Grant Comes East - Civil War 02 Read online

  "Men will be issued three days' cold rations, barrels of water set in each car; civilian organizations are being solicited at each depot where trains will be refueled and watered, to try and provide hot food for the men, but there is no guarantee of that. Transit to Harrisburg should take three days."

  "Security?" Sherman asked.

  "At every major switching and bridge, state militia will be turned out to guard, also at points of transfer. Since the lines are federalized, orders have been posted that any attempts to block or delay trains by civilians will be dealt with as a capital crime."

  He hesitated for a few seconds, then continued.

  "I can promise completed delivery of your First Corps to Harrisburg in ten days."

  "And the rest?"

  'Ten days per corps after that. If the Nineteenth goes by sea to Philadelphia, that will make their movement rather easy. The bigger problem of course will be horses, mules, wagons, forage for the animals, but as I said, it's easier to find those in the East than to try and move them all the way from Vicksburg and New Orleans to Harrisburg."

  Grant gave a quick nod of agreement.

  "Logistical support, supplies?"

  "I'm pulling mat together even as we speak. Full stockpiles of ammunition, rations, medical and auxiliary equipment are being brought in from across the Union. At the same time, what is left of the Army of the Potomac is being refitted, twenty batteries of artillery, forty thousand rifles, all necessary ammunition."

  "What's left of it?" Sherman asked, the slightest hint of disdain in his voice.

  Haupt could not help but bristle. The prejudice held by the western armies for the East was well-known. The Army of the Potomac was, however, his army, the one he had supported for nearly two years, and though he would not say it out loud, neither of these men had yet to face up to Bobbie Lee.

  "Approximately thirty-five thousand men," Haupt replied, "counting those men that General Sickles took to New York. The bulk of them come from Sickles's Third Corps, Sykes's Fifth, and Howard's Eleventh."

  "Point of concentration?" Grant asked.

  "Still scattered, sir, from Harrisburg, which Sickles was holding clear down to the Chesapeake; some men are still drifting in. Every bridge over the Susquehanna from Harrisburg to the Chesapeake has been dropped, and the river is in flood; so, scattered or not, once on the north side of the river, they're safe from Lee."

  "An army isn't supposed to be safe," Sherman sniffed. "It's supposed to be out there fighting."

  "Sir," Haupt said quietly, forcing control, "they put up one hell of a fight. I know, I saw some of it. They lost, to be certain, but they most certainly chewed a hole into Lee as well."

  Sherman bristled but Grant extended a calming hand.

  "Gentlemen, we are all on the same side. Bill, we got whipped more than once ourselves, so let's not judge yet"

  Sherman said nothing, shifting his unlit cigar in his mouth.

  Grant looked back at Haupt.

  "So you can move my corps to Harrisburg in how long?"

  'Thirty days tops, for everything. I can prioritize the infantry, have all of them there within fifteen days, but it will take at least fifteen days, realistically more likely thirty to forty-five additional days, to bring up the necessary support to wage offensive operations."

  "I want this done right."

  Grant looked back at the map.

  "There will be more, Haupt, a lot more."

  "Sir, combined with the Army of the Potomac, that should give you the numerical edge."

  "I don't just want the numerical edge," Grant replied, and for the first time his voice was sharp, a touch of anger to it.

  "Bill, you said it two years ago, that it would take a quarter of a million men, just in the West, to crush this rebellion. That General Haupt is the edge we've always had but have never used, our numbers and our industry. By God, from day one we could have crushed this thing, at a fraction of the cost in blood, if only we had concentrated.

  "General Lee is a brilliant tactician, but it seems that we have all become focused on what Lee is doing, and not on what we should be doing."

  He placed a sharp emphasis on the word we, a note of anger and rebuke. Elihu, who had been sitting quiet while tactics and logistics were discussed, looked up at Grant and smiled.

  "I have but one goal before me," Grant continued, "and that is the task set for me by the president of the United States."

  He looked back down at the map of the Union. 'To defeat General Lee and to end this war, and with God's help we will get this job done once and for all."

