A Blaze of Glory (53 page)

Bauer nodded slowly, saw a man by the fire drink from a brown bottle, said, “You remember Patterson? Big mouth, big head. He loved that stuff. Never understood that. Tried some back home, some
potion
my papa gave me. He laughed. I puked.” He stopped, knew he had crossed into
that
territory again, glanced at Willis, saw his eyes closed, his head against the log. Willis said, “Yeah, and where is that big-mouth jerk now?”

Bauer tried to see Patterson’s face, couldn’t recall what he looked like. But the memory was there, that amazing day, the awful sight of Captain Saxe going down, the horse waiting for him to get up again. He shivered again, different this time.

“I’ll never forget this, Sammie.”

“Until next time.”

Bauer hadn’t actually thought of that, that there might be a next time.

“No. This’ll never happen again. They won’t make us do this. Nobody wants to see this happen. Nobody expected this kind of … mess. That’s all there is to it.”

“Sorry, Dutchie, but you’re wrong. We didn’t do a damn thing this time. Didn’t capture the secesh army, didn’t cut that railroad they kept talking about. All we did was kill people, a whole lot of people. Both sides.”

Bauer couldn’t accept that, had seen too much to believe this wasn’t one disastrous abomination.

“We beat the rebels, Sammie. We won. That’s what they’re all saying. I heard Captain Patch talking about that, something about General Halleck sending out big fat congratulations to the whole army, that he had sent word to President Lincoln how good we had done here. The captain said the newspapers back home are already crowing about this.”

“Then how come we can’t write letters?”

Bauer didn’t have an answer for that, began to think that his cynical theory was wrong, that it wasn’t just about the horrors that might frighten his mother.

“Maybe they don’t want us talking about it until we can get it right, I guess. We don’t know everything that happened. Maybe the secesh are talking about surrendering. That’s probably it. It’s all secret, and they don’t want none of us writing home, saying stuff we shouldn’t say. The army’s got its ways.”

“Yeah, here’s one of its ways: Nobody’s gonna surrender a damn thing. The secesh are gathering up down there in that town, holding on to their damn railroad. We’re gonna be up and marching soon, and they’re gonna send us down there, and we’re gonna fight that same bunch again. A whole lot of us are gonna die in that fight, too, and a whole lot of secesh. And, dammit, Dutchie, you know this ain’t the only place there’s a war. This is the whole country doing this. We’re gonna keep killing each other until nobody’s left. Maybe one soldier. There’ll be some big final fight, and one soldier will walk away, the luckiest damn man in these United States. He’ll be able to stand up and do all the crowing he wants … that
he
won the war. If President Lincoln is lucky, too, that man’ll be wearing blue.”

Bauer looked at Willis, baffled by the man’s bitterness, could see the man’s anger mixed with miserable sickness.

“You’re crazy, Sammie. This can’t happen again … not like this. Somebody’s gotta know that. Both sides. The secesh ran away. They’re whipped. They left thousands of dead men here.”

“So did we.”

Bauer said nothing, couldn’t break through Willis’s sour mood. At the campfire, a half-dozen men crawled to their feet, the man with the bottle staggering away. The darkness was almost complete, the chill growing, and he thought about moving that way, but the aching weariness held him in place. Out toward the next fire, he saw a man walking close, an enormous bandage on the man’s hand. Bauer said, “Hey, that’s Walbridge. Didn’t think we’d see him again. See? I guess the hospital fixed him up.”

Walbridge moved past the fire, came toward them, held up the hand.

“They left it on! Glory be! I thought they’d cut my arm off. Looks like you two made it all right. I heard they got Howe, a bunch of others. And Sergeant Williams.”

Bauer grimaced at the name.

“Yeah, I saw it. I was there.”

Walbridge moved on past, nothing else to say to them. He moved toward another group, the same words, the pure elation at still having two arms. Willis said, “He was the only man in the platoon who liked that stinking sergeant. Well, Patterson, too, but I don’t count him as a
man
. I won’t miss either one of them.”

