A Blaze of Glory (12 page)

Sherman absorbed the news, shook his head.

“Sorry, sir. You deserve better treatment.”

“Nah. Don’t give it a thought, Cump. Sam Grant is the man for this job. Donelson was his victory, big feather in his cap. That’s what did him in with Halleck, you know. Our commanding general believes he can best fight our battles by sitting in a chair. Someone like Grant shows him, well, perhaps that isn’t the best way.… Halleck takes umbrage, decides he better make it clear who’s in charge. Grant’s only mistake was not bowing down quite low enough. Maybe he should have wired Halleck a few more times, congratulating him on
Halleck’s
glorious conquest.” He stopped, cocked his head to one side. “You’re friends with him, right? I don’t wish to offend you, General Sherman.”

Sherman thought of Halleck, shrugged.

“We spent a lot of time together … long time ago. Two lieutenants both too ignorant to know how ignorant we were. Fought like cats, feuded about half the time over something neither of us can remember. Best time we had together is the trip we took to Rio Janeiro, on our way to California. Marvelous place. We had some … uh … fun. I owe him a great deal. Might not be in the army at all if he hadn’t put me back in command. I have made a few enemies.”

“Yes, yes, I know all of that. He’s your guardian angel, is that it? You spew out some amazingly stupid things to a newspaper reporter, and it’s Halleck who keeps you from losing your career. I never really thought you were insane, by the way. Well, no more than the rest of us. Look where we are, for God’s sake.” Smith stared at Sherman’s hand, fingers pinching and tugging at his short red whiskers. “You’re a nervous man by nature. I’ve known that for years. But you don’t know how to make good use of that. You get yourself all twisted into knots when you ought to be seeing the bright light of day. Halleck has confidence in you, I know that. Grant feels the same way. But … if I may say, Cump, you see too many demons in the shadows. This war is going to end soon, and this enemy out there is never going to stand up to our men, our officers, our guns. You have to believe that.”

“You weren’t at Bull Run.”

“You’re right. One fine mess. But it won’t happen again. How many of you young bucks were in my classrooms? I know what kind of backbone you have, I know you’ll learn from your mistakes. But the more mistakes you make, the more learning you have to do. Easy remedy for that. Stop making mistakes!”

Sherman didn’t know what to say. He could see the pain in Smith’s face, the leg shifting slowly, Smith unable to get comfortable.

“Perhaps you should lie down, sir.”

“Yep, I’ll do that. But you try to help me, and I’ll kick you with the good leg.”

Smith rose from the chair, shaky, his hands on the chair, keeping him upright, and for a moment he was motionless, his eyes closed.

“It hurts like blazes, Cump. Can’t make it stop. They want to give me liquor, keep telling me it will dull the pain. A commander can’t be in a fog, by God.”

“Sir, you just said … Grant is in command. Take the liquor. Take anything. You’re making
me
hurt.”

Smith hopped on one leg to a narrow bed, lowered himself down with a groan.

“Ridiculous. I scraped my shin. This feels … you’d think I’d been hit with a grapeshot.”

Sherman stayed back, watched as Smith struggled to lift the bad leg onto the bed. The leg was horizontal now, the effort past, and Smith seemed to relax, said, “Send the doctor back in here.”

“Am I dismissed, sir?”

Smith seemed to come out of the fog, looked sharply at Sherman.

“No. Not yet. Forget the doctor. Your report … says we can’t hit that railroad until the creeks go down.”

“That’s one alternative. In this weather we haven’t been able to find a route suitable for putting enough of our people close enough to do anything useful.”

“It’s just rain. It’ll pass. I’ve put Lew Wallace’s Division at Crump’s Landing, and sent Hurlbut’s to Pittsburg Landing. The ground inland from the river there is pretty high. Hurlbut says there’s a good bit of open ground, lots of creeks, but they’re cut deep, so at least nobody’s drowned yet. You encamp your division there as well. When Grant gets here, I’ll make sure he knows why I chose the place, and from that point on, it’s his decision what happens next. I’ll recommend he put my division there as well. Plenty of room. Not sure I’ll be able to go with the boys, but I’ll try. I can’t believe this … scrape my shinbone, and I’m a cripple, for God’s sake.” Smith laid his head back, stared at the ceiling. “Never thought I’d ever have any reason to end up in Tennessee.
Any
place in the South, for that matter. Oh yes, I remember, you actually like it down here. Forgive me for insulting your chosen piece of heaven. What is it you love so much? The swamps or the people who live in them?”

