Let Us Fight It Out - Chapter Two

The Big Black River

East of Vicksburg, Mississippi
May 7, 1863

Lieutenant General John Pemberton read the telegram again. “You’re sure this is the latest telegram from Richmond?” His northern accent was a stranger in the sea of soft, drawling voices that constantly surrounded him. He was Pennsylvanian by birth but had married a Virginia girl. When the war came, he faced a difficult choice. Go home to Pennsylvania or remain with his adoptive state. He chose the latter and though he had served with honor in both South Carolina and Mississippi, to many in the South, his foreign birth caused his every move and retreat to be viewed with suspicion.

“Yes, sir,” his adjutant, John Waddy, replied. “I verified it myself. Twice.”

Pemberton rubbed his brow and reread the telegram. Since Grant had crossed the Mississippi River in mid-April, Davis and Seddon had bombarded him with hourly telegrams ordering him to defend Vicksburg at all hazards.

As if he needed Richmond’s constant hectoring. He was fully aware of the stakes. If Vicksburg fell, the Union navy would take control of the Mississippi River, split the Confederacy in two, and deny the armies much needed supplies from Arkansas, Louisiana, and Texas.

That is why this latest telegram made no sense. It was from General Longstreet, one of Lee’s lieutenants. Pemberton had served under Lee in South Carolina and knew him to be an aggressive commander. But Longstreet’s first order was the opposite of aggressive. The telegram instructed him to abandon Vicksburg, march to Tullahoma, Tennessee, and join up with Braxton Bragg’s Army of Tennessee. No reason was given for the order; just a time frame – immediately.

“What do we do, General?” Waddy asked. He pointed at the telegram crumpled in Pemberton’s hand.

Pemberton released his grip on the slip of paper and smoothed the wrinkles. He handed it to Waddy. “We have our orders. We obey them and pray to God that Longstreet knows what he’s doing.”

***

Tullahoma, Tennessee
May 7, 1863
Evening

General Braxton Bragg stared down at the recent telegram from Richmond, not really thinking what it meant for the army but what it meant for him. General Johnston had been replaced and one of Lee’s lieutenants was rushing to Tennessee. Did this Longstreet finally bear the orders that would relieve him from command?

Bragg knew his position at the head of the Army of Tennessee was tenuous. When he had inherited the army from the ailing Beauregard, he had immediately written to Richmond asking that the rules of promotion by seniority be set aside so the higher-ranked, politically appointed generals, dead weight was his precise phrase, could be removed from command in favor of younger, harder fighting generals who were quick to obey their orders. Richmond refused.

This refusal bore its fruit at Perryville last summer. Bragg ordered General Leonidas Polk to attack the Union forces at Bardstown, Kentucky. Instead, Polk held a war counsel and convinced his fellow generals that they, in good conscience, couldn’t obey Bragg’s order.

To disguise their insubordination, the generals wrote Bragg lengthy letters instructing him on correct army protocol. “Never divide your army in the face of a larger force,” General William Hardee had intoned. Bragg had to wonder if it ever occurred to Hardee that his insubordination was the direct cause of the army’s division. Bragg’s letters to Richmond asking for Polk and Hardee to be reassigned went unanswered.

Last December, his commanders had urged him to retreat after a hard won victory at Stones River. At first Bragg refused, but Polk and Hardee insisted. Against his better judgment, he accepted their counsel and retreated to Tullahoma.

The two generals began a new letter writing campaign. This time, they directed their complaints to Davis, the War Department, and members of Congress. Oh, no, it wasn’t their choice to retreat, the two assured the letters’ recipients. They had wanted to stay and fight, but Bragg’s ineptitude had cost the army a sure victory. If the Confederacy’s fortune was to change, Bragg had to go.

Bragg was stunned by this blatant betrayal. He circulated a letter throughout his command, asking his corps and division commanders if they had confidence in his leadership. Their frank replies caught him by surprise. Most of his generals thought it’d best for the army if he resigned.

Bragg wrote an angry letter resigning his commission. He never mailed it. He refused to be forced out by his back-stabbing lieutenants.

Joe Johnston arrived in Tullahoma with instructions from Davis to relieve Bragg if his leadership had been damaged. Fortunately for Bragg, Johnston didn’t believe a change of command was necessary.

Now Johnston had been relieved and another general was coming from Virginia. If Damocles’ sword was going to fall at last, Bragg prayed it would do so quickly and mercifully.

A knock at the tent door roused him from his musings. “Yes, come in,” he barked irritably.

The flap opened to reveal General Polk. Bragg grimaced. There was only one reason the tall, lean Polk had come to his tent. He must have heard the news about Longstreet and had come to gloat.