  Chapter Two

  Headquarters Army of Northern Virginia, Rockville, MD

  July 16,1863

  Gen. Jeb Stuart pulled off his poncho, water streaming on to the floor. Mud was clinging to his boots as he stomped them on the entry way rug.

  "God, what a mess out there," he sighed. Looking up he saw the disapproving glance of his commander at his choice of words. "Sorry, sir."

  Gen. Robert E. Lee motioned for Stuart to come to the table. Gen. James "Pete" Longstreet was by Lee's side, sipping from a cup of coffee; on the other side of Lee stood Gen. John Bell Hood, newly promoted to command of the reorganized Second Corps. The room was dimly lit—half a dozen candles around the table—the small house at the edge of Rockville abandoned at the approach of Confederate forces and now serving as Lee's headquarters. Jed Hotchkiss, chief cartographer for the Army of Northern Virginia, stood behind Lee, his map of the area spread out on the table.

  Lee, sighing, rubbed his eyes. He was tired, having been up all day riding slowly, weaving his way through the bogged-down ranks of his exhausted army, which had been slogging for six weary days to mate less than sixty miles. His uniform was soaked clean through, change of clothes lost somewhere back on the road, the headquarters wagon stuck in the mud.

  Col. Walter Taylor, Lee's aide, offered Stuart a cup of coffee, which the general took eagerly, blowing on the edge of the tin cup and then sipping.

  "Your report, General Stuart," Lee asked, putting his glasses back on to look up at his young cavalier.

  "As ordered, sir, I rode a circuit of their outer fortifications and started back here as soon as it got dark. It was a difficult ride, sir. The Yankees have destroyed every bridge, mill dams are blown, one of my men drowned trying to ford a stream. Dozens of horses are crippled—broken legs, mostly—had to destroy them."

  "Did you get any prisoners?" Lee asked.

  "Yes, sir. Six men. Three from the First Maine Heavy Artillery, two from the First New York, and one officer, a captain, shoulder straps indicate staff, but he's as tight as a clam, won't say a word. The enlisted men were well fed, arrogant, said they hope we attack."

  "Their strength?"

  "Still not sure, sir. It was impossible to try and develop the situation, to trigger an open skirmish outside their fortifications. No regimental flags were shown."

  "Smart on their part," Lee said, "keep us guessing."

  "We did pick up a lot of newspapers in a post office at Beltsville, Washington papers mostly, printed this morning, a Harper's Weekly reporting on our victory at Union Mills and a New York Tribune from four days ago. One of the Washington papers said there's nearly thirty thousand Yankees garrisoning the city."

  "Sounds about right," Longstreet said quietly.

  "It also said that Lincoln's ordering up reinforcements from as far away as Charleston."

  He has to, Lee thought to himself. He knows I have to come here, and now all other fronts are secondary.

  "The fortifications?" Hotchkiss asked.

  Stuart nodded to the army cartographer.

  "Your maps are excellent sir. Just as you indicated. They're damn ..., excuse me, sir, they are massive. Ditching ten feet deep, abatis, earthen walls twenty feet high in places. The fortresses are all within mutual support of each other, and connected by communication trenches. One of the heavy-artillery prisoners said they've got thirty-pounders, even some eight-inch gun
s, Columbiads, heavy mortars, and hundred-pound rifled Parrott guns in them. It was hard to see through the rain. Fields of fire are well laid out, each fortress covered on flanks by its neighbors. There are no weaknesses anywhere along that line, sir. They most likely have good interior roads as well and can shift to meet any threat."

  As he spoke, Stuart traced out on Hotchkiss's map the perimeter of fortifications guarding the landward approach to Washington.

  "Well manned?" Lee asked.

  "Again, sir, hard to tell in the rain. I pushed skirmishers forward at three points and they were met with brisk firing, no lack of ammunition; they were firing heavy guns at my skirmish line from half a mile out."

  Lee nodded. Of course they would. The stockpile of equipment in the capital would be unaffected by what happened to the Army of the Potomac, and their gunners would be eager to get some shots in, their first chance for real shooting since the war started.