“I like Alexandria, Baton Rouge. Some good people there, good friends. I felt like I was doing some good with the military school. Used some of your lessons, by the way. Giving that up was … hard. But I couldn’t stay.”

“No, General, you couldn’t stay. If you recall, those people decided to start a war against you. Likely your family wouldn’t have been treated with much hospitality once you strapped on your sword.”

Sherman knew Smith’s mood was caused by the man’s agony, didn’t respond. There was no insult in the man’s words. He admired Smith as much as any man in the army, and Sherman’s eyes drifted to the bandage, a sickening bloom of red and yellow, the smell still filling the room, not all of it the medicine.

“I’ll get the doctor, sir. Try to rest as much as you can. When Grant arrives, I’ll tell him of your condition.”

“I’ll tell him myself. Go to your troops. Find them a dry place to pitch their tents. Keep your people out of the swamps. They’ve got some ridiculous creature, teeth and claws and whatnot. Eats people, I hear. You lose any men to that kind of nonsense, I don’t want to hear about it. Alligators. Whoever heard of such a thing?”

“Yes, sir. I’ve seen them. You leave them alone, they usually do the same.”

“If you say so. Now go on, get your men on the ground, set up your camps. We’ve got some time before anything happens. Halleck wants to make sure we gather up every soldier in a thousand miles of here before he’ll be
comfortable
enough for us to attack.”

Sherman looked out past the doorway, saw the doctor pacing, concern on the man’s face. Sherman motioned to the man, a sharp wave of his hand,
here, now
.

Smith stared again at the ceiling.

“You’re going to camp your men … where?”

Sherman felt a cold knot in his stomach, watched as Smith waved an arm, his mouth moving, no voice, a show of delirium.
Just a scrape on his leg
.

“You just rest, sir. My men will be at Pittsburg Landing.”

BAUER

THE TENNESSEE RIVER, NEAR SAVANNAH, TENNESSEE MARCH 20, 1862

“
T
his thing’s got hair on it. Still growing.”

“Eat it anyway. There won’t be another ration till we get into camp. That’s what the captain says, anyway.”

“Can’t do it.”

Bauer watched as Willis tossed the blob of white pork back into the pot. Willis had suffered already with the
camp gripes
, what every man in the company had endured at some point since their first introduction to the army’s food. Across from Bauer, Patterson lurched forward, grabbed the meat, said, “Heck a mighty, Sammie, you gonna waste food, you toss it my way. Anything I stick in my gut’s better than an empty hole. I hear the bellies of every one of you corn brains singing to me all night long. You gotta eat, keep ’em filled up.”

Willis turned away, stared out to the shoreline.

“Can’t keep anything
filled up
. I eat those damn crackers and they can’t slide through me fast enough. All we’ve had to drink is the water out of this river. I can see things swimming in it. So half the regiment has been suffering … what they call it? Dysentery? Who thought that was a good idea?”

Bauer leaned back against the bulkhead, stared out with his friend, tried not to listen to Patterson chewing noisily on the lump of what was supposed to be sowbelly. Hair and all. Willis put his chin on the iron railing, and after a long silence, said to Bauer, “I gotta say, Dutchie, the wiry edge of excitement has done worn off. We been on this boat for four days, and ever since we left the Mississippi, this whole damn place is nothing but wilderness. A few darkies and trading posts. I’m still waiting to see something of this
rebellion
we’re after. Startin’ to wonder if the captain’s lying to us, that the war’s over and done. My pappy’s last letter … he was hopping up and down about our
great victory
at Fort Donelson.” Willis looked at him with sad, sick eyes. “I’m telling you, we missed it, Dutchie. The whole thing. They took so damn long to get us moving, all that drill and nonsense, too many days in St. Louis giving these pea heads time to find out how much fun liquor can be. I never knew there was that many taverns in the whole world. And those women.”

Patterson interrupted through the half-eaten goop in his mouth.

“God’s gift to the army, Sammie. Good for morale. Say what you want, but those ladies are happy to be showing off their patriotism. That’s all it is. Devoted to the flag. Extra enthusiasm for these nice blue uniforms.”

Willis looked back out to the shoreline, and Bauer said, “Just eat your sowbelly, Patterson. I’m not about to go dancing around with gals like I saw in St. Louis, or Cairo, either.”

Patterson seemed to shudder, exaggerated it.

