1862 (30 page)

Grimes’s chains were removed and he was tied to the stake with his hands behind his back. He tried to say something but his voice was an incoherent gurgle that made a few men in the regiment laugh nervously until they were glared down by their officers.

A chaplain went to Grimes and whispered some words. Again, Grimes appeared to not comprehend and the chaplain walked off shaking his head. “Fuck it,” someone said loud enough to be heard. “Finish him; it’s hot out here.”

A blindfold was offered Grimes, but he shook it off. Comprehension appeared to be returning and he smiled. Maybe he thought that none of his company would actually aim at him and that they’d all miss. Then he saw Billy in the firing squad and his mouth dropped. His body shook and he began to jabber in terror. Billy would not miss. If there was a ball in the rifle, it would go right through Grimes.

Captain Melcher raised his sword and gave the orders quickly. “Ready. Aim. Fire.”

The volley was a solid clap of thunder. Grimes’s body convulsed and then slumped forward. There was blood on his chest that ran in rivulets down his legs. Captain Melcher strode over to see if Grimes was dead. If he still breathed, the captain would draw his pistol and shoot Grimes in the ear.

It wasn’t needed. Melcher raised Grimes’s head. There was a bullet hole right between the eyes, and the back of his skull had been blown out. Scores of soldiers looked toward Billy, who merely looked skyward, unsmiling. While others had aimed for the easier chest shot, he had aimed for the skull, right between the eyes.

The firing squad marched off and turned in their rifles. A couple of the men walked off and vomited. What they had done was terrible, horrible, and, however justified, had nothing to do with war. Captain Melcher caught up with Billy. “Feel any satisfaction?”

Billy shook his head. “I ought to, but I don’t. He wasn’t worth the price of the lead to kill him, but Otto was worth lots.” He felt tears well up in his eyes. “Damn it, sir, this ain’t no life for men to live. When this is over, I ain’t killin’ a thing again.”

Melcher nodded sympathetically. He was an older man, maybe twenty-five.

“Sir, on the other hand, I sure am glad I didn’t get the unloaded gun.”

Melcher smiled and walked away. Comprehension dawned on Billy. All of the rifles had been loaded. “Thank you, Captain,” Billy whispered.

   Lord Cardigan was livid with anger. “Brigadier General Wolsey, I still don’t understand just what on earth behooved you to disband ten thousand Canadian militia and send them home. Don’t you realize, sir that they could have inflicted tremendous harm on the Union forces?”

“My lord, the Canadians were but a mob. No, they weren’t even a mob,” Wolsey replied. He was not overly concerned by the tirade. Cardigan was noted for them and they seemed to be coming with greater and greater frequency of late. It was also a subject that had been discussed several times.

“So what if the Canadians were a mob,” Cardigan continued. The bit was firmly in his mouth. “So are the Americans. Two mobs hacking at each other is to our advantage. Not only would a number of Americans be killed, but so would some of the more outspoken Canadians. Perhaps even this fool McGee. By the way, where is he?”

“In Toronto, and making plans to go to Ottawa,” Wolsey said. “And I differ in your analysis of the Americans. What I saw was a well-equipped and well-trained army that moved with dispatch and authority. The only loss to the Americans would have been in ammunition, which would have been easily replaced.”

“Nonsense,” snapped Cardigan. “This is the same farcical group that failed so miserably at Bull Run and at Culpeper.”

“With respects, General,” said Wolsey, “this is the army that succeeded at Shiloh and elsewhere, not the Union army you equate with those two Union defeats. This, Lord Cardigan, is a most dangerous enemy.”

“Dangerous my arse,” muttered Cardigan, then, in a louder voice, “and what are they doing now? Nothing. They moved a few dozen miles closer to us and now they have stopped. Why? What has our intelligence had to offer?”

Wolsey had been briefed on that as well. Grant’s army had indeed pulled up about halfway between London and Hamilton and appeared to be entrenching. The British had limited scouting, but what little they’d managed indicated that the Union host was much smaller than they’d first thought. It occurred to Wolsey that Grant had possibly bluffed him at London, and that his army was well less than half the impossible “sixty thousand” that Colonel Hunter had so blithely mentioned.

