnston in the other. He read through both with growing alarm, periodically glancing up at the military map on the wall.

  Johnston’s telegram informed Davis that the Army of Tennessee had evacuated the Kennesaw line and withdrawn into a defensive position on the north bank of the Chattahoochee, centered near the Western and Atlantic railroad bridge. Johnston expressed confidence that this line would be held for some time. Hood’s letter, however, expressed his opinion that Johnston would not hold this line for very long and would likely withdraw to the south bank of the river without making much of an effort to hold the north bank. Clearly, one of them was not to be believed.

  “Mr. Harrison!” Davis bellowed.

  An instant later, the dapper young Creole opened the door. “Yes, Mr. President?”

  “Would you inform General Bragg that I wish to see him at once.”

  “Right away, sir.” The door quickly closed.

  Davis continued to read through Johnston’s telegram, which ended with the now familiar demand that Forrest and his cavalry be sent to attack Sherman’s supply lines. Davis’s face settled into a frustrated scowl.

  Twenty minutes passed, which Davis filled with routine administrative work, including the commutations of four death sentences for soldiers who had been arrested for deserting. Davis could not remember the last time he had allowed a scheduled execution to go forward, for he saw no point in shooting his own soldiers.

  Finally, General Bragg arrived and was shown into the office by Harrison.

  “I assume you want to discuss the news from Georgia, Mr. President?”

  “Indeed. I have just read through Johnston’s latest telegram. Do you think he will attempt to fight a major battle north of the Chattahoochee River?”

  “It’s impossible to say with any certainty, sir.”

  “And if you had to guess?”

  Bragg thought for just a moment, then shook his head. “If I had to guess, Mr. President, I would have to say no. I do not think he will fight on the north bank. I think he will do what he has always done. He will hold a strong defensive position until Sherman moves to outflank him, then he will retreat.”

  “But look at the map, General Bragg. There is no more room in which to retreat! The Chattahoochee River is the last major natural barrier between Sherman and Atlanta. Once Sherman is across the river, he will be at the gates of Atlanta itself!”

  “You are correct, Mr. President. If I recall, the telegram ends with another request for a cavalry raid on Sherman’s supply lines.”

  “Yes,” Davis said resignedly. “One gets tired of hearing about that. I have turned down his request for Forrest’s assistance more times than I can count, yet he continues to pester me about it, over and over again. When will the man learn?”

  “And he again repeats that he can
not dispatch the cavalry of his own army, because he needs it to protect his flanks?”

  “Yes,” Davis said, anticipating that Bragg would soon say something worth hearing.

  Bragg smiled. “It may be of interest to you that I recently received a letter from Johnston’s cavalry commander, General Wheeler. According to Wheeler, he has repeatedly asked Johnston for permission to take five thousand troops on a raid against Sherman’s supply lines, but has been repeatedly denied.”

  Davis sat back and folded his arms, looking like a schoolmaster hearing of a disobedient student.

  Bragg went on. “According to Wheeler, Sherman’s cavalry is disorganized and ineffectual. In every skirmish between our cavalry and the enemy’s, our men inevitably emerge the victors. Wheeler is of the opinion that taking five thousand cavalry on a raid against Sherman’s supply lines would present no difficulty, because the enemy cavalry is not a threat.”

  “So, Johnston tells us that he lacks sufficient cavalry of his own to undertake a raid on Sherman’s supply line, but his very own cavalry commander says the exact opposite. Whom are we to believe?”

  “I commanded General Wheeler for some time. Believe me when I tell you that he is a man in which you can have full confidence.”

  Davis stared at the map for a long time. “But if Johnston genuinely believes that attacking Sherman’s supply lines is the only way to achieve victory, and if his own cavalry commander is telling him that he has the means to do it, why doesn’t he do it himself?”

  “Do you want my honest opinion?” Bragg asked.

  Davis nodded and waved for Bragg to go on, impatient at such a needless delay.

  “Mr. President, with all due respect to General Johnston’s obvious talents, he is a man of immense vanity. I believe that he is unwilling to risk a decisive battle with Sherman because he fears that were he to suffer a defeat it would destroy the reputation as a great general that he has gained among the people, deservedly or otherwise. In short, he cares more about protecting his popular image than he does about winning the war.”

  Davis pursed his lips tightly and shook his head. “I must admit that I have had this very thought many times. But could it really be true? Surely losing Atlanta without a fight would do far more to destroy his reputation than a lost battle. Lee lost at Gettysburg, yet the people still revere him.”

  Bragg raised a finger. “Ah, but if he abandons Atlanta he will be able to say that he could have held the city if only you had been willing to order Forrest into Tennessee.”

  Davis’s face turned red with fury. It was a minute before he spoke again. “So, that’s it. Rather than risk a battle for the sake of his country, he cowardly refuses to budge from his defensive positions. He consigns the army to a passive strategy that will mean the fall of Atlanta, which he will then blame on me. And all for the sake of his precious military reputation!”

  Bragg waited for Davis to calm down, which he did after a minute or so, though he was still fuming. “I agree with you fully, Mr. President,” Bragg said carefully. “With our forces successfully resisting the Yankees on all other fronts, the loss of Atlanta would be a disaster. And to lose it simply because of one man’s ego would be more than a disaster. It would be a disgrace.”

  Davis let out a deep breath and spoke very slowly and carefully. “Then perhaps it is time for us to consider relieving Johnston of command, before it is too late.” The thought had long been in his mind, but Davis felt relief at finally being able to say it out loud.

  Bragg responded soberly but quickly. “Replacing an army commander in the middle of a major campaign is a very serious matter, Mr. President. Even under the best circumstances, confusion and delay will result for at least a brief time during any transition. With Sherman at the gates of the city, such a move could prove fatal.”

