The Smoke at Dawn: A Novel of the Civil War (35 page)

Cleburne wasn’t completely sure what Longstreet was talking about. “I’m not privy to your orders, sir. Division commanders are not always kept so informed. My job is to manage my brigades, keep ’em sharp, make sure the Yankees don’t try to slip out around us … or away from us.”

“Relax, General. I’m not here to give you an examination. General Hardee is more than capable, and he wouldn’t have put you out here on the flank if you weren’t up to the task. I would enjoy serving beside General Hardee, should the occasion arise. But that is not a likely happenstance. I’ve a new task, you know.”

“No, sir. Don’t really know. Not my place.”

Longstreet stared at him hard now. “Bull. You know my men are boarding those trains for Knoxville. Burnside is up there waiting for us, scratching himself with indecision. His way. Could be an opportunity to shove those boys right out of Tennessee. But, you knew that.”

“Yes, sir. Suppose I did.”

Longstreet moved the horse up beside him, raised his field glasses, scanned across the flat plain toward Chattanooga. “Yep. You’re the flank. Good rough ground. Good place to defend. You have the men fit for the task?”

“I believe so, sir.”

Longstreet seemed to make a show of using the glasses, passing a silent moment, then he lowered them, turned toward Cleburne. “There’s going to be a fight here. You understand that?”

“I try not to make predictions, sir. It’s my place to follow General Hardee’s orders.”

“It’s your place to use your men the most efficient way possible to defeat the enemy. Correct?”

“Yes, sir. Certainly.”

“One would expect your commanding general to understand that as well.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, now, Mr. Cleburne, let me tell you something you won’t enjoy hearing. You see all those men gathering up along those tracks? If this army’s headquarters sees fit to provide the necessary railcars, we shall embark on a great mission to destroy General Burnside at Knoxville. Flags unfurled, drums a-beating, bugles a-playing. One truly magnificent adventure, wouldn’t you say?”

“If you say so, sir. I would hope you could return here in short order. If, as you say, there’s to be a fight, we’ll require all the strength this army can muster.”

Longstreet stared at him, shook his head. “You won’t be seeing me again, General. We do the job at Knoxville, we’ll be marching back to Virginia.”

Cleburne was surprised now, a bolt of concern.

“Finish the thought, Mr. Cleburne. Something to add?”

“I had thought … your corps would be detached only to deal with the Federals in Knoxville … then return here.” He paused. “Not sure I understand why we’re reducing our strength by your entire corps, in the face of an enemy that is reinforcing. So I’ve been told, anyway. General Hardee believes that Sherman is coming this way, with more men than you’re taking away. I don’t question General Bragg’s decisions, of course.”

Longstreet laughed, but the smile faded quickly. “And that, my good Irish friend, is why you’re in a mountain of trouble. Sherman’s coming, no doubt about that. Hooker’s already over there. My people ran into him right west of the big mountain. Didn’t fare well. There was some … difficulty with my commanders. Made an attack at night. Not always a good idea. But I allowed it, encouraged it. Surprise can be its own victory. But sometimes, Mr. Cleburne, it’s simple mathematics. There were too many of them, and too few of us. Now Hooker has handed Grant control of that whole valley, the rail line west. They’ll have no trouble resupplying whatever troops Grant brings in there.”

“General Bragg believes they still might retreat, make their base at Nashville, until they can gather the rest of their army together.”

Longstreet pulled a small pipe from his pocket, stared at it, seemed to debate lighting it. Cleburne felt a growing urgency to back away from this man, could feel the gloom Longstreet seemed to cast over every conversation. Longstreet kept the pipe unlit, stared out across the great open plain below them.

“Sam Grant’s not retreating. Never has, not when it mattered. Bragg should have hit them weeks ago, thrown every artillery shell we had into that town. I suggested a move westward, hit them at Bridgeport, cut their supplies off so far back they’d have no choice but to pull out. Bragg refused, said we didn’t have the wagons available, not enough horses or mules. Had another dozen reasons why the plan was wrongheaded. I suppose, if he’d have thought of it himself, we’d be out there right now, executing his ‘brilliant’ plan. So instead of moving west, I’m taking my men northeast. My mission, as the president explained it, is to ensure that the enemy
there
does us no damage
here
. But Burnside has never damaged much of anything. The problem is not Burnside. It’s right out there. Grant will not only damage you, Mr. Cleburne, he’ll grind you under his boot heel.”