Bauer felt a twinge of guilt, recalled the stunned relief he felt when the sergeant went down. He didn’t feel right hoping for any man’s death, not even a brutal savage like Williams. Bauer said, “He’s probably sent to hell.”

“Maybe. All that matters right now is that he’s dead, and we’re not. Not yet.”

Bauer was growing tired of Willis’s gloom.

“We made it through this, Sammie. That’s a blessing, for certain. I gotta believe we’re gonna make it through all of it. After this place, maybe they’ll figure we did plenty enough. Maybe they’ll tear up those enlistment papers and send us home pretty quick. There’s plenty of new boys up there who think this is a pretty fine thing. That’s maybe why we’re not sending any letters. It might scare some of those boys from signing up.”

“Dutchie, you dream too much. Somewhere out on that river, those generals are patting themselves on the back that they made us
veterans
now. They need us. They’ll send new boys down here for certain, but they’re not sending us home.”

Willis put a hand on his shirt pocket, seemed to drift into some other thought. Bauer stared at the hand, Willis lightly tapping the shirt. Bauer was more tired with every minute of darkness, more tired from Willis’s mood, tired enough not to care about Willis’s feelings.

“Dammit, Sammie, what’s in the letter?”

Willis stopped tapping, looked at Bauer, his face reflecting the campfire. Bauer felt guilty for asking now, but Willis surprised him, pulled the letter out of his pocket, opened it carefully, read,

My Dear Son Samuel
,

We are overjoyed by the arrival of your first-born son. Mildred is doing just fine. The birth was not difficult, and the doctor says she should be recovered in a few days. The baby is a perfect image of his father, and Mildred has hoped you would agree to naming him in your honor, Samuel Junior. We hope you are well, and that you will share with us this joyous time by offering your thanks to the Almighty for this precious gift
.

Love, Mama and Papa

Willis folded up the letter, put it back in his pocket. Bauer stared at him, his mouth slightly open.

“My God, Sammie … what wonderful news!” He paused now, utterly confused. “I thought … it was something awful. You always act like it’s really bad news.”

Willis sat silently for a moment, then said, “I will never see him.”

“What do you mean? That’s crazy. We’ll be going home soon enough.”

Willis looked at him, a hard glare, shook his head.

“
You
will.
You’re
careful.
You’re
afraid. You’ll survive whatever fight we have to do.”

“So?”

“Not me. I like killing those damn secesh. Trouble is, I like it too much. The officers order me back, I don’t want to go. That surprised me at first. I had no idea how it would be, what I’d do when somebody shot at me. But … it was
fun
, Dutchie. I can’t wait till we can do this again. I’ll do it until they get me. I saw their faces, those damn secesh. There are too many of ’em just like me. They’re not gonna quit, and we’re gonna have to kill every damn one of them.” He paused. “God doesn’t watch out for people like me.”

The words were cold and matter-of-fact. Bauer stared at him, openmouthed. Willis leaned back again, closed his eyes. Bauer felt a burst of frustration, wanted to yell at him, to shake him, do anything to change what Willis had said. He couldn’t accept that, had thought of what it would mean to have a family, a child, a
son
. Willis’s letter had carved itself into his brain, the words so perfect, the
precious gift
. Willis didn’t move, and Bauer was too tired to do anything, to protest or argue, to do anything to change Willis’s perfect logic, and perfect despair.

Behind him, a voice, Sergeant Champlin.

“Hey, boys! Looks like we’re finally getting out of this place! Got the word from the captain. First light, gather up your belongings, and get ready to march! Make sure your musket is cleaned and your cartridge boxes full.”

Champlin started to move away, to pass the word to more of his men, some of them already hearing him, questions coming. Bauer felt a jolt, heard a single word from Willis.

“Finally.”

Bauer stood, ignored the stiffness, moved closer to Champlin.