It also galled the British generals that Canada was the only theater in which Union cavalry were operating effectively. Under men like Grierson, they acquitted themselves quite well. Elsewhere, they had difficulty staying on their horses.

Cardigan took a deep breath and calmed himself. “How many in a Union division?”

Wolsey blinked back his surprise. Didn’t the man even know that? “At full strength, twelve thousand men. However, a Union division is rarely at full strength and is frequently at far less than half that. Mr. Lincoln’s army has the curious habit of forming new divisions rather than sending replacements to old ones, while the Confederates do exactly the opposite. The result is that older, worn-down Union divisions are often quite small while Confederate divisions are quite large.”

“And how many Union divisions have we identified as being with Mr. Grant?”

“Six, sir.”

Cardigan mused. “If they are veterans, and you say they are, then they are likely well less than full strength, perhaps not even half. I think General Grant has only about thirty thousand men in Canada and that many of those are guarding his supply lines. Therefore, I surmise that he has fewer than twenty thousand effectives to oppose us. Damn it, why can’t there be a consistent number of men in each division? Who thought of having varying amounts?”

“I believe it was Napoleon Bonaparte, sir, and I believe he borrowed the thought from the Romans,” Wolsey answered drily. “He did it intentionally to confuse his enemies. The Union appears to be doing it inadvertently, but with the same results.”

“Damn French,” Cardigan muttered. “But I still believe the Union force is smaller than we supposed.”

Wolsey wondered where the man was going with this line of logic. “That may be true, sir, although I am not as comfortable with those small numbers as you are, but how does that affect us?”

“Wolsey, I’ve discussed this with General Campbell and the others, and I must say they think more like you do. However, I am in command, and here is what I think the Union army is doing: They have bit off a large and prosperous part of Canada and have determined to advance no farther. With lines of supply and communication at risk and with us confronting them, they have gone over to the defensive and await our next actions.”

“And what will those be, sir?”

“Since they intend to hold what they have stolen until we take them back, I propose to do exactly that. We will attack them.”

Wolsey was appalled. “Sir, our number of regulars is not that much greater than the minimum number of Union soldiers you’ve estimated, and many of those are in garrison duty along the Niagara border.”

Cardigan smiled. “Then we shall replace them with Canadians. Put them in red uniforms and no one will be the wiser, eh? Besides, those fortifications do not require great numbers to garrison them. We shall move our regulars to where they can do the most good.”

“But sir, how does that square with our orders to defend Toronto and the peninsula?” And with Cardigan’s previous statements that he would not advance to attack the Americans, Wolsey thought.

Cardigan continued to smile. “Just how to defend those two areas was left to my discretion, Wolsey. At one point, it seemed prudent to fortify and await the Yankees, but now it seems we have an opportunity to defeat them and drive them from Canada.”

And, Cardigan thought, such an effort would not only bring him glory, but would also get Viscount Monck off his back. Monck’s mewing about the displaced people of Ontario had reached a sickening crescendo. In point of fact, relatively few people had been displaced. Most had remained where they lived or had returned to their homes and were shamelessly collaborating with the Americans. Wolsey was not aware of any great problems the Americans were having in their rear with guerrillas or saboteurs. Did Cardigan know something he did not, or was this wishful thinking on the part of the old general?

Wolsey was still puzzled. “Sir, it is my understanding that reinforcements are en route that will more than double our numbers. Wouldn’t it be prudent to wait for their arrival?”

“Prudence be damned! No, we attack now and we’ll not wait for any bloody reinforcements.”

Wolsey was about to comment further when it dawned on him that Cardigan was afraid of losing his command when the reinforcements arrived. General Hugh Gough, a veteran of fighting in India, had already arrived and General Hugh Rose was en route. Perhaps their lordships in England felt that such a large command was beyond Cardigan’s limited skills? Cardigan would be supplanted by a newcomer and the old general could easily hate the prospect.

Cardigan could even be replaced with someone already present, Wolsey thought. Even if General Rose wasn’t to be the new commander, perhaps either General Campbell or General Gough could be promoted? Neither was a spectacularly brilliant leader, but both were solid professionals.

