The Smoke at Dawn: A Novel of the Civil War (36 page)

“Sir, Mr. Dana.”

Rawlins exited quickly, and Dana was there now, all smiles, a short bow.

“Good morning, sir. I see that my superiors in Washington were up early.”

Grant was in no mood for Dana’s joviality. “Everyone saying the same thing. Burnside’s about to be swallowed up. The whole Confederate army is headed toward Knoxville. Just what am I to do about that?”

It was a question Dana wouldn’t answer, and Grant knew that, pointed to a chair.

“Sit down. The more you bounce around this room, the more my leg hurts.”

Dana eyed the leg. “No better this morning? I had thought by now …”

“It’s better. It’s not fixed. Still hurts me to ride. Just tired of it, that’s all. My apologies, Mr. Dana, if I do not seem in festive spirits.”

Dana looked at the desk, said, “Is there anything in the secretary’s messages I should read?”

“Waste of time.”

“That opinion is not a luxury I possess, sir.”

Grant couldn’t stay angry at Dana, knew that Dana was his ally, especially when it came to any discussion of the predicament the army was in.

“You don’t miss General Rosecrans, do you?”

Dana seemed surprised by the question. “Um, well, no. But I assure you, sir, that is no secret around here. I was rather pointed in my reports to Washington. I witnessed many failures of command.”

“I’m not accusing you of anything. I see those failures all around me. I have pondered the question since I arrived here. Every day I stand out there on the street and stare at Lookout Mountain, and ask myself how any military commander could back off that hill without being pushed. If only for reconnaissance. Whenever the weather allows, I suspect you can see half the Confederacy from up there. The enemy’s artillery is perched all over that place, dueling with our own, and we have every disadvantage. Why didn’t Rosecrans hold on to the place? It had to be a defensible position.”

“I have no answer to that, sir. I reported the events of those few days as I saw them. General Rosecrans was not a man in control of himself. I am far more pleased … the secretary is far more pleased with General Thomas in that position. And of course, sir, your arrival here has sealed the enemy’s fate.”

Grant looked down, shook his head. “You trying to be my friend, Mr. Dana? Rather you put your energies to something more positive. Getting General Halleck off of my back would be a good start. Washington
is convinced that Lee’s entire army is suddenly uprooting itself out of Virginia and marching this way with the speed of the wind. Apparently, General Halleck believes we should be doing the same thing, just waltzing away from Bragg’s army and rescuing General Burnside from his desperation. They seem to believe that Knoxville is more important than the possibility of moving toward Atlanta. I do not happen to agree. But if we abandon our position here for the sole purpose of securing Knoxville, Bragg will have regained everything he lost this year. His victory at Chickamauga will actually have meaning. With this army moving away, as Halleck suggests, Bragg will most certainly strike out toward Nashville. It’s what I would do, in his place. I do not intend to let that happen.”

Dana nodded. “Yes, sir. I have tried to blunt the secretary’s concerns. General Halleck does not seek my counsel. It just isn’t my place.”

Grant bent his legs, tried to stand, Dana up quickly to assist.

“No. Sit down. I need to do this as often as I can. It’s the only thing the doctors have told me that I agree with. The longer I sit still, the stiffer it becomes. A few times each day I order myself to make a forced march, even if it’s just around this room.”

He limped away from the fire, heard Rawlins in the next room, along with the deep voice of George Thomas. Grant heard bits of the conversation, what seemed to be the effort to hush an argument. Grant stopped the slow, hobbled pacing.

“Just wonderful. Everyone’s as ornery as I am.”

Dana looked toward the doorway, the argument growing more heated, and Grant moved that way, pushed open the door, steadied himself in the opening. Rawlins was facing away from him, face-to-face with Thomas. Thomas looked past Rawlins toward Grant, carried a hard frown, something Grant had grown accustomed to. Rawlins said, “Never mind, General. As I told you, General Grant is in high conference with officials from Washington.”

Thomas kept his eye on Grant, a short nod. “How goes your conference, sir?”

Rawlins spun around, silenced by the momentary embarrassment, and Grant said, “In here, please, General. Any such conference should include you. There is considerable agitation in Washington, directed at this command.”