“Sergeant … begging your pardon … we’re going home, right?”

Champlin turned to him, a short laugh.

“Hell, no, Private. We still got work to do. Tomorrow morning, we head south … to Corinth.”

Bauer looked back toward Willis, who didn’t move, his eyes still closed. Bauer felt a strange cold inside of him, beyond the chill of the air.

“But … we whipped ’em!”

“We whipped some of ’em. But word is, there’s a whole lot more of those graybacks gathering up, still spoiling for a fight. You ask me … this thing’s just getting started.”

AFTERWORD

In numbers engaged, no such contest ever took place on this continent, in importance of results, but few such have taken place in the history of the world
.

—ULYSSES
s.
GRANT
(
shortly after the battle
)

No battle of the war—no event in Confederate history—has such a long list of “ifs” and “might have beens” as this battle of Shiloh; it is the saddest story of them all
.

—COLONEL E. L. DRAKE
,
2ND
T
ENNESSEE, HARDEE’S CORPS

In July 1861, the Battle of Bull Run (Manassas) shocks a nation with the raw violence that erupts from what many had believed to be a simple political dispute, a toothless rebellion that could be settled by little more than the threat of military force. The bloody aftermath of that fight drives home the reality that both sides of this conflict are willing to do whatever is required to secure their victory. But that battlefield is a short distance from the capital cities of both North and South. Thus photographs and vivid eyewitness accounts fill newspapers on both sides. The casualty figures greatly exceed what anyone on either side expects: in total, sixty thousand troops are engaged, producing approximately five thousand casualties. As mortifying as the conflict at Bull Run is to the citizens of this country, it pales in comparison to what occurs at Shiloh. Far from the eyes of either capital, one hundred thousand troops face one another, at a cost of
twenty-four thousand
casualties. And yet, because of the vast distance from the great media centers, particularly in the North, few newspaper reporters are on the field to tell that story. Incredibly, given the volume of photographs taken throughout the war by Alexander Gardner and Mathew Brady, to name just two, there are virtually no photographs taken of the aftermath of the Shiloh battlefield at all. Thus, in April 1862, our nation suffers its most costly military disaster to that time, a tragedy that many, particularly in the North, are hardly even aware of.

The Northern newspapers do report a magnificent Federal victory, their information supplied of course by the facts as Henry Halleck presents them. But recriminations fly as well, specifically aimed at the one man who has so few political allies: Ulysses Grant. On April 11, when Halleck arrives at Pittsburg Landing, it is for the specific purpose of taking command of a campaign that he believes has been poorly handled, despite the Federal army’s success in driving the Confederate forces back to their stronghold at Corinth. But Halleck’s own decisions that follow do nothing to enhance his reputation.

Grant accepts much of the blame for the battering of his troops on April 6, and assumes that once again he will be removed from command. But Halleck understands that Grant has won a victory at Shiloh, and Fort Donelson has taught Halleck that removing a victorious commander is a gesture of foolishness that will not be received well in Washington. Thus Halleck names Grant as his second in command, though for the rest of the campaign, Grant is virtually ignored.

Sherman’s enemies pounce as well, and the newspapers, never Sherman’s allies, begin to grumble about the near disaster suffered by the Federal army, caused mainly by Sherman’s denial to his own troops that any rebel threat existed at all. It is an easy criticism to make that the first morning’s collapse was a result of Sherman’s utter blindness to the possibility of a surprise attack. Long after the war, Sherman maintains he was never actually surprised by the Confederate attack, but many of the officers close to him at the time dispute that. Regardless of any failings, Sherman’s actions throughout the latter parts of the campaign wipe away much of the stain of the first morning. Also in his favor, Sherman continues to be a favorite of Henry Halleck, and so, with Grant as Halleck’s scapegoat, Sherman is lauded as a hero, Halleck insisting to the newspapers that it was Sherman who saved the day. Within weeks, Sherman is promoted to major general.

