The Fateful Lightning (36 page)

Howard seemed to jump, said, “I mean no impoliteness, Captain. I do not partake of strong spirits. Please do not be offended.”

“Oh, my, well, no sir. Not at all! Might I offer you anything else? Fresh water, perhaps? I assure you, it did not come from what flows beneath us.”

“Nothing, thank you.”

Howard put the small glass back on the captain’s desk, and Sherman eyed it, took another long sip from his own, his eyes watering slightly.

“Fine offering, Captain. The people of Georgia tend not to create such quality. A great deal of corn whiskey, mostly.”

The young man smiled, held up the glass, as though studying the brew. “We do take pride in this fleet. Much of our spirits comes from down south, the West Indies. Some we capture from blockade runners, so it tends to have superior pedigree to something made in a barn.”

Sherman emptied the glass, still eyed Howard’s. Howard said, “Do not hesitate on my behalf, General. This is a day for celebrating, certainly.”

Williamson saluted Sherman again, another sip, and Sherman reached for Howard’s glass, another strong taste. Once his throat had cleared, Sherman said, “So, Captain, what are we to do now? You’re in command of this situation at the moment.”

“Oh, my orders are to make acquaintance with you, sir, and inform you that Admiral Dahlgren is most anxious to greet you. You must know that there has been considerable anxiety as to your situation. We had little to draw upon but Southern newspapers. Hardly a reliable source.” He looked at Howard now. “General, I assume you are aware that the three scouts you sent our way did reach their destination. They reached the shore yesterday morning, made themselves known to us, and thus were we informed that the army had reached your present position. That only heightened our anticipation that you would make yourself known in considerable force.”

Howard looked at Sherman, surprised. “We could not know they had made contact with you. Those men embarked on a most hazardous mission, dressed as rebel miscreants. It was a risk at best that they reach anyone but a rebel firing squad. I am greatly relieved to hear they are safe.”

“Oh, quite safe, sir. They of course were not aware what might occur today. Most impressive, sir. Most impressive.”

Sherman slapped Howard on the shoulder. “Impresses the hell out of me. What were their names, General?”

“Captain Duncan, Sergeant Amick, and Private Quimby, sir.”

“Write that down for me. They deserve promotion. Anyone volunteers for a mission like that deserves recognition for it. Or, an award for complete stupidity.”

Sherman could see that Howard wasn’t certain if he was serious or not.

Williamson seemed to wait for the conversation to break, then said, “General, I am also charged with offering you any news you may wish to hear, events that you might not be aware of. The army has achieved an impressive victory at Franklin, Tennessee, over their General Hood.”

“Know all about that. Well, some of it. That was one piece of information we picked up from the Georgia papers.”

“Very good, sir. As well, General Grant is confident that his siege of Petersburg can only result in victory. The enemy troops there are reportedly in a dire situation.” Sherman nodded, finished the second glass, and Williamson touched the bottle. “More, sir?”

Sherman shook his head, tried to clear out the creeping fog moving through his brain. “Any notion what General Foster is so anxious about?”

Williamson’s expression changed slightly, a hint that not every relationship between army and navy was as cordial as this one. “The general will of course make a report to you. Admiral Dahlgren wishes you to know that General Foster has landed a considerable force of men, perhaps a division, on the South Carolina side of the Savannah River. He has made considerable comment about driving his men inland, destroying the railroad nearer the coast.”

Sherman perked up now. “Has he?”

“Destroyed the railroad? I do not believe so, sir. I only know what Admiral Dahlgren has stated, and that was given me in confidence, sir. General Foster is not the most, um, open of fellows. The admiral believes the troops are having some difficulty carrying out General Foster’s planning.”

Sherman absorbed that, no surprise that Foster would keep his plans to himself. He realized now that a naval officer might consider a single division to be an enormous force.

“I should wait for General Foster’s report, Captain.”

“Certainly, sir. I did not mean to speak out of turn.”

“You didn’t. But putting people inland north of the Savannah River could be of enormous benefit. The enemy has a force probably exceeding ten thousand in Savannah right now. It is my intention to nab the lot.” He thought again of Foster. Engineer, and so he will spend time on details. That could be an asset. Or not. Sherman felt his impatience returning, annoyed with Foster, no matter the aid the man might be giving the campaign. He tossed that over in his head, thought, Careful, here. You’ve been all alone out here, running this thing your own way. Now there will be eyes watching you. Important eyes. Damn it all. “Captain, it is essential that I make contact with the War Department, and with Grant. They will expect full reports of our campaign. As for Savannah, very soon we shall have every piece of our artillery within range of the city. General Hardee is in command there, and certainly he will appreciate the nature of his emergency. Once our guns are in place, I intend on notifying him of that situation.” Sherman paused. “Notes, yes. Do you have paper and pen?”