  "I placed a brigade to cover the Rockville Road, another on the Seventh Street Road, and ordered two more brigades down to cut the Blandenburg Road, the railroad to Baltimore, and anchor our line down to Uniontown. By tomorrow morning the city will be completely cut off."

  "Thank you, General Stuart, you've fulfilled your orders handsomely."

  "Sir, I must tell you this will be one hard nut to crack. It makes our works around Richmond pale in comparison."

  "The difference is," Hood interjected, "it is us doing the attacking, not McClellan. We'll put in the best infantry in the world against third-rate garrison troops."

  "Still, sir, when you get a look at those fortifications," Stuart replied, "well, it will be a hard nut, as I said."

  "Do you suggest we not attack then?" Hood asked.

  Stuart looked at Lee.

  Lee took his glasses off again and rubbed his eyes. The hour was late, he was tired. Without asking, Walter put a fresh cup of coffee on the table beside him, and Lee sipped from it meditatively for several minutes.

  "Gentlemen, the hour is late," Lee finally said. "We've had another hard day of marching. The rain and mud are exhausting all of us. I think we should get our rest Tomorrow, General Hood, Major Hotchkiss, and I will go forward to survey the lines ourselves. General Stuart, I would like for you to join us. General Longstreet, I ask that you stay here to oversee the movement of the army."

  "One final thing, sir," Stuart said, and, fishing into his breast pocket, he pulled out a soggy, folded up newspaper and spread it out on the table.

  "A Washington newspaper, sir, this morning." Stuart pointed to a column on the front page.

  Adjusting his glasses, Lee leaned over to read it

  "Halleck has been removed from all command positions and is retiring; Gen. Ulysses Grant is in command and is reported to already be in Cairo, Illinois, with his troops following."

  Lee scanned the rest of the front page for a moment Reports on rioting in northern cities, a rumor that Stanton was to be fired, a report that thirty thousand reinforcements were rushing to the aid of Washington, that four batteries of guns surrounded the Capitol and two more guarded the White House. He sifted through the densely packed columns, some of it hard to read, the ink smeared, and then took his glasses off.

  "I don't know this Grant," Lee said, looking around at his staff, "but his reputation is known."

  "Sir, I don't think fighting against Pemberton, or even General Johnston, is indicative of his ability against us," Hood interjected.

  "Still, I wish I knew more of him."

  "It'll be weeks before he can mount anything effective," Longstreet said, leaning over the table to scan the newspaper.

  "That is why we must act quickly, decisively, without hesitation," Lee replied.

  He drained the rest of his coffee and put the cup down. He did not need to say another word. There was something in his gesture that indicated dismissal, and one by one the three generals bid good night and left, the sound of rain drumming down, echoing in the room as the door swung open. A humid breeze filled the room. As the door closed, the room regained a warm feel as the fireplace drove out the humidity.

  Taylor and Hotchkiss hesitated and Lee smiled.

  "Walter, I have a comfortable spot right here." Lee nodded to where a blanket had been spread on a sofa. Even though the house had been abandoned by Union sympathizers, he would not take the bed without the express permission of the owner. It bothered him, as well, that outside, most of his army was bedding down in the pouring rain, their dinner cold rations. To sleep in a comfortable bed, under a dry roof, struck him as the wrong example this night, the compromise of a sofa as far as he was willing to go.

  Taylor and Hotchkiss saluted, bid Lee good night, and retired to the kitchen, where the rest of his staff were already fast asleep on the floor.

  Standing, Lee removed his jacket and unbuttoned his vest. His boots were already off and he stretched, back cracking. He looked down at the map, his gaze following the traces in pencil of the route taken by his army down from Westminster, skirting to the west of Baltimore and now down to here, with Longstreet's men concentrating toward Rockville, and Hood on the road to Claysville and Beltsville.

  He looked out the window, a lantern set on the road to mark headquarters barely visible as a sheet of rain lashed down, rattling against the panes.

