The Fateful Lightning (9 page)

Seeley saw a slight frown on Hardee’s face, and Hardee held up his hand, said, “Yes, very well, Governor. How many militia have you been able to bring together in Macon?”

Cobb seemed to deflate, his words softer. “Some fifteen hundred, sir. I had hoped by now to treble that number. It might still happen. General Gustavus Smith…I believe you know him. He is in direct command of those forces and has taken to training them as quickly as possible.”

Hardee kept his eyes on Wheeler. “Yes, well, we shall keep up our hopes. General Wheeler, if Macon is to be assaulted, how many men have you at hand?”

“Two thousand effectives, perhaps more. Scouting parties are scattered a good bit, but even in this rain, I am able to summon most of them. I have kept a sizable force farther north, observing the track of Sherman’s more northerly advance, anticipating that he might move on Augusta. If you will allow me to continue on that course, sir, I believe we must observe from every vantage point. The enemy has given us no real information as to his intentions. And our cause is not helped by this weather. I regret that a good many of my men are performing their duty even while carrying illness.”

Hardee moved to a chair, the cavalry officers making way. He sat slowly, stretching a stiff back. He seemed to ignore Cobb now, kept his focus on Wheeler. “I brought two hundred men from Charleston. Two hundred! Not even an adequate headquarters guard. The enemy is marching with four corps, so I’ve heard. You confirm that?”

Seeley had already heard Wheeler’s estimates of the numbers, stood to one side, saw Wheeler hesitate, as though uneasy with the question. Seeley’s eyes were drawn to Hardee, the man’s calm, the firm tone in his voice, what Seeley had always thought a
commander
should look like. Hardee waited for Wheeler’s response, and Wheeler glanced downward, then straightened, spoke slowly. “It appears that is accurate, sir. I have identified the Fourteenth, Fifteenth, Seventeenth, and Twentieth corps. My scouts in Atlanta suggest Sherman left the city with near sixty thousand men.”

Hardee stared down, nodded slowly. “Others suggest fewer. No one seems to know how many Federals moved north into Tennessee. Sherman would not abandon Nashville to a mere skirmishing force.
General Thomas is up that way, that much we know. The Federals are sending considerable reinforcements toward Nashville from several directions.” He paused. “General Sherman’s campaign has been sanctioned completely by General Grant, and the Federal War Department is responding by shifting troops to allow for General Sherman’s absence. Any bickering that has taken place in Washington has apparently been silenced.”

Wheeler glanced around the room, lowered his voice, as though being discreet. “Forgive me, sir, but how do you know these things?”

Hardee looked up at Wheeler with a hint of a smile. “One advantage of having been commandant of cadets, General. There are a good many West Point officers on both sides of this war, and even the ones in blue can be persuaded to reveal what they know. Occasionally.”

Seeley marveled at that, thought, Spies? He has spies in the Yankee army?

Wheeler seemed to understand far more clearly than his young captain, responded to Hardee’s revelation with a slow nod of his head. Hardee leaned back in the chair, rubbed a hand through his beard, said, “With all respect to you, General Cobb, our current governor, Mr. Brown, tells me that the state of Georgia will soon furnish us as much militia as we can arm. I suggested that twenty thousand would be helpful. He suggested they might produce several hundred.”

Wheeler glanced at Cobb, who had withdrawn toward a corner, seemingly out of place. Wheeler shook his head, said, “With all respect to General Cobb, and to Governor Brown, I do not believe local militia, boys and old men, will be of much value.”

Cobb sputtered the obligatory protest, but Hardee silenced him with his hand, said with a hard frown, “Would you prefer they remain on their farms? I respect General Cobb’s zeal, if not his strength of manpower. He knows these men are fighting for their own homes.”

“Certainly, sir. As they fought for every other city that now smells of blue.”

Seeley waited for some explosion from Hardee, but the man kept his composure, seemed to accept Wheeler’s grim assessment, no matter the insult to any of Georgia’s political leaders. Hardee stood slowly, moved past Seeley, a hint of stale perfume blending with the
wet wool of the man’s uniform. Seeley followed him, watched as he picked up a decanter from a small round table. Hardee looked at Seeley now, as though for the first time, said, “This is brandy?”

Seeley stiffened. “Not certain, sir.”

“We’ll see. Care for some?”

Seeley shook his head. “No, sir. Thank you, though.”