The other primary player for the Federal army is of course Don Carlos Buell. Buell supports Halleck’s version of events, and supplies much of the fuel for Halleck’s condemnation of Grant. For years after, Buell maintains that it was his timely arrival that saved Grant’s army from utter destruction. That dispute is never resolved to either Grant’s or Buell’s satisfaction, nor do the advocates for either man accept the other’s version. That disagreement continues to this day.

On the Southern side, the condemnation leveled toward Pierre Beauregard is predictable and, mostly, logical. Beauregard’s reputation suffers considerably from his premature declaration of victory the night of April 6. That fire is fueled by the energy of Jefferson Davis, who continues to despise Beauregard.

Despite a number of mistakes attributed to the command style and decision making of Albert Sidney Johnston, his death erases many of those stains, and Johnston becomes, to many, a martyr for the Southern cause. By putting himself in harm’s way on nearly every part of the battlefield, and by receiving his fatal wound near the front lines in the act of leading troops into battle, Johnston becomes a valiant symbol of military leadership, and thus is regarded by friends and some of his former critics as a fallen hero. But, as in the North, debates ensue. Johnston’s son William Preston Johnston produces a memoir, which presents a great many personal accounts by officers and others who served with Johnston, including those who witnessed his actions at Shiloh. The younger Johnston’s criticism of both Beauregard and Colonel Thomas Jordan is relentless. Naturally, Jordan disputes that interpretation and defends the decisions made by Beauregard. But Jordan receives a far more impartial critique from many of the senior officers who executed his amended plan of attack at the onset of the battle. There is debate whether Jordan’s plan is the root cause of the Confederate failure. That debate continues among military strategists and historians into the twenty-first century.

Both sides claim victory at Shiloh, though of course, victory in war is most often credited to that army that maintains a hold over the battlefield. Thus, despite claims by some (including Beauregard) that the fight at Shiloh is a triumph for the South, on that point there is little to debate. With Halleck’s arrival, and the additional Federal forces that follow him up the Tennessee River (including the victorious army from Island Number Ten, commanded by John Pope), the Federal forces that eventually march on Corinth increase dramatically, eventually numbering more than one hundred thousand troops. In contrast, Beauregard’s army makes its withdrawal to Corinth, and occupies its fortifications with an effective force
one-fifth
that number. Halleck has in his hands the opportunity to destroy the South’s best chance to hold back the Federal tide in the West.

After holding his army at Pittsburg Landing for three full weeks, Halleck begins his march to Corinth. The officers under his command are fully prepared to find the enemy well fortified, well dug in, and well prepared to receive the inevitable assault, and the Federal superiority in numbers is an advantage the Confederate forces cannot likely withstand. To the dismay of his commanders, Halleck reaches Corinth only to order his army to dig fortifications of their own. Thus begins a siege of Corinth that will last a full month. Though there are skirmishes and a scattering of artillery duels, the worst tragedy of the siege is not military at all. Lacking sufficient sources of clean water, and with neither side providing adequate food and sanitary conditions, disease, especially dysentery, consumes both armies. The cost in lives is horrendous. Pressured by his generals to bring this campaign to its most likely conclusion, Halleck finally agrees to send his troops forward. But the Confederates, under Beauregard, are well aware of Federal intentions. In the days prior to Halleck’s order to attack, the Union troops can plainly hear wagon and railcar activity in the town that suggests an army in motion. The day the advance is to take place, the Federal forces hear the blasts from explosions that pour through Beauregard’s ammunition dumps and supply depots, Beauregard’s efforts to prevent his stores from falling into Federal hands. Halleck’s generals do not share their commander’s surprise, when, on May 29, Halleck finally rides into Corinth, and finds no opposition at all. Beauregard and his army have escaped.

The process by which the Union army worked its way to Corinth has passed into history as one of the most inefficient operations of the war. It involved an elaboration of strategy that now looks a good deal like imbecility
.

