The Smoke at Dawn: A Novel of the Civil War

  Officers saluted him as he passed, but Sherman ignored most of that, had been in the saddle too long today. He searched through the various flags, saw the larger Stars and Stripes, felt relieved, knew he would find answers to the myriad questions, and even better, would find out just what Grant wanted him to do. He focused on the larger cluster of horsemen, saw civilians among them, the ever-present Charles Dana, others, the newspaper reporters who clamored about the generals like fleas on a house pet. He dreaded that, had learned that lesson long ago, that those men, despite their broad smiles and glad-handing, were not his friends. He saw a pair of them to one side of the gathering officers, men pointing out toward the ridgeline a half mile way, smoke still drifting above the trees, the last signs of Hooker’s absurd fight. Sherman searched the officers for the least conspicuous man in the bunch. He saw him now, an automatic smile, marveling once more at Grant’s utter lack of military decorum. The uniform was plain and dull, Grant seeming to blend into any gathering of officers as the man least likely to be in command. It was the same now, Grant sitting slouched in the saddle, the plain coat, the hat pulled low, as though shading himself from everyone around him.

  Grant saw him, raised the brim of the hat, and Sherman saw the briefest of smiles from Grant, the slow nod, the cigar offered up in a brief salute. Sherman closed the gap between them, could feel the staff hanging back.

  “Good afternoon, Grant. I had hoped we’d put Bragg’s army in a bag.”

  Grant pulled away from the others, and Sherman saw Dana watching, knew Dana would come along. It was Grant’s logic, that including Dana in any conversation now meant that the reports going to Washington would carry Grant’s approval. Sherman knew to guard his words, and Grant moved closer to him, waited for Dana to come up with him, said, “Afternoon, Sherman. Pleasant day. The enemy’s burned enough supplies to last them for months. Curious.”

  “Not curious at all. They didn’t have time to grab everything they had back here. Left a mess of artillery and wagons near Graysville. Some of the guns are in good condition, too. We’ll make use of that.” Sherman looked at Dana now, said, “I would hope you’re telling the War Department that they’ve got something to celebrate.”

  Grant glared at him, and Sherman wasn’t sure why. Harmless enough question, he thought. Grant said, “He didn’t have to. Told them myself. Rather enjoy crowing about a victory once and again.”

  Dana raised his hat, a salute of his own, said, “I’ve told them as well, sir. Marvelous experience, watching that final assault. Like a painting, a work of art, the army assembled in such martial perfection. Quite sure the enemy saw that for what it was. Destiny. Yes, that’s it. Destiny. They could not hope to hold their position in the face of such overwhelming superiority.”

  Grant was looking at Sherman, no expression, but Sherman felt the message, had received it too often before. Keep your mouth shut. Dana seemed eager for something back from Sherman, and he forced a smile, said, “Yes, wonderful. Washington should hear some good news occasionally.”

  Grant kept his eyes on Sherman, said, “Mr. Dana, if you will allow us a brief moment.”

  “By all means, sir. I understand. Permit me to join the others, then.”

  Grant gave a quick wave of his hand, all the permission Dana required. They were alone now, and Sherman turned the horse, stared out toward the scavenging soldiers, said, “Heard about Osterhaus. Which regiments got hit the worst?”

  Grant let out a breath. “Thirteenth Illinois took it badly. Missouri boys, too. The Seventeenth, Twenty-ninth, Thirty-first. Made a devil of a fight. But Cleburne set it up just right. Perfect ambush.”

  Sherman felt a burn. “You sure it was Cleburne?”

  Grant tilted his head, held the cigar in his hand. “Matter?”

  Sherman stared ahead, fought to keep his voice calm. Yes, by damned. It matters to me. I’ll whip that man yet. The thoughts were held tightly, and Sherman shrugged. “Suppose not.”

  “Hooker’s taking it hard. Knows he really messed things up. He’ll probably stay away from you for a while. Not in his nature to apologize for getting his boys killed. In this case, your boys.”

  Sherman tried to feel something kind for Hooker, thought of the man’s smug handsomeness, couldn’t help but dislike him, even from before the war. “I’ll stay away from him. I assume he’s going back to … wherever he came from.”