“Cairo … now I gotta say … you’re right about those critters. The ugliest creatures on God’s earth. Toothless wonders with black fingernails. And if that wasn’t bad enough, every one of those gals had their daddy looking past ’em with a shotgun in his hand. They were friendly all right, but I met one … whooee, smelled worse than either of you two. But St. Louis … ah, now there’s a place I’ll remember. Not a daddy in sight. Might end up there permanent, when this is over.”

Bauer turned away, saw Willis closing his eyes, ignoring Patterson’s chatter, the turmoil in the man’s gut too obvious. Bauer put a hand on Willis’s shoulder.

“Maybe you oughta go down below. There’s a two-holer right under us.”

Willis shook his head.

“Nothing left to give. Just … knotted up. Hurts. It’ll pass. Be nice if this loudmouth trollop hound would clam up.” Willis turned toward Patterson now, who seemed oblivious, was scraping the metal pot for remnants of anything left to eat. Willis said, “How’d you get to be a damn soldier, anyway?”

Patterson looked up, licked his forefinger.

“Same as you.” He put a hand on his heart, made an exaggerated gesture. “Told ’em I love my country. Love the flag. Hate secesh. Love Lincoln. Love darkies. And when I signed my papers the sergeant told me I’m gonna love fighting. He said we’re off on the adventure of a lifetime. All we gotta do is carry a musket, and the army’ll send us out on a grand journey to exotic lands.”

“You three need to be below. We’ll be pulling up to the landing soon. They’re finally letting us off this tub.”

Bauer looked up, saw the captain standing tall above them. Patterson said, “I even love the captain, pardon me for saying so, sir. And the colonel, too. With his permission, of course, sir.”

The captain stared at Patterson, said, “Your mouth needs to be
closed
once in a while. Try it sometime. Now, get below.”

Patterson snapped an unnecessary salute, still sat cross-legged, surrounding the round pot, thrust his fingers in for one more search. Bauer pulled himself up, one hand on the iron rail, Willis slower to move. The captain started toward the ladder that led to the lower decks, then stopped, his attention on the shoreline.

“You see that? Right out there. Makes my blood boil. That’s why we’re gonna win this war.”

Bauer looked that way, a wide field of brown, fresh-plowed soil, and scattered across it, a dozen Negroes, most with hand tools, working the ground. Patterson said, “Told you, sir. I love the darkies. Come down here to set ’em free.”

“Shut up. You see what they’re doing?”

Bauer said, “Farming, sir. Guess they’re getting ready to plant something.”

The captain seemed annoyed, his point lost on all of them.

“They’re
working
, you numskulls. And where are the white men? They make the slaves do the real work, while the
Southern gentlemen
court their ladies and drink their bourbon and fight their duels. All they know how to do. That’s who we’re fighting, that’s the damn enemy. A bunch of coddled rich boys who don’t know what a fight is. They’re good at talking, good at rousing rabble. And those dirty devils think they can spit on our flag and tell the rest of us to go to hell. That’s why we’re here, and that’s why we’ll whip those devils before they know what happened.”

Bauer had heard this kind of talk before. All throughout the training at the first camp, Randall, near Madison, there had been great bombastic speeches launched at them with much more flair and poetry than the captain’s simple rage. It was the politicians who brought their flowery enthusiasm to the troops, men in fine suits who stood on cracker boxes and lauded the flag and the president and everything about the Union. Most of the troops had grown used to it, and after hearing so much of it for so many weeks, the more fiery the speeches, the more the soldiers ignored them. Some of the officers felt the same need, to encourage their men with ridiculous words. But Captain Saxe wasn’t a speechmaker, the man mostly keeping to himself, doing the job, pushing hard for the company to learn its craft the army way. What Bauer liked about the captain had nothing to do with flowery words. There was an air of authority about Saxe, confidence that he was the right man to lead them. There had been talk from above, too, Bauer overhearing a conversation between two of the adjutants, that the regiment’s commanding officer, Colonel Benjamin Allen, had already chosen Saxe to climb the chain of command as quickly as it could be arranged. As far as Bauer knew, the captain didn’t seem the type to do the brown-nose campaigning for higher position, something too common in the growing army. Saxe had done nothing to show his men any more than hard-nosed discipline, was quick to punish the shirkers, and had little patience for the big-mouth louts like Patterson.

Bauer stared out at the dark-skinned men working the field, bare feet and strong backs, few of them paying attention to the long line of boats that passed them by. The captain was gone now, down the ladder, a last sharp command to get below, and Bauer started to move that way, made sure Willis was upright, could move at all. Willis suddenly lurched forward, vomited over the rail, and there was a curse from below, a brief chorus of laughter.