  “Keeping Johnston at the head of the army could prove fatal as well!”

  “Of course, Mr. President. If you do decide to remove Johnston, to whom shall the command go?”

  Davis frowned and shook his head. “That is a difficult question. General Lee is needed here, at the head of the Army of Northern Virginia. General Beauregard is of sufficient rank, but has never proven adequate as an army commander. General Longstreet has not yet recovered from the wounds he received at the Battle of the Wilderness.”

  “What of the corps commanders of the Army of Tennessee itself?”

  “General Polk was killed a few weeks ago,” Davis said, his voice betraying no hint of the grief he felt at the death of Leonidas Polk, who had long been one of his closest personal friends. “Hardee and Hood are the two remaining choices.”

  “Well, what of them?”

  Davis shrugged. “I offered command of the Army of Tennessee to Hardee in December, before approaching Johnston. He declined it, despite my earnest entreaties. My sense was that he did not wish to have such a heavy burden placed on his shoulders.”

  “From my acquaintance with the man, I am not surprised. Hardee is a highly overrated general, if you’ll excuse me for saying so. General Hood, however, might be worthy of consideration.”

  “I have been getting regular letters from Hood since he arrived in Georgia, as you know. He seems to be of the same mind as you and me, believing that we can only win in Georgia by taking the offensive against Sherman. He has objected strongly to Johnston’s habit of merely reacting to the maneuvers of the enemy.”

  “He certainly has a reputation for favoring the attack,” Bragg said. “In his service with Lee’s army as a brigade and division commander, he achieved many well-known successes through offensive action. When he served under my command at the Battle of Chickamauga, he led the attack that shattered the enemy line. Certainly, his courage and boldness are not to be doubted.”

  “Indeed not, but do courage and boldness a good general make?” Davis asked. “Machiavelli tells us that a great captain must be both lion and fox. A good general must have boldness, but also good sense and high intelligence. Would you call Hood a sensible and intelligent man?”

  “From my rather short acquaintance with him, I cannot honestly tell, Mr. President.”

  “Perhaps we will gain some insight when Senator Hill arrives and reports on his meeting with General Johnston. We can expect him any day now, according to his last telegram.”

  “I hope so, Mr. President. Because if Sherman gets across the Chattahoochee, the fall of Atlanta could be only days away. The replacement of Johnston might be the only measure by which you can save the city.”

  *****

  July 6, Morning

  The men of the 7th Texas kept their heads down, as more Union artillery shells hit the walls of their enclosed redoubt, bouncing off like marbles being thrown at a brick wall. A more serious threat was the constant peppering of musket fire from small squads of Yankee skirmishers, but even that posed little danger so long as the men didn’t do anything stupid.

  Private Balch clambered up onto the fire-step and squeezed off a round from his Enfield before ducking down again, just as a series of shots splattered around the space he had just occupied.

  “Cut that out, Balch!” Sergeant McFadden spat. “You’re not going to hit anything!”

  “I think I got one!”

  “You couldn’t hit an elephant in the ass if it were standing ten feet away! You’re wasting ammunition and putting yourself in danger. Now get down and stay down or I’ll shoot you myself!”

  Balch sullenly sat back down on the fire-step. Three more enemy artillery shells slammed into the redoubt in quick succession, but they had no noticeable impact aside from the noise they generated.

  Little impressed McFadden these days, but he had to admit that the redoubt the regiment occupied was something of a marvel. They had marched into it the day before, and they had also seen that it was only one of several dozen laid out in a large semi-circle centered on the point where the Western and Atlantic Railroad crossed the Chattahoochee River. It was the strongest fortified position the men of the Army of T
ennessee had ever seen.

  The Yankees were refusing to attack, which didn’t surprise McFadden. Having learned his lesson at Kennesaw Mountain, Sherman certainly would not be such a fool as to throw his men against such a strong position. But McFadden was still disappointed, as he would certainly have enjoyed the opportunity to send more Yankees to hell.

  McFadden might have been a lowly infantryman, but thanks to the reading his father had forced him to undertake as a child, he felt he knew much more than most about military strategy. Though he could do nothing himself to influence events beyond the sight of his Enfield, he couldn’t help but speculate as to what was going on. The Yankees were feeling out the Confederate position, hemming them in but not attacking. If McFadden had to guess, this meant that Sherman would certainly attempt another flanking maneuver in the very near future.

  Over the course of a few hours, the enemy skirmishers vanished back into the woods north of their position. At the same time, the federal artillery fire gradually diminished and eventually stopped altogether. For a few minutes, the Texans continued to remain close to the ground, waiting to see whether the cessation of enemy fire was real or just a temporary lull. After about ten minutes, they concluded that the firing had stopped for the time being and began to relax.

  Some of the men got campfires going, in order to make coffee and cook some bacon. A few precious hogs had been slaughtered the day before and the men were anxious for some meat. Other men got out their sewing kits and tried to stitch up their uniforms and what remained of their shoes. Two privates began playing chess, with a cluster of a dozen others gathered around them offering advice and placing bets on who would emerge the victor.

  Someone from brigade headquarters arrived with mail, and most of the men eagerly crowded around him as he passed around letters. Correspondence from home were few and far between for the men of Granbury’s Texas Brigade. The fall of Vicksburg the previous year had secured Union control over the Mississippi River, preventing easy communication from the Trans-Mississippi to the Confederacy on the eastern side of the river. The men and women who braved Yankee gunboats to smuggle packets of letters across the swamps of Louisiana and Mississippi were greatly loved by the Trans-Mississippi men who served in Johnston’s army, and McFadden assumed that the same was true of those who fought in the ranks of Lee’s army.