  “Not sure yet. Up to Halleck.”

  “I’ll talk to Osterhaus. He’s gotta be pretty ripped up by this.”

  “Did already. But, he’s yours, so, yep. I’d do that.”

  Sherman felt a hesitation from Grant, something digging through Sherman he didn’t enjoy.

  “You have something to say to me, by damned, say it.”

  Grant pulled at the cigar, stared away, watching the soldiers. “Like what?”

  “Like Cleburne fought one hell of a fight. Like I should have taken that ridge. Like you put me up on that flank to win this thing.”

  Grant still didn’t look at him. “We won this thing. That’s what the War Department will care about. Shame they got away, though. Cavalry says Bragg’s headed for Dalton. They’ll likely resupply, refit, wait for us to come after them. Can’t yet.”

  Sherman wanted to say more about his fight, about Cleburne, could feel a numbing cold in Grant’s words. He glanced to the side, no one close. “It was a hell of a fight, Grant. Made one bad mistake, relying on the maps. That ground was cut up, hills and woods. Damnedest place to try to move. Enemy had the good ground, dug in strong. Lost some good men. Maybe too many.”

  “Maybe. That’s more than Hooker will say.”

  Sherman stared at Grant, who avoided his eyes. He ached for something more from Grant, a scorching blast, the kind of response Sherman would put out himself. But he knew it wasn’t Grant’s way. He glanced down at the dusty ground beneath them, felt the chill of a cold wind.

  Grant said, “Thomas’s people did something I’d never thought I’d see. Disobeyed orders and made themselves heroes. I wouldn’t say this to Washington, but I’d rather they not do that.”

  Sherman absorbed the obvious, that the newspapers would latch on to Thomas more than anyone else. He rolled that over in his mind, shrugged. “Dana was there. Saw it for what it was. A real spectacle. If he’d have been up on my end of things … well, might not go well for me.”

  Grant looked at him now. “He wasn’t on your end. And he told Washington what they needed to hear, which was the truth. Thomas broke through, sent Bragg scurrying off into the woods. Any reason he shouldn’t get credit for that? Man saved the army at Chickamauga, so everyone keeps telling me. His star’s rising, no doubt. He’ll keep command of the Army of the Cumberland, for certain.”

  “And the Army of Tennessee?”

  “You resigning?”

  Sherman was stunned at the question. “Hell no. Um … should I?”

  Grant looked at him again, a brief smile. “Not while I’m your superior. Besides, got a job for you. Once Bragg was whipped, I ordered Granger to move it quick up to Knoxville. You want to get a rise out of the War Department, have them think we forgot about Burnside. It seems General Granger didn’t like the assignment. Dallied about, took his time putting his men together. Not sure what he has against Burnside, but I changed his orders, told him to stay put in Chattanooga. I need you to march up to Knoxville, as quick as you can get moving. Burnside collapses, and none of this will matter. Halleck’s been on me from the beginning to take care of Knoxville, and now that we’re not so distracted by things around here, they’re squalling again.”

  Sherman slumped, had no use for Burnside at all. “I had hoped my men would get some rest.”

  “It’s winter. Go up there and kick Longstreet in the backside, and they’ll get all the rest they need. And Washington will be mighty grateful for your good work.”

  It was rare sarcasm from Grant, but Sherman knew he was being given a gift, that Grant was offering him a way to move past what had hap
pened to him at Tunnel Hill. He looked out toward the gap, the smoke fading, men and wagons moving back from the ground where the fight had been, wounded men hauled to makeshift hospitals, the houses in Ringgold now fulfilling a service that their residents never expected to see.

  “Hope I run into that fellow again.”

  “Who?”

  “General Cleburne.”

  “It’s not your personal war, Sherman. You go help Burnside. The rest will follow in time.”

  Sherman heard meaning in Grant’s words. “You have a plan? You do, don’t you? You already know what we’re going to do next.”

  “Don’t you?”

  Sherman kept his stare on the distant gap in the hills, felt Grant’s eyes. “Well, since I have my orders, my first priority will be to march my men toward Knoxville. After that, I suppose there’s one place left to go.”