“Geez, Sammie, better get you down low. Maybe the doc oughta have a look at you.”

Willis showed no acknowledgment, and Bauer knew immediately it was a useless suggestion. The doctor who accompanied them was the same man who had examined many of these men when they first volunteered. When their enlistment papers were signed, the first order the men received was to submit to a doctor’s examination. Bauer had imagined all sorts of rigorous physical tests, coordination, strength. At the very least, the men would be examined for any illness that made them unsuitable for the long marches. Bauer knew he was healthy, had stood straight and marched into the medical tent prepared for anything they might ask him to do. He didn’t expect to find the doctor most assuredly drunk, the man sitting shakily in a chair he never left. The doctor had told Bauer to stand in front of him and turn around once, then said, “Two arms. Two legs. You’re a soldier.”

Every man had been examined with the same result, and no one had been particularly enthusiastic when they found this same doctor assigned to accompany them south. When illness struck any of them, as it clearly had struck Willis, few of them even considered a visit to the medical tent.

Bauer kept the captain’s words in his mind, had wondered often about the Southern soldiers, if the captain was right. If they’re lazy, he thought, then this should be over already. Sammie might be right. They’re not telling us anything at all. Maybe there’s cleaning up to do, chasing down the secesh who are too stupid to surrender. Maybe we’re heading for occupation duty, sitting tight in some city, keeping the citizens from causing any trouble. He waited for Willis, who began to follow behind him, one hand unsteadily on the rail. Bauer said, “I wonder if you’re right. Maybe the big fights are over. There’s sure a bunch of us, though. There’s gotta be a hundred boats on this river. What you think we’re gonna do?”

Behind them, the sergeant climbed up from the other side, gave the sick man a slight push.

“Move! The captain’s ordered everyone down to the main deck. You boys thinking of hiding out up here, shirkin’ off, you better think again! I’ll bullwhip any man who doesn’t show for formation. You hear me?”

Willis responded weakly, a sour frown on his face.

“I hear you, Sarge. We’re going.”

“Nobody in my unit on sick call, either! You puke again, I’ll make you eat it!”

Bauer tried to avoid Sergeant Williams whenever possible, though of course, it was rarely possible. He reached the iron ladder, dropped down quickly, joined a packed crowd of men lining the deck, most seeking out their company commanders, falling into line, other sergeants doing most of the talking. Patterson was already there, and Bauer caught a glimpse of nervousness on the man’s face, a glimmer of fear in his eyes. It surprised him, and Bauer was curious about that, if Patterson knew something. But there were no secrets on the transport boats, just rumors, a great many rumors. Bauer sniffed, thought, for all his talk, he’s probably just a coward. I haven’t seen a single thing we need to be scared of.

Willis was close beside him, pointed, and Bauer saw Captain Saxe, moved that way through the throng of men. The talk was low, urgent, a hum of expectation. Out to the right, another transport was moving up tightly against the bank, the black smoke rising in a thick column, drifting up into gray sky. Their own boat did the same, a grinding
thump
as the boat impacted the shoreline. Bauer fell into line, nodded to the man beside him, Graff, friendly, smiling back at him. Good, he thought. Graff’s no coward. Just curious what happens next. Just like me. Graff said quietly, “This is really amazing, Dutchie. Look at us. Damn if we ain’t an
army
.”

B
auer never needed to be reminded why he joined the army, and for the most part the rest of the boys in the 16th Wisconsin had joined for the same reasons. It was simple. What had happened in South Carolina, and then in Virginia, had roused considerable anger in places where politics had rarely been discussed. The emotions about the Southern rebellion made many of these men understand that their country was under attack, that what was coming out of Washington might be deadly serious. The threat to their country was becoming real and dangerous, and most of the men trusted President Lincoln. When the fights became bloody, and when Lincoln called for an army to stop the rebellion, the men who volunteered believed that joining up to fight for the Union was simply the right thing to do. Whether Captain Saxe was accurate in his description of the rebels really didn’t matter. Bauer had never had any trouble accepting that the secesh, and the men who claimed to be their army, had to be stopped, even if it meant more of the bloody confrontations. Like most of the men in the regiment, Bauer had developed a healthy enthusiasm for doing his part, and so had suffered a nagging fear that whatever fight there might be, the 16th Wisconsin would get there too late to enjoy it.