Cleburne saw a different look on Longstreet’s face, a hint of a smile.

“You know Grant personally, sir?”

“Thought everyone knew that. You might say we were real close. I stood beside him at his wedding. That sound
close
to you?”

Cleburne was surprised, could see a darkness settling over Longstreet’s stare, the man keeping his gaze out toward the town.

“I didn’t know that, sir. Your knowledge of General Grant could be very useful in a confrontation, I would think.”

Longstreet laughed again, kept his gaze on Chattanooga. “Not in this army. According to those in command, I’m not useful in the least.”

Cleburne wondered what kind of memories Longstreet would have of Ulysses Grant. He struggled to fill the silence. “I suppose it’s accurate to say, sir, that General Bragg would not have chosen you to stand at
his
wedding.”

“Don’t try to be clever with me, Mr. Cleburne. Bragg despises me,
and for reasons no one in this army can understand, he has the full support of the president. So, together, they have agreed that I can best serve this army by … not serving this army. Bragg wants me gone, simple as that. And so he is depleting his strength by one-third, while out there, the enemy is trebling his. I’m not all that expert in mathematics, Mr. Cleburne. But I know poker. You’re holding a pair of deuces, staring down the barrel of Grant’s four aces.” He paused. “President Davis is our own Emperor Nero, fiddling away while Rome burns.” He looked at Cleburne now, a tilt of his head. “Risky talk, eh?”

“I can’t judge you, sir. I can only wish you well in your campaign at Knoxville, and hope that you return to this army. We will certainly require your strength.”

Longstreet shook his head. “You’re naïve, Mr. Cleburne. Bragg won a thoroughly satisfying victory when the president authorized him to order me away from here. Reversing that decision, no matter how sound the reason, would give Bragg a defeat. No, whatever happens at Knoxville, my duty will once more be with General Lee. I will not return to this place, unless it is by Lee’s command. Bragg will have achieved yet one more ‘victory,’ and, again, there will be no
success
. And for that, I offer you my condolences.”

Longstreet tipped his hat toward Cleburne, rode down toward the crowd of troops still gathering up along the rail line. Cleburne watched him, felt a thick blanket of depression, the effect of Longstreet’s demeanor, and his words. A plume of smoke caught his eye, another engine steaming its way up from the south. But there was nothing new to see, nothing he could do to speed along a process that seemed annoyingly slow. He turned his horse, rode up along the crest of the hill, stared out toward a cluster of wooded hills to the north, the river beyond, then down, across the wide plain that led to Chattanooga.

“You don’t think he’ll be brought back here?”

Hardee stared at the fire, shook his head. “He explained it quite
clearly, Patrick. Bragg wants him gone, and so, he’s gone. That happened to me once. Might happen to you one day. Polk’s gone. Buckner. Hindman. This army’s being managed by the temperament of a very small man.”

Cleburne thought of Longstreet’s description.
Risky talk
. “He is a strange man, General Longstreet.”

Hardee looked at him, took a sip of his coffee. “Why?”

“If my men had been defeated by the enemy in Lookout Valley, as his were, I would be seeking a way to make amends, to turn the tide in our favor. But I heard nothing of protest in his words, or regret. He performed as General Bragg ordered him to, and then …”

“And then he did nothing further.”

“Yes, sir. He did nothing further. Now he is leaving this place with full expectations that we are doomed, and yet he does not care to assist us. I do not understand him.”

Hardee stood, tossed the remnants of his coffee aside. “Doesn’t matter a whit, Patrick. We’ve still got the best ground, and I’ve got my best division commander on this flank. That’s all we can do, all we can think about right now.”

“Thank you for the compliment, sir.”