  “Knoxville first. Clean up things there. Let Burnside go back to Washington for his parade.”

  Sherman waited for more, and Grant smiled at him again, held out a cigar.

  “Then, we’ll talk about Atlanta.”

  AFTERWORD

  I have on several occasions been repulsed and driven back when taking part in an attack, but never before or since have I been one of a routed army, where panic seemed to seize upon all, and all order, obedience and discipline were for the time forgotten and disregarded.

  —GENERAL ARTHUR MANIGAULT, CSA

  In very many cases, Jefferson Davis’s assessments of his generals were so poor as to be ultimately ruinous. As the war progressed unsatisfactorily, Davis’s decisions about his generals, and stubborn pride in sustaining them, perhaps contributed the most to the ultimate defeat of the Confederacy.

  —HISTORIAN WILEY SWORD

  We had the advantage in position and ought to have whipped them. We will never have another such opportunity of completely destroying the Yankee army.

  —CAPTAIN JAMES L. COOPER, CSA

  This battle has driven a big nail into the coffin of the Confederacy.

  —ULYSSES S. GRANT

  On November 29, Sherman begins his march toward Knoxville, his troops destroying the railroad along the way, preventing any possibility that Longstreet might yet return to assist Bragg’s defeated army. Sherman is told that Burnside’s desperate plea for aid comes not only from the threat by Longstreet’s assaults, but by the effectiveness of Longstreet’s siege of the city, which has reduced supplies, especially rations, to starvation levels. When Sherman arrives in Knoxville, he is stunned, and annoyed, to discover that, days before, Burnside has defeated Longstreet’s army, driving the rebels away, that Longstreet has withdrawn completely from his siege of the city, retreating eastward toward Virginia. In addition, Burnside welcomes Sherman by offering an elaborate feast, giving lie to the claims of imminent starvation that Burnside has used to gather support for his plight. Disgusted, Sherman withdraws his army back toward Chattanooga.

  For the first time in the war, the Confederate forces hold no significant position anywhere in the state of Tennessee.

  In the east, Lee’s Army of Northern Virginia is still recovering from their crushing defeat at Gettysburg, and the Federal War Department looks to the new year by anticipating what could become a last-gasp campaign by Lee to preserve his army. But if any significant offensive is to be carried out, it will naturally involve George Meade’s Army of the Potomac. Few in Washington have confidence that Meade has the aggressiveness to drive southward, that no matter Meade’s victory at Gettysburg, Lee is still a dangerous foe. A frustrated Abraham Lincoln has grown weary with the parade of sluggish or inept commanders in the East, and the meteoric rise in the reputation of Ulysses Grant inspires Lincoln to make a radical change in the Federal army’s hierarchy. In March 1864, Grant is rewarded for his successes in the West with a promotion to lieutenant general, a rank previously held by only two men: George Washington and Winfield Scott. Grant is called to Washington, and meets with Lincoln, who pointedly gives Grant responsibility for the entire Federal army, with the assurances that, as long as Grant is aggressive in his pursuit of the enemy, no one in Washington will interfere. Grant is impressed by Lincoln’s candor, and accepts the promise that he will be free to conduct the war his way. Ironically, with the promotion, he now outranks his nemesis, Henry Halleck, who remains in Washington as a titular chief of staff.

  To no one’s surprise, Grant names William T. Sherman as his successor in command of the armies in the West. While Grant plans for the spring offensive in the East, the pursuit and destruction of Lee’s army, Sherman plans the campaign designed to drive a hard wedge into Georgia, with the goal of capturing the critical rail and supply hub of Atlanta.

  Since the conquest of Vicksburg, in July 1863, the Federal army and navy maintain uncontested control of the Mississippi River, which severs the Confederacy in two. Richmond is helpless to support those troops west of the river (the Trans-Mississippi Department), while the Confederate government reluctantly accepts, even if their president does not, that the enormously valuable natural and human resources from Texas, Louisiana, and Arkansas are simply lost. Between the river and the inevitable pursuit of Lee in Virginia lies the dwindling hopes for supply and reinforcement for the battered Confederate armies. The Confederate hierarchy understands the value of Atlanta as well, and with winter settling upon both armies, preparations are made for the defense of the city, the Confederate command keeping alive a faint optimism that Sherman’s army can be destroyed. Both sides are well aware that Grant’s pursuit of Lee is of critical importance to the survival of the Confederate government in Richmond. But if Sherman conquers Georgia, the Confederacy will be divided once again, what will most likely end the war.

