Sumner’s arrival was a complete surprise to Johnston, and there was talk throughout the army that Johnston had actually been arrested, rumors running rampant that after his resignation, he had begun some kind of subversive activity against the army. Despite the suspicions in Washington, Bull Sumner seemed to know better, and rather than treat Johnston as a scoundrel, he had paid homage to Johnston’s long service by allowing him to leave Benicia on his own terms, as long as he left quickly. Johnston obliged, and the loyal adjutant, Mackall, had gone with him.
Mackall had now served Johnston as his senior staff officer all through Johnston’s command in the new Confederate army. But Johnston knew that his friend’s abilities and experience qualified him for a command beyond Johnston’s own headquarters. Whether or not the defense of Island Number Ten would be successful, Johnston had complete confidence that he had sent the best man available to do the job. But Johnston was losing a great deal of sleep over the fate of the army Mackall would command. Island Number Ten was now too far upriver from any serious reinforcement, and thus was too far removed from the more immediate concerns facing the army at Corinth. And from all reports, the Federal forces laying siege were far too strong for Mackall to resist for very long.
S
ince his arrival in Mississippi, Beauregard had witnessed firsthand the pitfalls of assembling a scattered and disorganized army. Those men who had retreated with Johnston from Murfreesboro were for the most part a veteran group, and behaved like one. But around Corinth, the assembled masses were a ragged bunch, tossed together from outposts that ranged from Texas to Georgia, from the Florida Gulf Coast to Arkansas. Discipline was not only difficult, in many instances, it was nonexistent, which had immediately created a serious problem with the civilians in every place the army was building their camps. Depredations against the population, which included assaults and widespread theft, had to be confronted, and confronted with a firm hand. The one man who seemed suited to the task had already arrived at Corinth. General Braxton Bragg had responded to his superiors’ desperate call for reinforcements by marching his forces northward from the coast near Mobile and Pensacola. Johnston and Beauregard both understood that Bragg’s reputation for ruthless discipline made him a perfect choice to take on the task of whipping the army into shape, often literally. Bragg was roundly disliked by his subordinates, and it was his passionate love of the stick and his willingness to execute the most brutal offenders in his own command that gave him his reputation as a martinet. But right now, with a patchwork army in a desperate need to face up to an organized Federal threat, Bragg’s ruthlessness was exactly what the army required. As a result, Bragg was appointed as Johnston’s new chief of staff, with the authority to bring discipline and training to the gathering hordes any way he could. As a carrot for Bragg, Johnston assured him that when the inevitable fight came with the advancing Federals, Bragg would be assigned to command an entire corps in Johnston’s army. Even Bragg’s lack of popularity could not diminish the greater need the army had for experienced generals who could lead so many untested soldiers into a fight.
ROSE COTTAGE, CORINTH, MISSISSIPPI
MARCH 24, 1862
They came mostly alone, the staff officers staying back, taking the cue from Johnston himself. Bragg seemed willing to take over the proceedings, sat at the head of the dining room table, reacted to the gathering with the same kind of straight-backed, unsmiling discipline he applied to the troops. But the four men present were the most senior commanders of the newly assembled army, and of the four, Bragg held the lowest rank. Johnston sat in one corner, a position he preferred, would allow Bragg to assume a mantle of authority, at least until anyone else chose to take it away.
Beauregard’s illness had put him on his back again, and Johnston still worried about the man, had begun to suspect that the other generals were wondering if the Creole might ever recover, a missing link this army did not need. With the disasters already inflicted on Johnston’s command, the army in the West had challenges far beyond Corinth. From Arkansas had come word of a new disaster, a sharp fight at Elkhorn Tavern, a place known to the Federals as Pea Ridge. General Earl Van Dorn had already been ordered south by Beauregard, to add his forces to those around Corinth, but the fight in Arkansas had been unavoidable, and so, as badly as Van Dorn’s troops were needed at Corinth, they were now reeling under the crushing blow from the Federals and likely wouldn’t be moving south for weeks.
The third man Johnston had summoned to his new residence was more than a capable commander. He was one of Johnston’s oldest friends.