“Oh, of course, sir.”

Williamson leaned low, retrieved both from a drawer near his feet. He laid the paper on the desk, turned a silver inkwell toward Sherman.

“Very nice, Captain. Appears to be valuable.”

“Solid silver, sir. Liberated it from a British fellow who tried to run me through with his sword. Such are the dangers of confronting blockade runners. Thank you for noticing. The admiral allows us to keep some prizes, though it does remind one of pirates.”

Sherman caught the humor in the man’s words, thought, Every sailor in the fleet thinks about pirates sooner or later. It’s in their blood. Sherman moved the paper close, thought a moment, the others keeping silent. “First thing, I must send word to General Halleck. He will certainly pass that along to the secretary, and perhaps the president. Love to be there for that. A great deal of hand-wringing, you know. Some of those people in Washington expected this to end rather poorly for my command. It’s a pleasure to correct that impression.”

He wrote now, the other two chatting amiably, Williamson rising, offering to give Howard a tour of the small craft, Sherman sensing that there were others gathered just outside. Howard obliged, both men aware that giving Sherman a few minutes alone was the right thing to do. He wrote feverishly, his enthusiasm returning, but he didn’t hide his caution that Savannah was not yet in his hands. He focused first on the army, the condition of his men, knew the newspapers would care more about that than anything Sherman had accomplished. He had no problems with that, the report stating it simply and directly, “The army is in splendid order, and equal to anything.”

He stopped, pondered the words, his hands quivering with the weariness, the excitement, the effects of the brandy. He tried to focus again, completed the letter, thought of Halleck, Stanton, like so many frightened birds. Well, sure as hell, this will calm them down.

He heard a commotion now, men calling out, and in a short minute Williamson was there again, hesitant, said, “Sir, excuse me for interrupting. Word has come from a tender for the cutter
Nemaha
. Admiral Dahlgren is on his flagship, the
Harvest Moon
, anchored
presently in Wassaw Sound. He offers his warmest congratulations, sir, and expresses his wishes that you join him, possibly tomorrow. I am to return you to McAllister tonight. As well, General Foster hopes to make contact with you on the morrow. Or rather, later this day. It is well after midnight, sir.”

Sherman said, “Will you run us up on this boat? Make a much easier voyage than that skiff.”

He saw gloom on Williamson’s face. “Very sorry, I cannot, sir. There are numerous torpedoes in the river, one part of the enemy’s barricade upstream. You shall have to use the skiff, I’m afraid.”

Sherman looked down at the notes, spread now across Williamson’s desk. “You will see that these are dispatched?”

“In the morning, sir. With all haste. It is the least I can offer you, sir. Washington must know where you are, just what you’ve accomplished.”

The thought burst into Sherman’s brain like a bolt of lightning. “One moment, Captain. Before we depart. I seem to have overlooked the most important commander I have.”

“Sir?”

“As long as you’re in position to dispatch these, it is probably a good idea that I write a letter to my wife.”

SAVANNAH—DECEMBER 14, 1864

B
eauregard had arrived on December 9, his inspection lasting the better part of a day. But he was now back in Charleston, and for Hardee, whether or not his superior was looking over his shoulder made no difference at all.

They had disagreed about the course of action, Hardee still hoping to hold the line against Sherman by severely limiting the access the Federal troops would have into the city. Already dikes had been cut, rice fields heavily flooded, the avenues into the city now confined to five causeways, where Hardee had placed the larger coastal guns. But the open fields were not impenetrable, merely shallow lakes, usually waist-deep. If the Yankees could not be stopped, the best Hardee could hope to do was to slow them down.

To Hardee’s dismay, Beauregard had little interest in making any real effort to stop Sherman at all, Hardee surprised at what seemed to be a spirit of defeat. Even if Beauregard was right that the evacuation of Hardee’s troops was the only alternative, Hardee had planned on ferrying his men across the Savannah River. Once across, the men could be marched northward farther into South Carolina. But Beauregard overruled him, ordering the building of a pontoon bridge
across the river, whether or not Sherman’s artillery allowed them to complete it. The plan called for defensive assistance from the Confederate gunboats, already patrolling the Savannah River, as well as good defensive firepower from a floating battery, making use of several of the enormous guns that had once faced the sea.

