The Smoke at Dawn: A Novel of the Civil War (5 page)

Mackall seemed to weigh if Bragg’s question was serious. “I’m not entirely certain, sir. Our losses have been significant. The reports are still arriving. But there is much confusion.”

“Yes, by God, there is. One of the most confusing problems seems to be just who commands this army. Before I can engage our effective forces in any kind of campaign, I must know what those forces are, and which generals I may depend upon. I am not certain of any of them. Did you not hear me? Since the president placed me in this command, I have been more heavily assaulted by my own generals than I have by the enemy. Ambition and subterfuge infect them at every turn. I walk among the men, and I hear cheers, adulation, the proper amount of respect due my station. But when I meet with my officers there is silence and intrigue. Every one of them is engulfed by a disease of promotion, thinking more of his own elevation than the well-being of the troops in his care. I will not tolerate this any longer. The president favors
me
in this chair, and I will do what is necessary to justify the president’s confidence. One mistake I will
not
make is to rely on the exaggerated boasting of commanders who campaign on the basis of hope, rather than our true tactical situation.”

Mackall stared at him, still expressionless, said nothing. Bragg looked at the man’s plate, a half-eaten slab of hard bread.

“You intend to discard that?”

Mackall glanced down, pushed the plate toward Bragg. “By all means, sir. You must eat.”

Bragg took the bread, bit off one corner, the churning in his stomach calming a bit. He fought to swallow, tried to read Mackall, the man keeping his thoughts hidden away.

William Mackall was a year older than Bragg’s forty-seven, had graduated from West Point in the same class of 1837. They had served together in the Seminole Wars and Mexico, and Bragg had gained respect for Mackall from their service together the year before, when they were both subordinate to Albert Sidney Johnston. Before Johnston’s death at Shiloh in April 1862, Mackall had earned respect as a staff officer, but more so, Bragg knew what Johnston knew, that Mackall could lead troops in the field. That spring, Johnston had appointed him to lead the desperate defense of Island Number Ten, on the Mississippi River, an inevitable defeat for which Mackall could not be blamed. Though captured, Mackall was quickly exchanged, and resumed his good work both in the field and through diligent administration of various commands in the West. Mackall was one of
the few general officers in Bragg’s department whom Bragg believed he could trust.

“Your suggestions are welcome, Mr. Mackall. You know that. Is there some flaw in my thinking? You cannot deny that there has been discussion as to how others might usurp my authority. I am not without my sources, you know.”

Mackall seemed to hesitate, then said, “I cannot report what I have not witnessed, sir. I agree that you cannot lead this entire army by yourself. But I am not aware that every officer seeks to rise to your position, and I do not believe every officer is as ambitious as you say. With all respects, sir.”

“You will make a fine politician one day.” He had no real reason to be angry with Mackall, felt a sudden twinge of guilt. “I return your respects, Mr. Mackall, but I must suggest that until you occupy this chair, you cannot understand the pressures I must endure. Think about what has happened. Barely three months ago, this nation was forced to swallow two enormous catastrophes. I admit to having little faith in General Pemberton’s efforts to hold Vicksburg. But I did not anticipate General Lee could be so utterly defeated, certainly not in such an advantageous position on the enemy’s own soil. And now, I find it no coincidence that of all the troops that could have been sent to our assistance here, the president and General Lee chose General Longstreet. I am not fooled by Longstreet’s strutting arrogance. There is something of punishment in his being sent here, I feel certain of that. Lee removed him for a reason. I walk this path with great care, General. The people of the Confederacy have been battered by the failure of their generals. There is despair throughout this nation. My duty is clear: Turn the tide back in our favor. And yet, all the while the president expects me to be our savior, I am to regain all that is lost with subordinate officers who have shown me little respect, and on occasion, outright disobedience. Now, am I to feel blessed that the great Longstreet performs his tricks in my part of this war? I am already hearing talk, General, that this fight at Chickamauga Creek was won by Longstreet alone. The newspapers back east will embrace that, no doubt. So, regardless of what I have seen on this ground, regardless of the destruction of this army, I am to move out in pursuit of a dangerous enemy solely because
Longstreet
leads the way?”