Leonidas Polk had long been an ordained minister, had climbed through the hierarchy of the Episcopal Church to assume the respected position as bishop of Louisiana. But the war had brought Polk back to the roots that Johnston knew well. Polk had been at West Point with Johnston, and the two men had maintained a warm friendship for all the years since. Though some had criticized Bishop Polk for what seemed to be a contradictory reverence for both the Word and the musket, Johnston never doubted that Polk would serve the Cause. Tall and handsome, Polk was always a serious and thoughtful man, and Johnston believed that he would become one of the army’s brightest stars. Johnston knew his army needed all the stars it could get. Polk was also the only man in the high command who had fought and defeated the Federal commander they were now expecting to confront: Ulysses Grant. That fight had taken place the previous November, at Belmont, Missouri, and though neither side could trumpet a major strategic triumph, Grant and his three-thousand-man force had been outmaneuvered and beaten back with a considerable cost in casualties.
As they found their places in the dining room of the home that had become Johnston’s headquarters, Polk sat to one side of the table, seemed to position himself where he could keep a watch on Beauregard, shared Johnston’s obvious concern. It was another trait of the man Johnston had come to admire, and Johnston could never look at the man’s eyes without thinking of Polk’s genuine grief over the death of Johnston’s first wife, Henrietta. It was a time in Johnston’s life that could never quite be stored away, and Polk seemed to know that, would never speak of those days, unless Johnston brought it up.
At the large table, Bragg cast a quick scornful glance at the prostrate Beauregard, one hand pounding the table in a light drumbeat of impatience. He turned, looked at Johnston, said, “So, General, are
you
well? Is the army living up to your expectations?”
It was a clumsy attempt to draw praise, and Johnston thought of a phrase, a scolding lesson he had once given his son.
Those who fish for compliments catch only minnows
.
“I am well, Braxton. General Beauregard is not so fortunate. But we are here to address our strategic situation, and there is some urgency.”
Beauregard let out a faint high groan, sat up, said, “If I may be allowed, sir.”
Bragg grunted, but knew better than to object.
“If you feel up to the task, sir.”
Beauregard ignored the comment, said, “As you all know, we have received definite intelligence that the enemy is encamped barely twenty miles from this very spot. We also received some word from one cavalry outpost that the Federals under General Grant were on the move, driving southward directly toward our position, which caused considerable concern among the troops. Fortunately, those reports were proven false. But the enemy is most definitely in place, is assembling considerable stores of supplies and armament, and when General Halleck feels the time is right, General Grant will be ordered to advance. As I have anticipated since my assignment here, it is more than apparent that Corinth will be his target. I am not confident that we are fully prepared to meet him.” Bragg grunted, and Beauregard still ignored him, continued. “Anticipating that the Federals would strike the railroad junction here, it has been my goal to assemble an army with numbers sufficient to defend this place at great cost to the enemy. That, at least, has been accomplished. There are other concerns, however, that should be addressed. The lack of proper armament for our troops is chief among them.”
There was a light rap on the doorjamb, and Johnston saw Wickliffe, one of his staff officers, now an aide to Bragg. Bragg huffed, “Yes, Captain. Speak up. Important matters here.”
Wickliffe had served Johnston far longer than he had Bragg, seemed to share everyone else’s hesitation about dealing with Bragg at all. He said to Johnston, “Sir, we have received a lengthy and urgent report from Colonel Forrest.”
Bragg turned toward Wickliffe, seemed genuinely angry.
“Forrest? He’s, what, a cavalry scout? Now why would you interrupt our meeting to tell us of some scout? We have just been discussing the grotesque inability of our outposts to scout anything with any accuracy. They spread rumor as efficiently as they spread their horse manure.”
“Excuse me, Braxton. I should like to hear what Colonel Forrest has to say.”
Bragg turned to Johnston, seemed to clamp down his objections, shrugged. Wickliffe seemed relieved, said to Johnston, “Sir, Colonel Forrest reports that a patrol under his command … Captain McDonald … observed an entire division of Federal troops encamped at the Duck River, not many miles from the town of Columbia, sir. Colonel Forrest reports the troops were General McCook’s Division. They were halted on the far side of the river because of our destruction of the bridges in that area, but are working to make their way across. A prisoner was captured, sir, and revealed much.” The captain paused, seemed to swallow hard, nervous. “According to Colonel Forrest, General McCook’s Division is the vanguard of a much larger force, sir.”
