The Fateful Lightning (25 page)

“Yes, sir. We’re close to overlapping our marches, if that’s a problem.”

“It’s the opposite of a problem. There are still four main roads. General Blair will move the Seventeenth along the railroad, and I shall accompany him. General Davis shall march the Fourteenth along this route…here. The Twentieth and Fifteenth will use these remaining routes. I want good time, General. We have reached the point where Augusta is over our left shoulder. There is no longer any need for confusion, for deception on our part. Once they realize we’ve passed by Augusta, the troops there might push out toward us. I’m not giving them the luxury of time, Oliver. They want to stop us, they have to catch up with us first. Put your men on the march, fifteen miles a day, if you can. Slocum will do the same. It’s rough country, the farther east we go. Your wagons are full?”

“Oh, quite, sir. It has been a problem, though. From the start of this campaign, my orders have been mostly ignored. I have no tolerance for the abuse of civilians, sir, none at all. I have ordered the arrest of any scavengers who do not follow the strictest intent of your orders regarding foraging. There are officers guilty as well, and they shall be tried at court-martial. I do not understand why your instructions are so very difficult for civilized men to execute.”

Sherman leaned back in the chair, motioned to McCoy, the map quickly removed. “Oliver, there are some things you can control, and some things you cannot. You said yourself your supply wagons are full. Is that not the priority?”

“Obedience to orders would be preferable.”

Sherman knew Howard would never agree with him, respected the man’s dedication to the army. But Howard had already experienced failures of command, the disaster at Chancellorsville, and again at Gettysburg. He would certainly feel the need to keep a tight rein on his men now, to prove, at least to Sherman, that he was capable of managing a successful campaign. Sherman would never mention the past collapses, knew the stain Howard carried with him as boldly as he wore the rolled-up sleeve over the stump of his missing arm.

“If you insist on carrying out the courts-martial, that’s your choice.
I would prefer that it wait until this campaign has concluded, whenever that may be.”

Howard reluctantly nodded. “A stockade is not practicable, sir. There will be time for discipline later. I assume there will be much the same with General Slocum’s troops. I have heard all manner of reports of the so-called bummers and their abuse of the citizens throughout this wing of the march, as well as my own. Mind you, I place no blame with General Slocum. But from all I hear, he suffers from the same lack of discipline that has plagued my command.”

Sherman thought: Kilpatrick. No one else would pass such gossipy nonsense between my senior commanders. Certainly not my staff. And that damned Kilpatrick has spread enough of his own abuse across this countryside to ignite his own private war. He tugged at the cigar, a hard grip in his teeth, tore off the tip, more than he intended. Howard seemed not to notice, and Sherman tossed it aside, said, “General Kilpatrick’s cavalry shall remain somewhat to our rear, to cover us from any possible advance by the rebel forces at Augusta. I do not anticipate any danger there, but unless rebel cavalry suddenly appears to our front, he will do us far more good watching our rear and left flank.”

Howard finished his tea, set the cup to one side. “I prefer him in that position, sir. Rather unruly fellow, and he is not a good influence on the men.”

“I don’t care about his influence on anyone but the rebels. For that, he’s adequate.”

McCoy was there again, waited for a quiet moment, said, “Sir, we have just received word. It is confirmed that General Bragg is in Augusta.”

Sherman looked at him, annoyed. “I thought we had already ‘confirmed’ that.”

“Well, yes, sir. But several scouts have returned to General Kilpatrick’s camp, having seen General Bragg at close range.”

“Were any of them able to get off a shot?”

Sherman heard a grunt from Howard.

“Really, sir, I don’t believe this army should be employing assassins.”

“No, sir. No assassins. But we also received word that General Wade Hampton has arrived in Augusta, with some additional cavalry.”

Sherman digested that, looked at Howard. “Well, Oliver, that should make you happy. Hampton’s a gentleman, is he not? Wheeler’s not much more than a bandit in a gray uniform. Maybe he’ll add a little chivalry to this fight.”

Howard was frowning, looked at Sherman, rubbed his hand on his face. “Are you not concerned? Hampton could have brought a considerable force of cavalry with him. Could make General Kilpatrick’s job that much more difficult.”