Mackall shook his head slowly, stared down at his empty plate. “I would suggest, sir, that you lead this army against the enemy because it is the right thing to do. If the Federal army is inclined to retreat, as General Forrest and others have suggested, that is an opportunity we must explore.”

Bragg rubbed his aching stomach again. “Forrest is a raider, a pirate, nothing more. He is celebrated with tactics that amount to little more than a mad rush into some weakly defended place, causing terror among the helpless. He steals horses and burns a few houses and then scampers away again. For that he is a hero. And that is the kind of man whose observations I should rely upon? No simple cavalryman can appreciate the necessity for strategy, for care, for diligence. If the Federals have retreated into Chattanooga, then the correct strategy is to sweep around their flanks, maneuver to the northwest, cut Rosecrans off from any supply line, before he can make good his escape. General Forrest tells me that with just a minor push, the Federal army will be inclined to do just that. He is certain of it. And then, in the same moment, he tells me the enemy is perhaps not yet retreating, but in fact could be gathering, regrouping behind the defenses at Chattanooga. Which is it? Is Rosecrans leaving? Or is he preparing to receive an attack? If we attempt to flank him now, spread our forces out in the mountain passes, we could be vulnerable to an attack from
him
. If we drive straight into Chattanooga, and he does not simply melt away, we might find ourselves crushed against a strong defensive position. General Rosecrans is no doubt receiving urgent orders from Washington, Lincoln’s minions screaming at him for his failures in Georgia. The Northern people are spoiled by their recent successes. If Rosecrans has indeed been defeated here, there will be little patience for that in Washington. He is also a man of ambition, is he not? If he wishes to hold on to his command, he must satisfy those loud voices behind him. And so, he will strengthen and resupply. Or he will leave Chattanooga behind him, and seek the protection of the Tennessee River. Or even the Duck River. We might very well fight him again at Stones River, or Tullahoma, or Murfreesboro. How am I to decide such things when I cannot rely on the information my own generals are providing me?”

Bragg tried to inhale, fought the tightness in his throat, the agonizing
pains in his gut, and Mackall took advantage of the pause, said, “Sir, the best way we can know what General Rosecrans is doing is to see for ourselves. If you do not rely on the reports of your scouts, your cavalry, your senior officers, then perhaps we should ride out there ourselves.”

Bragg soaked up the simple logic. “Yes. I had thought of that. Very well. We shall continue to receive the reports as they come in here. Send word to the commanders that if they do not find the enemy in strength, they may push their people closer to Chattanooga. Be sure General Longstreet receives that order with perfect clarity. Be certain he understands whose authority he answers to here. And communicate to every division commander that there must be no significant confrontation with the enemy. We cannot withstand another general engagement. No one in this army can convince me we are ready for another sharp fight. If all goes well today, then in the morning, order the aides to prepare the horses, and we shall ride out there ourselves, you and me. We will advance toward Chattanooga, as far as the enemy allows. If there is to be an honest victory here, if we are to inform Richmond of great success, I suppose I should get the facts for myself.”

The rains had stopped, but the mud still swallowed the horses’ hooves, slowing the movement of artillery. As Bragg had ordered, the troops had pushed north and west, but the observations of the lead units continued to confirm what Bragg had been hearing for two days.

Rosecrans had withdrawn at least as far as Chattanooga, though whether or not the Federal forces were in a panic to evacuate the town, no one could be certain. Most of Bragg’s generals continued to be far more optimistic than Bragg himself. Reports flowed back in a steady stream that Rosecrans had conceded the ground back to Chattanooga, including the high mountain passes, and the flatlands that spread out closer to the town. If there was a fight to be had, the Federal troops had clearly chosen to make that fight from behind a strong defense.