Hardee had faith in his engineers, though he understood that completion of the bridge depended far more on just how quickly Sherman moved his artillery within range of the city itself. Even now, as he patrolled the earthworks that faced the oncoming Yankees, men were at work, hurriedly hauling rice boats that were lashed side by side, serving as the pontoons. More men worked to wreck the wharves themselves, some of which had stood strong for more than a century, their timbers to serve as wooden planking atop the long, thin boats.

North of the river lay the critical rail depot at Hardeeville, its name the kind of coincidence that some men took for meaningful symbolism. To Hardee, the name of the place was far less important than its function: From that point, the rail lines ran farther up the coast, serving as the primary links to Charleston and other rail lines there that fed into Columbia and then on to North Carolina. With the rail line went the telegraph line, and Hardee knew that protecting both provided Savannah with their only links to Beauregard, as well as any other garrisons of troops that might be needed. To that end, Joe Wheeler’s cavalry had been ordered north of the river. Already Federal troops were reported to have landed along the South Carolina coast, a surprising threat Hardee had not expected, those men certainly put ashore by Federal transports. Hardee had immediately pushed troops out that way, hoping to destroy or at least contain the Federal incursion from that direction. But pulling those troops away from the defenses facing west merely weakened a line that was too weak already. Hardee had to consider the possibility that if Sherman was to alter his primary drive toward Savannah and shift a sizable portion of his men north of the river, any force Hardee could put there would likely be crushed, along with the railroad and any communication north of the city. Holding tight to his defensive lines was a gamble Hardee had to make, that despite Beauregard’s seeming disregard for Savannah as a place worth defending, Hardee was not yet
willing to order his men to abandon the place, at least before any hope of halting Sherman had evaporated.

H
e kept to the horse, read the dispatch as he rode, the courier trailing behind, held back by his staff. He had anticipated that Sherman would attempt to open a passage up the Ogeechee River by assaulting Fort McAllister, the one waterway virtually devoid of any Confederate gunboats.

He halted the horse, let the reins drop, his shoulders sagging. Pickett was there now, said, “It is not good, is it?”

Hardee handed him the paper, said, “The fort has fallen. I expected a tougher fight. The enemy clearly chose to make that a priority. There isn’t much we can do about it.”

Pickett read, stared at the paper for a long moment. “What now, sir?”

Hardee kept his gaze downward, stared at the horse’s mane, the horse dropping its head, nibbling at a tuft of greenery at the edge of the street. “He has no idea what is happening, what we must confront. His entire world is in that mouthful of grass. He’s a beautiful animal, Bill. We should all be allowed to experience that kind of bliss, nothing to concern us but what we’re to eat. It probably doesn’t taste like much, but he doesn’t care about that, either.”

“You all right, sir? Do you have orders?”

Hardee looked at him, saw concern on his friend’s face. “Bill, there isn’t anything more we can do, not now anyway. Sherman has opened up the Ogeechee to their navy. We’re cut off from any roads going south. Strange, though. This says it occurred last evening, but I didn’t hear the guns. It’s pretty far, but I would have thought we’d have heard that.”

The rumble of closer cannon turned Pickett’s head, and he said, “Hard to hear anything else. They’re pushing in closer, sir. No doubt.”

“Of course they are. Sherman didn’t make his jaunt across this state just to admire our shoreline. It was his plan all along. We spread this army all over Creation, running around like madmen, anticipating him to turn off in some other direction, and all the while he kept up a straight line of march, right toward Savannah. We allowed him
to avoid any real fight, did him a favor by not inflicting more than a few casualties. We debated and argued and speculated. And Sherman just…marched. Now he’s ready for the next act in his masterful play. The spoils of war, in this case. Quite the prize.”

“He hasn’t gotten us yet, sir. We’re strong.”

Hardee glanced at Pickett again, saw Roy, the others easing forward. “We
were
strong. Now we are waiting for the inevitable. Do you believe Sherman will march straight up to our heavy artillery?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “No. He will employ his navy, he will dance around our perimeter, he will maneuver and jostle until his artillery is capable of rendering this city into rubble.” He looked at Pickett again, then Roy. “Have we heard anything more from the gunboats?”

The two men looked at each other, and Roy said, “Nothing, sir. If they are not lost, it appears they are upriver, with the enemy preventing their movement back into the city.”

Hardee shook his head, slapped the horse gently. “They are lost to
us
, Colonel. That’s all that matters.”