“Good. Keep his attention where it should be. If Hampton brought more horses with him, it means he weakened the cavalry presently assigned to General Lee. At the very least, our
problem
would be to General Grant’s benefit.”

McCoy pointed, said, “Sir, who’s that?”

Sherman saw his guards escorting a group of men, civilians, watched Lieutenant Snelling step out in front, holding the men back. Snelling approached the porch now, saluted, said, “General, these men claim to have made an appointment to visit with you. I can remove them, if you wish.”

Sherman looked at the civilians, who seemed uneasy, staring back at him, some with ragged clothes, one man older, well dressed. “No, they are correct, Lieutenant. I authorized them to come. Might be useful to us.”

Beside him, McCoy said, “Sir, they’re Negroes.”

Sherman nodded to Snelling. “My staff has a talent for observation, Lieutenant. Bring them up. Let’s see what they have to say.”

There were six men, the oldest gray-haired, a stoop to his walk. His clothing stood out, what could pass for a well-fitted suit, something Sherman had rarely seen on a black man in Georgia. The rest carried themselves like so many others, homespun pants, ragged work shirts, the thick chests of men who worked the fields. They approached the shallow steps of the porch, stopped just short, and Sherman said, “You wanted to see me. What’s your purpose here?”

The older man stepped forward, hesitated at the bottom step, held his hat now in his hands. “We are mighty grateful for your time, sir.
We have seen that your army is followed by a great many of our people. I have been told by several of your soldiers that this has been a problem. We had thought of coming along with you. Is it true that we are not welcome?”

Sherman heard education in the man’s clear diction, another surprise. “No one said you are not welcome. Not in this command. However, it is difficult for us to care for your people in such great numbers.”

The old man bowed slightly. “We have decided it is best that most of us not go with you, sir. I myself suffer with the rheumatics. Some of the others have ailments of a sort. Some lame, sickly. The women with the small children cannot so easily travel with you. If you offer wagons, that would be welcome, sir.”

“Don’t have the wagons to spare. I believe you are making the correct decision to remain behind. We will permit the able-bodied to follow, if they choose to. No one will be forced to leave his home, or made to stay. If they can work for us, they shall be paid. Some orderlies and such have been with us for a great while.”

“Some will follow you, sir. I will not. There is much age in these bones. I will hope that those who remain will work to make their peace with this land.”

“What of your masters? Are they gone? I will hear nothing of retribution against your people. My cavalry will be ordered to patrol this country with purpose, once this campaign is complete. For now, that’s the most I can offer.”

The old man smiled now, nodded, glanced back to the others. “I am thinking they’ll come back, when the fighting stops. But it can’t be like before. Those that don’t go with you, well, we choose to stay to home because it’s our home, too. But we have been praying for deliverance, and I am strong in the belief that it has come by your hand, sir. The war done changed everything. We are certain of that, sir.”

Sherman looked toward McCoy, said, “Bring out another chair. My back’s hurting just watching him. There’s age in these bones, too.”

“Yes, sir.”

The chair came now, the old man climbing the steps slowly, more hesitation at the chair.

“Go on. Sit down. Tell me, what do you know of this war?”

“I know the North will win. I know that Mr. Lincoln has done been reelected, and that General Grant is whipping General Lee. Or, he will soon. I know what happened at Chancellorsville, at Fredericksburg, at Vicksburg, at Atlanta. Many men have died to make this war. There will be a reckoning for that one day. God will not let this pass without some calling. I know that slaves have freed themselves by your victories.”

Sherman stared at the man, impressed. “What do you know of the rebels, right now?”

“Desperate men, sir. Many of the soldiers know the war is lost, just like the people around here. But they have to fight. No man can go home a coward. They’ll try to stop you. They’re awful scared what’s coming. You’ve done changed everything they know. Just like you’ve changed me. All of us. Colored folk like us already been a part of every war this country fought. We was the ones who told General Jackson how to win the great fight at New Orleans. It was a colored man who told the general to use cotton bales to stop the British cannon. You know that, sir?”

More of Sherman’s staff had gathered on the porch, keeping back, all of them focused on the old man. Sherman ignored them, said, “I have not heard that. Forgive me for doubting that just a bit.”

“Best not do that, sir. I was there. I piled up the cotton. Strong back in those days.”

Sherman couldn’t help a smile now, saw nothing in this man that hinted at dishonesty. “You knew General Jackson?”