Without waiting to be asked, Polk collapsed in the chair opposite Bragg. He brushed the silver gray hair from his forehead, placed both elbows on the small table, leaned across and tried to read the telegram. Annoyed by the antic, Bragg retrieved the telegram and stowed it inside his jacket pocket.

“I hear the army is getting a new commander,” Polk crowed.

Bragg refused to take the bait. He shrugged and poured a cup of coffee.

Polk was speechless; a rarity for the Episcopalian Bishop turned warrior, but he quickly recovered his tongue. “Personally, I think Richmond has a shake-up of the entire command structure in mind. About time, if you ask me.”

Bragg hadn’t asked.

Polk pointed to the coffee pot in the center of the table. “May I?”

Bragg consented.

“As you know, President Davis is an old and dear friend…”

It was this friendship between Polk and Davis that was directly responsible for the rancor that now existed in the army. Davis refused to hear any criticism against his friend, no matter how egregiously Polk behaved. This gave Polk immunity to act anyway he chose, knowing he was safely protected by presidential favor.

“Did you want anything in particular?” Bragg asked impatiently.

“Just came to flesh out the rumors floating through the army. General Hardee…”

Bragg flushed angrily. Hardee was the Bishop’s most devoted acolyte. He dissimulated Polk’s lies through the army with stunning zeal. Polk must have asked a question, for he had stopped yammering and was looking at Bragg expectantly.

“Do you know when General Longstreet is to arrive?” Polk repeated his question.

“I’m sure he’s coming with all haste.”

Polk drained his tin cup. “He can’t come quickly enough for me.”

The nerve of this man! To come into his tent and insult him so! Bragg’s mind raced for a retort, but wrath choked out all thought. “It’s late, General.” He stood, giving Polk no choice but to say goodnight.

***

Northern Alabama
May 9, 1863

General Nathan Bedford Forrest rolled over and shut his eyes against the invading rays of the rising sun. He had spent the last eight days chasing a Union raiding party through Tennessee and Alabama before catching up with the Yankees at Cedar Bluffs, a small town near the Georgia border. Forrest employed some trickery and convinced the worn-out Yankees that he had numerical superiority. They surrendered 20 miles from their goal of Rome, Georgia.

He rolled back over. His eyes were filled with the sight of scarred cavalry boots. He glanced up. “It had better be important, Major Kelley,” he growled.

“Courier came in late last night.” Kelley collapsed on the ground next to Forrest. He held up two telegrams. “From Bragg.”

“What’s that numbskull want?” Forrest gave up on the idea of sleep. He sat up and jerked his fingers through his graying hair “Well?” His fingers combed through his jet black goatee. He was in desperate need of a hot bath and some breakfast.

Kelley read the telegram out loud. “Report to me at Tullahoma immediately. General Johnston replaced by General Longstreet.”

Forrest snatched the telegram from the adjutant. Reading and writing weren’t skills he had mastered, but between the two, he knew enough words to understand the gist of the telegram.

“Longstreet? Ain’t he one of Lee’s generals?” He handed the telegram back to Kelley and pulled on his boots. He could smell coffee brewing and felt a powerful thirst deep in his gullet.

“I believe he was a corps commander. At least that’s what I read in the newspapers once.”

“If Richmond was gonna go through all the trouble of sendin’ us another general, why didn’t they send us that Stonewall feller. Now there’s a man who knows how to fight. And we certainly need us one of them.”

Kelley chuckled. “Why don’t you ask our new commander that very thing when you see him?”

“I might just do that,” Forrest snapped. He had run out of patience for incompetent, cowardly generals who surrendered forts and field armies whenever the going got a little tough. If Richmond had sent another sissified general who gave up wide swathes of ground instead of fighting, he was going to raise hell. “What does the other telegram say?”

Kelley ripped open the envelope. He turned as pale as his shirt front. “General Van Dorn is dead.”

Once again, Forrest snatched the telegram out of Kelley’s hand. He saw nothing about how the dashing general had met his untimely death, but if he had to make a wager, he would put his money on a cuckolded husband finally getting his revenge.

The blood returned to Kelley’s face and he grinned. “Do you know what that means? You’ll be given the cavalry. Longstreet may even promote you to major general.”

Forrest made a face. “I don’t want to be no major general in an army that don’t fight.”

“But…”

“I don’t want to talk about it no more.” He gave up on the idea of breakfast. “Get the men up and in the saddle. We’ll be headin’ out in the next fifteen minutes.”

Kelley nodded and pocketed the two telegrams. Forrest could hear him shouting orders to the men. With a groan, he stood and stretched wide his arms. He was so tired!