The two gunboats were the
Macon
and the
Sampson
, invaluable craft that Hardee had hoped to use to protect the evacuation, and at the very least prevent Sherman from attempting to move on the city from the north, across the Savannah River. Besides protecting the construction of Beauregard’s pontoon bridge, the two boats added substantial firepower to the land-based artillery. But as they patrolled farther upstream, the two boats had been caught by surprise by a mass of Federal sharpshooters and several well-placed artillery pieces, forcing their captains to retreat farther upriver, and farther from the wharves close to the site of the pontoon bridge. The loss of the two gunboats added to the strain of Hardee’s predicament and only increased Beauregard’s determination that Hardee leave the city.

The rumble from the cannon continued out to the west, some of it impacting much closer than anytime before. The staff seemed nervous, men speaking in hushed tones, Hardee ignoring that, focusing instead on the sounds. He glanced up, clouds obscuring the sun, no hint of rain.

“What is the hour?”

“Near ten, sir.”

He kept his gaze westward, could see smoke drifting above faraway trees, the thumps and thunder rolling out in both directions. He felt the familiar stab of concern, searched the roads for couriers, for some information, his mind asking the inevitable question: Is it time? He turned to Roy, said, “Send an aide to General McLaws. I must know if he is under direct assault. If it is more of the skirmishing, I must know that as well. Explain to General McLaws that I cannot be in three places at once. Send an aide down to General Wright. If McAllister is in enemy hands, I need to know if Sherman is driving a strong force up from that direction. Have we heard anything further from General Smith?”

The questions betrayed his anxiousness, and he stopped, held that in, knew his staff officers would understand the urgency. He had very little confidence in two of his three commanders, McLaws being the most experienced. But good generals made little difference in a fight against a force as large as what Sherman was pushing toward them. He had told Beauregard that Sherman likely had thirty to forty thousand men, but the reports that reached him from both flanks seemed to show many more than that. Is it exaggeration, he wondered, or is it that we have been wrong from the start? Even Wheeler could never give us numbers that matched what the civilians claimed they saw. Do I trust them? How? Perhaps Beauregard is right. That thought jolted him. Beauregard’s reputation for timidity was legendary, as far back as the vicious fight at Shiloh. His timidity cost us that battle, he thought. Now it will cost us Savannah. And yet there is no argument I can make.

“Sir! Riders!”

He brought himself back to the moment, saw colors, following a small staff, Gustavus Smith. Smith was experienced in the field but had never displayed the kind of leadership that won admiration. Now he commanded the right flank, anchored against the river. But Smith’s troops were the least reliable, those remaining Georgia militia, as well as the greenest troops Hardee had in the field, no more than two thousand men.

Smith rode close, saluted, called out in a voice louder than Hardee needed to hear, the voice of panic. “Sir! The enemy has embarked
troops onto the islands, taking up positions all down the river. They are moving on my flank, and I have no means to prevent that. What are your orders, sir?”

Hardee stared at Smith, could read fear in the man’s eyes, a disease that no doubt infected his entire command, men who had no place being in line against Sherman’s army.

“Have they reached the railroad bridge?”

“They are close, sir. My skirmishers have attempted to halt their progress, but last night they must have used boats, and put men even farther downriver.”

Hardee lowered his head. “They did not swim, General.” He stopped, fought his temper.

Smith still called out, his voice piercing, the man no more than a few feet away. “What am I to do, sir? The enemy has pushed us hard into the lines just beyond the limits of the city. His artillery has come up. You can hear that now, sir. They are moving men closer to our position right through the swamps and wetlands, sir. I admit, that was a surprise to me. I had hoped they would advance into the chosen avenues, confront our largest guns.”

“We all hoped that, General. Sherman is not a man preparing for suicide. He will continue to advance his troops through any means he has. If that means wading up to their necks in swamp water…that’s what they’re doing.”

“Yes, sir. It seems so, sir.”

Hardee thought of the railroad, the communications to the north, Beauregard, Richmond, any troops that might still come to their aid. But his tactician’s mind swept that away. No, he thought, what we have now is all we are to have.

“General Smith, order the railroad bridge to be burned. Once that is under way, withdraw your men into the lines at the city’s edge. Preserve your artillery. Your men are not veterans. I do not wish to see a stampede. Orderly withdrawal, do you understand?”

Smith appeared ready to cry, and Hardee turned away, had no use for weakness, not now. Smith moved away, called out orders to his staff, more of the urgency none of them needed to hear. Hardee spurred his own horse now, thought of Ambrose Wright, commanding those troops positioned on Hardee’s far left flank.

“Gentlemen, we should inspect our position to the south. If the Federal navy intends to make itself known to us, we should be prepared.”