Thomas moved slowly past Rawlins, followed Grant into the room. Dana was standing now, the room with only one extra chair. Grant watched Thomas move toward the chair, saw the pain in the man’s face, another common sight. Grant said, “It seems we are both aging badly, General. Perhaps it is why wars are fought by the young.”

Grant moved to his perch in front of the fire, Thomas to one side, Dana moving to the corner of the room, eyes on both men. Thomas kept his gaze downward, said, “Every day. Never relief. I’m afraid this ailment shall punish me for a long time.”

Grant knew only that Thomas had injured his back, didn’t expect such gloom. Grant reached into his pocket, retrieved a cigar, said, “Like one? Should suit you. Supposed to be good Virginia tobacco.”

Dana made an audible grunt, and Thomas looked at Grant with a hard stare.

“I never smoke. And it has nothing at all to do with Virginia.”

Grant realized his clumsiness now. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to suggest anything. I never question your loyalty to our country. I meant no insult to you at all.”

Grant felt helpless, Thomas seeming to fill the room with the air of bitterness. Dana stepped forward, nervous now, said, “General Thomas, I am quite certain General Grant did not mean to suggest anything of your loyalty to Virginia. Winfield Scott is a Virginian, as we all know.”

Grant saw no change in Thomas, said, “And of course, General Pemberton is a Pennsylvanian. Didn’t prevent him from pledging his loyalties to the South. This war has turned our nation upside down. It is a curse.”

Thomas looked at him now, a silent moment, Grant feeling completely idiotic, no words to smooth over the awkwardness.

“General Grant, I swore the same oath as you. I obey the same orders as you. I fight the same enemy. I need not prove myself to anyone.”

Dana jumped in, seemed eager to smooth the obvious tension. “Absolutely not, sir! General Grant certainly understands that. After all, his father-in-law, Colonel Dent, is in fact a slaveholder!”

Thomas blinked at Grant, a glimmer of surprise, and Grant silenced Dana with a deep frown, thought, Did I ask for your assistance?
Dana slipped backward to his corner again, and Grant said, “Yes, well, we all have our crosses to bear. Colonel Dent and I are not especially … close. He was not terribly accepting of his daughter marrying a soldier. Ironic, of course, since Colonel Dent is a soldier himself.” Grant was running out of energy for this, had no gift for banter. “Look, General. Washington is burying me in telegrams because there is deep concern over General Burnside’s vulnerability at Knoxville. Sherman’s divisions are still many days away, and I am being ordered to respond to Longstreet’s march with the strength at hand. I am preparing orders for you, to strike out to our left flank, a vigorous assault against the enemy’s northern flank along the northern portion of Missionary Ridge. The rail line there is close, and Bragg will surely have to respond. He cannot allow us to cut him off from Longstreet. I admit to curiosity why Bragg sent Longstreet away in the first place. It must surely weaken his position here. But General Halleck is more deeply concerned about Burnside than he is our situation here.”

“He shouldn’t be. Longstreet is still days away from Knoxville. The rail line he’s using only goes partway. He will have to move his forces by wagon, or on foot. He will not be ready to make an attack on Knoxville for several days. There could be a better opportunity for us right here. Removing the enemy from Lookout Mountain could be a far simpler task, and could accomplish the same goal.”

“Could be. But the War Department has other concerns. We may assume that Knoxville is Longstreet’s destination, and we may assume that the absurd rumors of General Lee abandoning Virginia could possibly be accurate. One of General Halleck’s dispatches reveals a fear that all of this rebel activity might be the first steps toward a campaign against Nashville, which could open the way to another invasion of Kentucky.”

Thomas tilted his head. “You believe that will occur?”

“Nope.”

“You believe Lee is coming?”

“Nope.”

“But you want Longstreet to turn about and return here?”

“It’s not what I
want
. General Halleck is insisting in the strongest terms that we take a significant step toward protecting Burnside.
Since I have no intention of uprooting this army and shoving northward, we must convince General Bragg that we are posing a serious threat to his position. Thus will he recall Longstreet. We’re estimating Longstreet’s strength at fifteen thousand men. For Bragg to order that large a portion of his army away, he must believe Knoxville is some kind of lynchpin to this entire theater. Why else would he weaken himself so profoundly, knowing we’re growing stronger?”

Thomas seemed unconvinced, and Grant didn’t have the energy for a discussion.

“I’m preparing your orders, and will have them to you by this evening.”