“Don’t thank me yet. Longstreet’s right about one thing. There will be a fight. If not tomorrow, then maybe next week. The rains have slowed, the roads will get better. If I was General Grant, I’d be taking a hard look up this way. We’ve got the rail line close behind us, and if the enemy rolls up this flank, sweeps us off this ridge, it’s open roads all the way to Georgia. Bragg’s made his share of errors, no doubt about that. But this might be the worst of all. We’re just … sitting here.”

Cleburne leaned back in his small chair, looked up at Hardee. “Longstreet said we should have attacked the town much sooner.”

“I agree.”

“You think we should attack him now?”

“That opportunity has slipped away, I’m afraid. Longstreet’s correct in his mathematics. We’re surely outnumbered, and that’s only going to get worse. I suspect Grant will make a strike against Lookout Mountain pretty quick. He’s got the numbers to do it, squatting right now in that valley to the west. We’ve got … what? A single division holding that entire rock pile?”

“Then should we not strike at them right now? The longer we wait, the stronger they become. Surely there is some kind of opportunity. A quick surge, move across the plain at night, hit him at dawn, full force, one flank or the other?”

Hardee shook his head. “General Bragg is enjoying himself today, Patrick. He has removed an enormous thorn from his side. These days, that matters more to him than anything he could do to those boys in blue. We’ll not move off these hills until Grant forces us to move. And right now, Grant’s sitting in a comfortable chair, in front of a hearth fire, eating his evening meal. At some point tonight, he’ll inquire of some staff officer just how far off General Sherman might be. The answer to that question will tell Grant when he can plan his next move. Bragg has no plan for attacking anyone. No, Patrick, as long as Braxton Bragg is in command, nothing will change. All we’re going to do is wait.”

Grant took the paper from Rawlins, even his chief of staff weary of the ceremony.

Grant opened it, said, “Another one?”

“Quite so, sir. There seems to be a surplus of telegraph operators in the capital.”

“This is the fifth one this morning. General Halleck is a master of the negative. So much easier for him to say no than yes. But this is different. I’d be amused … if this was amusing. Panic is not something I enjoy hearing, certainly not from my superiors, and it seems there is an abundance of panic about Knoxville.”

“Do you not think the panic is justified, sir? General Burnside could be facing a serious crisis.”

Grant thought of the appropriate response, so easy to think of the biting insult to a man like Burnside. But he had offered too many opinions about Washington already, knew the staff would gossip about that, no matter his orders that they keep the business of the headquarters locked inside the headquarters.

“Is Mr. Dana about?”

“Yes, sir. He’s in the kitchen, last I saw. Shall I retrieve him?”

“That’s why I asked.”

Rawlins seemed to sense Grant’s foul mood, slipped quickly out of the room. Grant stared at the ever-present log fire, the small desk carpeted with papers. Not all of it had come from Halleck. Even now, Grant was dealing with shortages of various supplies, the railcars he had ordered east from Vicksburg and Memphis hung up in a morass of details. Some of that had to do with the rail tracks themselves, so many bridges still out, the rebel cavalry raiders so very good at their jobs. Sherman’s progress was slower than Grant expected, and he knew it wasn’t Sherman’s fault. This is where the next fight will be, he thought. And sure as the dickens Sherman won’t miss out on that. He’d rather
his
guns open the charge, all of that grand flag-flying bravado, the first one to go in. But right now, he’s too far away for me to wait. He stopped himself, stared at the fire. No, you have no fault with Sherman. There isn’t another man in this army you can trust more.

He probed the aching knee, the nagging injury never allowing him any ease in the saddle, the torment of having so many aides still caring for him like some aging matron. He glanced toward a curtained window, the sky darker, thought, Rains again. That’s what Smith said. A few days for the ground to dry out, and sure as blazes, there’ll be another mud bath. What’s wrong with this place, anyway? I expected more from Chattanooga. Beautiful sweep of the river. Some trader probably settled here a hundred years ago, climbed up on Lookout Mountain, and thought he had found God. Now there’s scrub and mud and dead horses, and this whole town, if it was ever pretty at all, is a heap of ruins. Hard to win over the people to your cause, when you leave this kind of mess behind you.