Bragg sniffed.
“McCook? Several of those
McCook
fellows in the blue coats. Ohio bunch, right? What in God’s name is so damn important about a bunch of Ohio infantry at the Duck River? That’s a pretty haul from here, if I recall.”
Beauregard coughed, fought to control his voice, said softly, “General McCook commands a division in the Army of the Ohio.”
Bragg didn’t look at Beauregard.
“That’s what I just said.”
Beauregard ignored the slight, said, “
Buell’s
Army of the Ohio. The latest we heard, they were camped around Nashville.”
Wickliffe nodded furiously.
“Yes, sir. That’s what Colonel Forrest said. But no longer, sir. The colonel says they’re on the move. Colonel Forrest stresses in the strongest terms, sir, that this can only mean that General Buell’s forces are intending—”
Beauregard interrupted.
“They are coming this way. Buell is marching his people to link up with Grant. That’s why Grant is just … sitting where he is. He’s not going anywhere until Buell joins him, reinforces him. General Halleck is no lion. This is a major operation for him, and he’s not going into this fight with one claw. He wants them both.”
Johnston had said nothing, absorbed the seriousness of the young man’s report, thought of Forrest. This is not a mistake. Forrest knows better. And it makes absolute sense.
“Gentlemen, our priorities have changed. General Buell has changed them for us. Do we know Grant’s strength at present?”
Beauregard nodded.
“Thirty to forty thousand, maybe more. Certainly not less. Buell most assuredly has that many.”
Polk looked directly at Johnston, said, “If Buell brings his army alongside Grant … they will be too strong. We can never hope to stop them.” Polk turned now, the staff officer still at rigid attention in the doorway. “Captain, did Colonel Forrest report if the enemy had yet succeeded in crossing the Duck River?”
“Sir, the colonel’s report stated that the enemy was having some difficulty. Colonel Forrest insists with utmost urgency, sir, that the enemy is delayed … uh …” He brought a piece of paper from behind his back, glanced at it. “He … Colonel Forrest says that the enemy seems to be …
bogged down
. But it is certain that their engineers are working to move their forces across. It should be the same all along the river, sir. We have known for several days that we were successful in destroying every bridge that would be of use to the enemy, and the cavalry patrols are watching any location where the river could be forded. The poor weather has been most helpful to us, sir.”
Polk nodded, a soft smile, looked again at Johnston.
“Then God has granted us a marvelous gift. With the rains, He has granted us time.”
Bragg seemed confused, said, “There is never enough time. Have you seen my reports? The disciplinary measures have only been partially effective. As for weaponry, we have a dozen varieties of muskets and the proper ammunition for half that many. We were promised artillery that hasn’t been manufactured yet! Mules that haven’t been born!”
Johnston stood, the burst of cold energy rolling through him, stood above them all, saw the soft smile still on Polk’s face, the sharp eyes watching him.
“I have faith in your abilities, General Bragg. We all do. But I also have faith in Bishop Polk. You see this as clearly as I do, correct, my friend?”
Polk spread his hands, silent, allowed Johnston to explain. Beauregard was upright now, seemed energized as well, Johnston grateful for that. Johnston spoke slowly, chose his words, careful, precise.
“In every fight, we have engaged the enemy in a cloud of confusion and chaos. It is the nature of war, and the nature of these two armies. When we fail, it is not because the soldiers fail. It is because our
decisions
are made by generals who suffer that same malady, confusion and chaos. But we have been blessed with a moment of clarity. I believe I understand exactly what we must do. General Grant has been ordered to wait. Therefore he sits, waiting. And so, we will
not
.”
Polk said, “What is the distance to the enemy camps?”
Beauregard responded.
“Twenty miles, twenty-two. They are spread out on a high bluff, wooded ground, many fields. For reasons I do not understand, they have encamped on this side of the river, just upstream south of Savannah. The place is called Pittsburg Landing.”