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!

Let Us Fight It Out - Chapter 3

Bragg’s Headquarters
May 20, 1863

Bragg stared across the table at an exhausted Pemberton and watched him drain his fifth cup of coffee. Next to Pemberton sat a dusty Forrest snoring quietly, sound asleep in the chair he had plopped down in.

Bragg and Pemberton made surreptitious glances at the tent door. An hour ago, word had arrived from Longstreet’s adjutant that Longstreet wanted to meet briefly with his commanders. Bragg had a million questions about the future and he was sure that Pemberton did too.

Obviously, the assembling of the two armies meant one thing. The Confederates were going on the offense. But against whom? Grant, who had seized Vicksburg two days ago, or Rosecrans’ Army of the Cumberland now encamped at Murfreesboro?

The sound of horses. Forrest woke with a start. The tent flap opened. A captain entered followed by a major. A brief moment passed as if staged for dramatic effect, then General Longstreet strode into the tent. The moment of truth had arrived. Here was Richmond’s champion! The generals rose.

Longstreet handed his hat and gauntlets to the captain and accepted a weather-beaten portfolio from the major. He faced his gawking generals and took them in with one sweeping glance.

Bragg stepped forward. “Good evening, General Longstreet. I’m General Bragg.” He held out his hand. Longstreet’s grip was firm. Bragg turned toward Pemberton and Forrest, both standing somewhat at attention. “This is General Pemberton and General Forrest.”

“General Pemberton,” Longstreet said, “General Lee wanted me to give you his warm regards.”

“How is the General?” Pemberton asked. A smile graced his weary face.

“Preparing to follow General Jackson’s corps into Pennsylvania.”

Forrest sat back down and grabbed a coffee cup. “We shoulda done that a year ago,” he snorted.

“General Forrest!” Bragg snapped, irritated by the cavalry leader’s bluntness.

Forrest glared at him before splashing the rest of the pot’s content into his cup.

Longstreet gestured toward the table. “Let’s sit, gentlemen.” He sat next to Forrest and opened his portfolio. Pemberton and Bragg returned to their places.

“You may not be aware of it, General Longstreet, but Vicksburg has fallen,” Pemberton announced.

“Yes, I did know that.”

“It needn’t have happened. My army could have protected the city.” Pemberton was defensive.

“Perhaps,” Longstreet replied with a casual shrug.

Pemberton bristled. “Perhaps!” He jerked back in his chair and folded his arms.

Longstreet gave a small smile and held up his hand. “General Pemberton, smooth your ruffled feathers. I’m not belittling your men or their fighting prowess. I’m sure they are the finest in the Confederacy. But, gentlemen, let’s not deceive ourselves. The war is being lost, here, in the west. Richmond has sent me to right this sinking ship. And I mean to do just that.”

Bragg took umbrage at the statement. Maybe not with the statement’s truth but certainly with the cold, hard way it was delivered. He followed Pemberton’s lead, leaned back in his chair, and folded his arms across his chest.

Longstreet didn’t seem to notice that he had offended two of his generals. “Gentlemen, the blame doesn’t belong with you or with your men,” he continued, “but to a strategy devised in Richmond that has tried to defend too much land with too little men.”

Bragg repented of his hasty judgment. Longstreet had pinpointed a major source of the failure suffered by the commands in the west. He unfolded his arms.

“It’s time to change that strategy and give our armies the opportunity to show the Yankees their mettle,” Longstreet finished.

“What do ya have in mind?” Forrest asked. He emptied his cup.

Longstreet opened his portfolio and drew out a map. He unfolded it and slid it over to Bragg.

Bragg placed a finger on the map. If he was to be relieved, then he wanted to be relieved now, before Longstreet unfolded whatever plan he had been sent west with. “Sir, before you go on, what happens to the armies and their commanders?”

Pemberton leaned forward. “That’s a question I’d like an answer to.”

Longstreet looked Bragg in the eyes. “As far as I’m concerned, everyone begins with a clean slate. Obey my orders, and you’ll keep your commands.”

At the news, relief swept through Bragg. He raised his eyes to Heaven and uttered a silent prayer of thanksgiving.

Longstreet unfolded another map and set it before Pemberton. “We’re going to push Rosecrans out of the way and head toward the Ohio River.”

Forrest slapped his hand on the table. “It’s about time!”

Bragg raised a hand. “Hold on,” he said to Forrest. He turned his attention to Longstreet. “Push Rosecrans out of the way, where?”

“Toward Shelbyville,” Longstreet answered. “We’re going to force him to either do battle with us as we pour through Guy’s Gap and Bell Buckle Gap or retreat.”

Bragg shook his head in disagreement. “He can easily flank us through either Liberty Gap or Hoover Gap.”

Longstreet pointed at the map. “Not if we cut the Nashville and Chattanooga Railroad.” He reached over and drew Bragg’s map to him. “For Rosecrans or any other Union commander, their most pressing concern is protecting their supply lines. It’s their Achilles’ heel.

“That’s how we stopped Grant cold last December,” Forrest said. “When Van Dorn burnt the Yankees’ supply depot at Holly Springs, Grant had no choice but to break off his attack on Vicksburg.”

“Thank you for the history lesson,” Bragg sharply rebuked.

Forrest warded off the reprimand with a shrug of his shoulder.

“We cut the railroad and Rosecrans will have to attack or retreat. The Barrens will protect us from an attack through Liberty or Hoover Gaps,” Longstreet explained.

“That made sense,” Bragg thought. His army had stripped The Barrens of what little it had produced months ago.

“Once we dispatch Rosecrans, the way to the Ohio will be wide open,” Longstreet continued. “Mr. Lincoln can’t have both the Army of Northern Virginia and our combined forces tramping unopposed through the North. He’ll have no choice but to send Grant after us.”

Bragg reclaimed the map from Longstreet. “I think it’s a mistake to plan a strategy based on what Lincoln will or will not do. He could easily order Grant south toward Atlanta. We would have no choice but to break off our invasion.”

Longstreet took a cigar from his pocket. He twirled it between thumb and forefinger. “There is that possibility and I won’t deny it.” He bit off the end of the cigar and spat it on the ground. “But we have two choices. We can wait for Grant to combine with Rosecrans and then push toward Atlanta, or we can take the initiative and force the Yankees to dance to our tune.” He lit the cigar and puffed out a cloud of smoke.

Of the two scenarios, Bragg preferred the latter. “When do we go?”

“General Pemberton, when will your men arrive?” Longstreet asked.

“They’re about two days away. But sir, they’ve fought hard for the past six months and have marched hard for the last few days. They’ll need rest.”

“They’ll have it.” Longstreet rounded on Forrest. “General, I’m going to give you the task of cutting and holding the railroad.”

“I’ll need Morgan’s and Wheeler’s brigades put under my command.”

“Major Sorrel,” Longstreet called. The adjutant retrieved a piece of paper from his pocket and wrote quickly. He handed the note to the captain, who exited the tent. “Gentlemen, I know it’s late and General Pemberton and General Forrest have ridden many miles today. Let’s meet here tomorrow morning after we’ve all had a good night’s sleep and discuss the particulars. I’ll give out specific assignments then and answer any questions you may have.”

Longstreet stood. The generals followed suit. “If there’s nothing else.” He didn’t wait for answer. He exited the tent.