Perhaps the Duke of Cambridge, one of England’s most senior generals, was en route as well? Cardigan’s tenure in Canada had not exactly been covered with glory. He’d been surprised by Grant at Windsor, lost much of the most prosperous and densely populated area of Ontario, and thoroughly antagonized the influential Viscount Monck and much of the remainder of Canada.

No, Cardigan would take his army out to glory or death before he could be replaced and sent packing.

“What is my role, sir?”

Cardigan smiled. “Recall, please, that General Campbell commands the Scottish Division and that General Gough commands the British Division.”

Upon receipt of some British regulars to augment the Scottish regiments that had arrived and marched overland from Bangor, Maine, Cardigan had seen fit to divide his force along ethnic lines. The Scottish Division was the larger, consisting of about thirteen thousand men, while the British Division had about eleven thousand.

“Thanks to Viscount Monck,” Cardigan continued, “there is now a fairly substantial Canadian element, which now constitutes a third, and Canadian, division. It seems there is now a real fear of American occupation among the English-speaking Canadians, although the Frenchies seem almost mindlessly ambivalent about the war. As the Canadian militia have almost no knowledge of things military, they need an experienced commander. You, Brigadier General Wolsey, shall command them.”

“Another formless mob?” Wolsey blurted out before he could stop himself.

“A little better,” Cardigan said with a chuckle, “although not by much. They have been training for the last several weeks, and they do have proper arms along with a semblance of uniforms. They have, of course, elected their own officers, which may or may not be a good thing.”

Wolsey sighed. “I must admit it seems a dubious honor.”

“But an essential one. I have no intention of committing your Canadians to the assault against the Union. They shall remain in reserve and be on the defensive.”

That was somewhat comforting, Wolsey thought. Untrained troops do far better on the defensive, where the need for maneuver is less, than on the offensive, where they easily get confused as they move about. As to their electing their own officers, many militia units had shown intelligence and elected men who were likely to be good leaders, and not necessarily those who plied them with liquor to get their votes. Militia soldiers had a marvelous tendency to support those who were likely to bring them back alive.

“One last thing, Wolsey.”

“Yes. sir.”

“Try not to surrender or disband this lot. They’re all we have.”

On safe arrival within the Union lines, former Confederate general Patrick Ronayne Cleburne had been greeted warmly by the Union general Don Carlos Buell, and then been sent by rail to Washington, where he’d met both Halleck and Stanton. After clarifying a few points, Cleburne had been commissioned a brigadier general in the Union army, and was authorized to recruit an all-Irish force to use against the British.

This did not sit well with everyone. Predictably, the Confederate press condemned Cleburne as a traitor even greater than Benedict Arnold, while some Union officers were far from thrilled with a turncoat immigrant being made a general. In particular, the officers commanding the previously organized Irish Brigade felt slighted. The Irish Brigade consisted of the 63rd, 69th, and 33th Regiments from New York. It was commanded by Thomas Meagher, an Irish revolutionary who had his own agenda regarding England. To mollify the New York regiments and Meagher, Cleburne’s force was called the Irish Legion.

One of the points clarified was what to do with Irish deserters from the Confederate army. These now numbered several hundred, many of whom had elected to follow Cleburne and fight the British, while the rest simply wanted out of the damned war. It was decided that any who left the Confederate army were a blessing to the Union. Thus, those who wished to join Cleburne were free to do so, and any who wished to join the Union army and serve in the west against the Indians were equally free to do so. Further, those who wished to immigrate to the western territories as civilians could also do as they wished.

Cleburne did some recruiting in New York, but with only limited success, as Meagher’s Irish Brigade had been there first. He did: however, cause a number of Irish already in the Irish Brigade to desert and enlist with him under assumed names. This infuriated Meagher and the other officers of the Brigade, who protested, but to no avail.

While Cleburne personally drummed up troops in Philadelphia and Boston, Attila Flynn sent Fenians to the various Union prisons. While many Confederate Irish were less than thrilled at serving the Union after their harsh treatment as prisoners, a number saw that fighting the English as a free man was a lot better than rotting and starving as a Union prisoner. A few who weren’t Irish at all tried to convince Flynn’s associates that they were, and some of these were accepted.