“Fought the British, sir. It was a high time.”

Sherman saw a smile on Howard’s face, a nod toward the old man. Sherman looked past the man, at the others, saw sober looks, the men keeping a respectful distance. The old man seemed to catch his eye, said, “They pick me to speak up for ’em. Old age, I s’pose. I been readin’ books most of my life, and it kept me inside, working for Miss Johnson. She owns this house, you see. These boys work the land. We’ll work it again, stayin’ here. I hear that you been killin’ the hound dogs.”

Sherman still watched the others. He saw scars now, one man’s arm forced into a tight curl. He looked again at the old man, nodded.
“I ordered it, yes. The president ordered you all to be without bondage. It seems you understand what that means. No more dogs.”

“Then we’ll go back to the fields, no matter if the masters come back. These boys will work if ’n they can work for themselves. They’ll fight, too.”

Sherman had a thought, pointed at the old man with a fresh cigar. “I have to ask you, sir, something of great mystery to me. Why do the poor white men, here and everywhere in the South, why do they fight to keep slaves they do not own?”

The old man smiled now. “When the war broke out, the rich folk told the poor folk that if they win the war, they can have the land up north, and all the coloreds they want. The poor folk around here put faith in that. It ain’t worked out quite like they was told.”

“Do you know of Jefferson Davis calling on the government to put arms in the hands of slaves? To fight us?”

The old man laughed. “Tell you what, sir. The day the Confederates give us arms, that’s the day the war ends. We’ll take care of the work so you boys can go on home.”

T
hey rode away from Millen with the sun at their backs, passing the wrecked rail lines, the thick scent of smoke rolling past. Sherman kept the old man’s words in his head, an experience that had surprised him completely. Educated man. Didn’t say how. Or why. Some of the slave owners maybe did the right thing once in a while. Or, maybe they needed the old bird to teach their own children how to read. That makes more sense. Too lazy to do it themselves. Maybe too stupid.

He knew that was unlikely, had known too many Southerners whose education would compete mightily with anything he had learned at West Point. He knows of the dogs, though. They all do, I suppose. Nobody enjoys being a slave, no matter what some of those Louisiana fellows tried to tell me. Never thought I’d talk to one like that, though. God put them in the fields for a reason, simple as that. Seemed to work well enough, for a while. Lincoln’s got other ideas, and he’s using this army to change all of that. Not for me to question
any of it. And, by damned, they sure do like us. Thousands of ’em, still following along with us. Gotta do something about that. This isn’t over, and some of ’em are gonna have a problem with reb cavalry, or worse. They could get caught in some crossfire, a bloody awful mess, and sooner or later, some jackass reporter will make sure that story finds print in some newspaper up north. Explain that one to Lincoln, General Sherman. No, you’ve got some responsibility here, like it or not. That old man was telling you that, in his own way. He fought for us, Andy Jackson, no less. I’d like to hear more about that. And by damn, he knows more about this war than most of the white people I’ve met down here. None of that stupidity they spread around in Atlanta, how Yankees are just cannibals, eating the slaves for dinner. Somehow he sees through all the big talk, the newspapers and their fantasies. He’ll tell others, too. That was the point, that’s why those other boys followed him. That’s gotta help us, once the fighting’s over. I just wish I knew when that’ll be.

The ground to the front was flat now, scrub oaks and thin stands of pines, the road sandy beneath his horse’s hooves. He knew enough of this land to know that a good march would put them outside Savannah within a few days, and that between this army and the salt marshes along the coast, it was rice country. That’s different, he thought. Seen that in Louisiana. Water and green grass. These boys will have to figure that out. No more cornfields lying out there like some Land of Plenty. And the closer we get to the marshes, the closer we get to whatever’s waiting for us in Savannah.

He felt the excitement of that, the chilly breeze blowing the smoky air past him, the symbol of where this army had been, what they had done, and how little trouble the rebels had given them. That will change, he thought. It has to. There’s still a hell of a lot of those bastards out there, digging big damned ditches around Savannah. And just like that old man said, these rebels can’t go home with their heads down, cowards can’t face their wives or their fathers and tell them how they just ran away from us like a flock of birds. One man stands up to fight us, they all will. I just wish it would happen
right now
.