—CAPTAIN LUCIEN CROOKER, 55TH ILLINOIS

Instead of making effective use of the enormous juggernaut the Federal army has become, Washington decides the army can be best used by separating, and driving toward a number of Confederate strongholds and strategic positions. That decision is debated as well, but with the advantage of hindsight, most historians agree that sending so many different pieces of Halleck’s army in many different directions likely lengthens the war in the West.

THOSE WHO WORE BLUE

DON CARLOS BUELL

With the breaking up of Halleck’s vast force, Buell once again commands the Army of the Ohio. His first mission is to press eastward, toward Confederate forces assembled south and east of Nashville. But Buell’s plans are interrupted by a Confederate army under Braxton Bragg that invades Kentucky, an effort to reclaim territory lost earlier that year by the retreat of Albert Sidney Johnston. Buell must pursue Bragg, and in October 1862, the two meet at the Battle of Perryville, near Louisville. The fight is considered a draw, which seriously damages Buell’s reputation in the North. Washington succumbs to the public outcry, and Buell is replaced by William Rosecrans. Buell never again is given any significant field command, and he resigns from the army in June 1864. After Ulysses Grant is elevated to command of the entire Federal army, he offers Buell the opportunity to return to service. But Buell, who had previously outranked Grant and Sherman, refuses to accept any subordinate position. Grant is disgusted with Buell’s egotism, and the men remain estranged for the rest of Grant’s life.

After the war, Buell serves as an executive in an iron and coal mining company in Kentucky and at the time of Grant’s death in 1885, Buell is a civil servant in Louisville.

He dies in Rockport, Kentucky, in 1898, at age eighty.

BENJAMIN PRENTISS

Released by his Confederate captors in October 1862, he is rewarded for his heroism at Shiloh by promotion to major general. Named to command of the army’s Arkansas District, Prentiss feels his role in the success at Shiloh is being ignored, and that the new command is little more than window dressing. Thus, in late 1863, he resigns from the army.

Educated as an attorney, Prentiss returns to the practice of law in Missouri, and dies in Bethany, Missouri, in 1901, at age eighty-one.

CHARLES F. SMITH

The man often saluted by Grant, Sherman, and many others who appreciated the value of his tutelage at West Point never returns to command of his Second Division. The leg injury Smith receives from making the jump onto a riverboat festers unmercifully, and on April 25, 1862, even before the Federal troops vacate their camps at Pittsburg Landing, Smith dies. He is fifty-five.

LEW WALLACE

Despite earning a sterling reputation in the field prior to Shiloh, Wallace is never forgiven by Grant for his tardiness in reaching the Shiloh battlefield, and Halleck accepts Grant’s judgments. As a result, Wallace loses his command, and in the fall of 1862 he is assigned to Cincinnati, to command defense forces there, a response to Braxton Bragg’s invasion of Kentucky.

Wallace’s reputation lands him a command as part of the defensive forces surrounding Washington, D.C., and in July 1864 he leads Federal troops to a defense against Jubal Early at the Battle of Monocacy, Maryland. Though Wallace’s forces are defeated by Early, Early retreats, a debatable move in itself, and thus ends what could have been a critical threat to the capital.

After the war, Wallace, educated as an attorney, is part of the United States military commission that convicts and condemns to death the assassins of Abraham Lincoln. He also serves the government in the trial of Henry Wirz, the commandant of the Confederate prison at Andersonville, Georgia, thought by many to be the only man in the Civil War to be executed for war crimes.

Wallace resigns from the army in November 1865 and goes to Mexico, where he serves the nationalist forces that oppose the French puppet dictator, Emperor Maximilian. Contributing successfully to driving Maximilian out, Wallace is thus offered a general’s commission in the Mexican army. Wallace gracefully refuses, and returns to his home state of Indiana to practice law. He later serves as governor of New Mexico and U.S. minister to Turkey.