Bragg stared out from astride the horse, saw men laboring, shovels tossing muddy dirt high, officers directing the construction of rifle pits. Where timber was available, logs were being cut, a defensive line that seemed to Bragg to be completely unnecessary. He watched the work with a hard frown, focused on what he could hear of the engineers, his usual method for rooting out the incompetent, for anyone not doing their job. It was Bragg’s greatest skill as a commander, and he knew that as clearly as the men who served him. If a man was not up to his duty, Bragg would not hesitate to replace him. If a foot soldier did not perform, Bragg would make certain the man paid some kind of price, whether confinement in a
stockade or worse. Discussion and explanation, if Bragg would hear that at all, could come later.

Mackall had ridden down below the crest of the hill, and Bragg saw others there as well, a cluster of officers on horseback, a scattering of regimental flags. Bragg tried to clear the stale air from his lungs, jabbed a spur into the horse’s flank, moved along the crest, his aides trailing behind. He could see all across the face of the ridge, men laboring in a long line that bisected a slope that was hundreds of feet high, nearly all of them preparing defensive positions. He felt the stab of the headache, almost always there, made worse now by his annoyance at his engineers, who had convinced his generals that trench lines and earthworks were worth the effort from so many troops. Bragg had always believed that such defenses only demoralized the men, planting them in ground they might begin to see as their own graves. But here we are, he thought, digging holes, while the enemy is … where? Behind entrenchments of their own? I am advised to attack him, and all the while, my generals insist we plan for defense. How am I to command this army in such a storm of confusion?

He halted the horse, ignored the gathering aides behind him, saw his men spread out as far as he could see. It surprised him that his men were on the heights in such numbers, that the probing advance had been made virtually without opposition. All through the night and into the early morning the reports continued to come, infuriating contradictions as to just what Rosecrans was doing. Many of the scouts insisted the Yankees were indeed gathering up strength in Chattanooga, digging in, improving the existing defenses, pulling artillery into organized batteries, their commands no doubt coming back together. Yet others reported pontoon bridges being laid across the Tennessee River, that men were continuing to scramble away beyond the river, an unorganized mob, still reeling from their bloody defeat. The pontoons were a clear sign that Rosecrans was intending to leave, and yet Bragg could see for himself now that the blue mass was still in Chattanooga, the view from the great ridge absolute. He raised field glasses, no strength in his arms, let them drop.

“Don’t need the cursed things anyway.”

“Sir?”

“Do we have the first notion if the enemy is in those trees? Has anyone tried to find out if all these earthworks are a waste of time?”

“Not certain of that, sir. General Mackall is down that path.…”

“Yes, I see him. Keep close behind me, in case I require your service.”

“Certainly, sir.”

Bragg stepped the horse carefully down the path, didn’t look back to see if the aides were obeying him at all. He moved toward Mackall, who saw him now, turned his own horse to face him.

Bragg spoke first. “What is happening? Is the enemy on the move? I see smoke from the town. Are they burning the place? Since my generals have halted this army on this high ground, there must be the opinion that we are to be attacked. The message I am receiving is clear, gentlemen. There is confusion here. Am I correct? Are my generals in consultation somewhere on this hill, planning our next move? Might someone advise me what that might be?”

Mackall glanced at the others, said, “Sir, the infantry on the ridgeline here belong to Harvey Hill’s division, with General Cleburne’s men farther to the north. General Wheeler’s cavalry secured the ridge all the way to its most northerly point, with no enemy opposition. General Longstreet has occupied the high ground to the west, including the summit of Lookout Mountain. I had been led to believe that Chattanooga was being abandoned … the smoke, as you say, sir. But now … the forward scouts report a great deal of labor ongoing. There are enemy stragglers still scattered about, but any organized force has settled into Chattanooga.” Mackall paused, and Bragg rubbed at the headache, the image of Rosecrans in his mind. Mackall pointed up toward Lookout Mountain. “Sir, it is something of a surprise to me, and to others as well. The enemy made no effort to block the mountain passes. We were able to advance to this position with only a few brief skirmishes. There is some retreat across the river, but from my own observations, and that of General Hill, the enemy is most definitely in force in the town. General Longstreet reports that the enemy has placed several pontoon bridges to the rear of the town, and wagons have been observed crossing. But there is no sign of a significant retreat. The wagons could be ferrying wounded.”