“I will await them, sir. We can discuss this further at that time, if you don’t mind, sir. I would prefer right now to return to my quarters.”

Grant had no reason to object, saw the pain in the man’s face, Thomas sitting crookedly in the chair.

“You are dismissed, General.”

Thomas stood slowly, pulling himself up like an injured bear. “Thank you, sir. I shall be better by tonight. This aggravation flares up occasionally.”

Grant nodded, pointed toward the door. “Rest your back, General. Very soon, this army shall require both of us to be in a more agreeable spirit.”

Thomas moved slowly out of the room, silence beyond, no commotion at all from Rawlins. Dana moved to the door, closed it, returned to the chair.

“It is disturbing to see the general in such pain. He never finds relief, so it seems.” Dana looked at Grant’s knee again. “Well, of course, both of you.”

“A horse fell on me, Mr. Dana. It’s happened before, and no doubt will happen again. Not sure what to make of General Thomas’s condition. Only he knows. I just hope he is fit for what must happen now.”

“I wouldn’t be concerned about your reference to Virginia, sir. I’m certain that General Thomas has endured a great deal of personal agony for that decision. As he noted, sir, he did take an oath to serve. I credit him for his loyalty to his country.”

“No argument there.” Grant pulled his legs in again, pushed himself out of the chair, Dana knowing to stay away. Grant moved to the mantel, retrieved his hat, planted it on his head, realized he was still holding the unlit cigar. Dana seemed to read him, bent low to the fire, pulled out a narrow piece of wood, a bit of flame at the tip, offered it to Grant. The cigar was lit quickly, the delicious smoke swirling around Grant, Dana retrieving one of his own. Grant watched him for a long second, saw Dana absorbing the smoke around both of them, thought, Good, yes. He held back the thought, the reference to Virginia tobacco. It’s one thing to disavow former allegiances. But I can’t say I’ve ever fully trusted a man who says he never smokes.

“Mr. Dana, I wish to ride. Accompany me?”

“Of course, sir.”

Dana moved to the door, held it open, waited for Grant to hobble past. Grant heard the usual brief pleasantries between Dana and Rawlins, the nods to other staff officers, a handful of aides spread out in the rooms of the house.

Grant ignored them all, said to no one in particular, “Going for a ride. Inspection. Something.”

Rawlins jumped into action, the energy Grant dreaded. “I shall alert the guard, sir. You cannot just go out among the people here without protection.”

Grant sagged, didn’t look back. “If you insist.”

He moved outside, the gray sky low overhead, masking the face of Lookout Mountain. The sounds of artillery thumped out to one side, more of the useless duels that spread across the valley every day. Grant had considered ordering a halt to that, allowing the rebels to expend all the shot and shell they wanted to, while he kept his own supplies well stocked. But the wagons now brought an abundance of ammunition, and trading fire seemed to accomplish something besides entertaining the gunners. With artillery peppering the face of Lookout Mountain, it wasn’t likely the rebels were going to make any kind of serious advance from that direction. If the rebels came at all, it would likely be across the flat plain that fed down from Missionary Ridge.

In the wide street, wagons passed, no one paying him any mind,
the flag above his headquarters the only hint that the man called Grant was there at all. He enjoyed going unrecognized, never dressed with the pomp of the army’s commanding general, and even now, he kept the guards at a distance.

Down the wide street he saw a small group of provost officers, a loud scuffle growing with a crowd of civilians, and he moved out beside the horse, tried to see what was happening.

“Mr. Dana, perhaps you should remain here. The local citizens seemed displeased about something.” He turned, saw his aides emerging from the house, responding to the commotion. “Captain Hudson, send a courier to the closest infantry camp. Alert them to a possible problem. Have at least a company of men move this way with haste.”

The young man saluted him, moved away quickly. Dana said, “It appears to be mostly women, sir.”

Grant girded himself for the inevitable pain, put one foot in the saddle, pulled himself up on the horse with a low grunt. He had a better view of the scene now, more men in blue gathering around the civilians.

“It seems you are correct. I suppose we should have a closer look.”

He spurred the horse, regretted now that it was the statuesque Old Jack, the enormous animal that had tumbled him over in New Orleans. Kangaroo was far less recognizable, and he still had no energy for a confrontation that might center on him.