  THOSE WHO WORE GRAY

  BRAXTON BRAGG

  Arrives at his new base of command in Dalton, Georgia, on November 27. Still eager to place blame for every failure, Bragg issues a note to his senior commanders, requesting lists of names of those officers who were found wanting during the campaign, writing to Joseph Johnston, “The disastrous panic … is unexplainable.” But explain he does, in a letter to Jefferson Davis, in which he accuses General John Breckinridge of continuous drunkenness, labels General Benjamin Cheatham “dangerous,” and requests “an investigation into the causes of the defeat.” No formal inquiry is convened.

  Despite nurturing his own blamelessness, Bragg understands the inevitable, and on November 28, in a gesture that Bragg concedes is entirely appropriate, he writes to Davis, formally accepts responsibility for the disaster at Chattanooga, and asks to be relieved of command. This request has gone to Richmond before, but to Bragg’s surprise, this time Jefferson Davis does not stand in his corner. On November 30, Adjutant General Samuel Cooper replies to Bragg, “Your request to be relieved has been submitted to the president, who … directs me to notify you that you are relieved from command.” Bragg is shocked by the speed with which Davis accepts his resignation, considers it a form of betrayal, a Bragg hallmark.

  He leaves the army on December 2, joins his wife, Elise, at Warm Springs, Georgia, where he spends the winter months in angry reflections on the various injustices inflicted upon him. His wife, as always, is his greatest advocate, insisting that the president must certainly be aware “that only [Bragg] alone can repair this great disaster.” Davis does not agree, and appoints William Hardee as Bragg’s successor. Hardee accepts only reluctantly, but by year’s end relinquishes the command to his superior, Joseph Johnston.

  In the months following his removal, Bragg continues to insist that he is the victim of a conspiracy, writing in a letter to a friend, “The whole clamor against me was by a few individuals of rank and their immediate partisans, who were actuated by … ambition and revenge.”

  But Bragg has his supporters, and in February 1864, when he petitions for service (“any service”) in the army, Davis appoints him to the informal post of military adviser to the president, allegedly placing Bragg in command of “the conduct of military operations in
the armies of the Confederacy.” The appointment pleases those in the army who still support Bragg, but infuriates much of official Richmond, and a great number of Southern civilians, who fill newspapers with vitriolic editorials. But the position is symbolic at best, Davis making the appointment as a flicker of loyalty to his friend. General William Mackall, Bragg’s former chief of staff, acknowledges this when he writes, “Bragg … is in honorable exile.”

  Bragg is allowed to return to the field in late 1864, when he commands the garrison at Wilmington, North Carolina, and then as a corps commander under Joseph Johnston in the war’s final campaign in North Carolina. He is blamed for defeat once more, after the fall of Fort Fisher, on the Atlantic coast, and accomplishes no real success against Sherman’s advancing army.

  At the war’s end, Bragg joins the fugitive Jefferson Davis in South Carolina, and like Davis, is captured by Federal troops in Georgia on May 9, 1865. Unlike Davis, Bragg is paroled by Federal authorities. He moves to New Orleans, where his skills as an engineer land him the lucrative position as chief of that city’s water utilities. But Bragg still demonstrates a remarkable talent for making enemies, and when forced to resign that position, he considers leaving the country, when he is offered a military command by the government of Egypt. Though tempted, Bragg will not make such a radical change, and he relocates instead to Mobile, Alabama, and then, in 1874, to Galveston, Texas, where he serves as chief engineer for the Gulf, Colorado & Santa Fe Railway.

  Always the unreconstructed Confederate, Bragg resists any relationship with anyone who wore blue, and writes viciously negative commentaries for the Southern Historical Society Papers, continuing the mostly one-sided feuds with anyone in either army who opposed him.