  The miserable weather, which ultimately had played such a crucial role in the entrapment of the Army of the Potomac, now was hampering his own movement. Even the macadamized pikes were becoming difficult to move on, the road surface not designed for the pounding of hundreds of artillery limbers, a thousand supply wagons, over forty thousand men, and ten thousand cavalry. The very rain that had made his decisive victory possible was now making the exploitation of that victory very slow and very exhausting, robbing him of precious time when swift and decisive movement was essential to achieve the final victory.

  He let the curtain drop and returned to the table, sitting down, half glancing at the newspaper. Opening it up and spreading the single sheet out since it was uncut, he turned the paper around, pausing for a moment to look at the casualty lists for the Washington, D.C., area posted from Union Mills.

  Familiar names, old comrades from Mexico, Texas, and East Coast garrisons, cadets from his days as superintendent of West Point, were there in soggy ink.

  Three weeks ago they were still alive. How much all has changed, he thought. Dispatches, three days old, had come up this day from Richmond, and there was the Richmond Enquirer heralding Gettysburg and Union Mills as the greatest victory in the annals of war, rival to Waterloo, Yorktown, and Saratoga.

  Maybe so, but still it continues, the war still continues. One of the dispatches, in a sealed leather pouch, was from President Davis, congratulating him for a victory unparalleled in the history of the Southern republic, and informing him that he would come north to review the victorious army and to offer, as well, a conference with Lincoln to discuss an ending of hostilities.

  The implication behind President Davis's letter was clear enough, Lee mused as he picked up the coffeepot and poured half a cup. The president expects this war to be over within the month, but that means the taking of Washington, the collapse of the Union's will to fight, the draft and anti-war riots in northern cities spreading. Then Lincoln will have no choice but to seek an end to it.

  It was obvious now, however, that the near destruction of the Army of the Potomac had not swerved Lincoln from his path. Lincoln had endured the frustrating repulse of McClellan in front of Richmond, the destruction of Pope at Second Manassas, the bloodbath of Union soldiers in front of Fredericksburg, and now the crushing defeat of the Army of the Potomac along the Pipe Creek line between Westminster and Gettysburg.

  Somehow Lincoln had this ability to focus on the positive and to endure no matter what pain was inflicted on the Union forces. Now he was clearly pointing to Vicksburg as proof that the Union could win despite the failures in the East. He was a hard man and forcing him to negotiate was going to take extraordinary effort
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  In the last fight, it was the mind and spirit of General Meade and of his generals that I had to probe, to analyze, to defeat. The opponent is different now. Grant? Not for at least two weeks or more, most likely a month before he will become a factor. No, my opponent now is Abraham Lincoln, it is he I must break.

  That meant Washington. If the city fell and Lincoln was forced to abandon the city, where would he go? New York? Out of the question, with that city ripped by anarchy. Philadelphia? Yes, most likely there, a symbolic move to the birthplace of the United States. But according to the paper before him, rioting had broken out in the City of Brotherly Love as in its bigger cousin to the north. A president fleeing to a city that would need to be placed under martial law would be a crippling political blow, one he could not recover from.

  He looked at the map but by now there was no need to do so. Every detail was memorized, burned into his mind, every approach, every possible avenue of attack thought out, and thought out yet again.

  It was indeed, as Stuart put it, "a hard nut to crack." Yet it had to be done and done swiftly. We must force Lincoln out while the northern cities still burn, while a nation scans its newspapers, reads the tightly packed rows of fine print, recognizes names of the fallen, and asks, "Why?"

  He thought of the night of June 28, his epiphany as he realized that the army was not completely under control, under his direct hand, and from that realization, he now knew, had come the victory at Union Mills. He had driven his army beyond the brink of exhaustion, but that driving had taken them to heights undreamed of.

  I must do that again, in spite of all, in spite of the weather, in spite of the fortifications and that waiting garrison. This was a test of nerves and the target this time was not the Army of the Potomac, it was the mind of the president of the United States.

  He remembered his military history, how after Cannae Hannibal had inexplicably hesitated, giving Rome time to prepare, so that when the Carthaginian army finally did march up to the gates of that city, it could not be taken. Thus the fruits of that great victory were in the end squandered; the war had dragged on for another decade and led to ultimate defeat and finally to the destruction of Carthage.