Hardee sniffed the contents of the bottle, poured a small amount into a fragile glass, sniffed again. He sipped the brown liquid, his face curling, handed the bottle to Wheeler. “Here. Pass this among your men. Your aide here seems to have a good instinct for the quality of spirits. Nasty stuff.”

Wheeler took the bottle, sniffed it himself, seemed to approve. “The captain here is not my aide, sir. He commands a company of my horsemen. He’s a Forrest man, actually. But, as with the militia, these days we cannot choose our comrades.”

Hardee studied Seeley now, said, “Well, Captain, welcome to Georgia. Regardless of General Wheeler’s prejudice against your former commander, I would much prefer General Forrest be right here with us. We could use every fighting man we have. Even General Wheeler would agree that Bedford Forrest is a good man with a saber.”

Seeley saw a hint of friendliness in Hardee’s face, felt more comfortable now. “Yes, sir. I’m certain General Forrest would be here, if duty allowed it.”

Hardee moved back to the chair. “ ‘Duty.’ Yes, I am certain he is performing great deeds for General Hood. Just what kind of duty General Hood is performing, I cannot say. But he is my superior now, and of course, respect must be offered. No doubt, once he advances farther into Tennessee, he shall fare much better than he did with the assaults he tossed into Sherman’s front lines. But General Hood has no failings in the eyes of our president, and we must agree with the instincts of our president.”

There was no humor in Hardee’s indiscretion, no one responding. Wheeler seemed to pulse with impatience now, said, “Sir, the enemy is in force north of this city, laboring to cross the Ocmulgee River at Planter’s Factory. I believe there is opportunity, if you will authorize it.”

“Oh, I’ll authorize it. Until Beauregard or Taylor gets here, I am in command. What is the enemy’s deployment?”

“Taylor?”

Hardee shrugged, nodded. “Oh, yes, indeed. You were not aware? No, there would be no reason for Richmond to inform our cavalry just who was coming to take command. My apologies to the president, and anyone else who believes we are in a position of strength. Yes, gentlemen, Richard Taylor is on his way, fully cloaked in the legacy of his illustrious father. I would offer everything I own just to observe Zachary Taylor confront our situation as it is today. Sherman would not enjoy that at all. But lest we be disrespectful of his son, Dick Taylor carries the legacy of his
own
great deeds, all those decisive victories in the Trans-Mississippi. Forgive me if I cannot name them. You do know that General Beauregard will soon be gracing us with his presence, as will General Bragg, on his way even now to take command of the garrison at Augusta. It is possible that Bragg will venture to Macon, if he can avoid capture along the route. The president has determined that even those generals who have once embraced failure might be assets to us down here. Regrettably, none of these commanders are accompanied by any quantity of troops.” Hardee paused, and Seeley felt the gloom spreading among them, could see a glare of anger emerging in Hardee’s expression. “Forgive my impudence, gentlemen, but in my efforts to understand the president’s strategy, I have concluded that Richmond believes we should confront Sherman’s army with as much ‘brass’ as can be mustered. We can ‘general’ them to death. I prefer you take this fight to his army any way you can. Unless you see an alternative?”

Wheeler glanced at his other officers, said, “Sir, the weather, added to the difficulties in fording the river, has strung Howard’s columns out for at least twenty miles. There is opportunity.”

“What of Federal cavalry? They’ll be screening those columns.”

Wheeler made a fist, shook it in front of him, the most animated response Seeley had seen from the man. “Hugh Judson Kilpatrick! Forgive me, sir, but Kilpatrick’s screen is of no concern to me. I embrace the opportunity to confront such a scoundrel.”

Seeley was surprised by the outburst, a surprise shared by Hardee.
“I was aware Kilpatrick commanded Sherman’s cavalry. I wasn’t aware you had…a relationship with him?”

“You could call it that, sir. We were classmates at West Point. Surely you must recall, sir. We feared your authority more than anyone there.”

“Of course, yes, I recall. It’s the commandant’s job to be feared, General. Your compliment is accepted. You were a year or two ahead of him, as I recall.”

“Yes, sir. I will say, sir, he is the worst kind of man. I assure you, I will treat his horsemen with the same contempt I feel for him. How he rose to such heights of command, I do not know. But he shall pay for whatever lies he has told, or bribes he has paid, or whose wife’s virtue he has soiled.”

Seeley saw a smile on Hardee’s face. “Then go about your business. But be aware that if the Federal infantry pushes hard toward Macon, you must assist us here. Screen the city as best you can, and make your assaults accordingly. Be prepared to fall into a line of defense.”

“Of course, sir.”

“You are dismissed. God go with you, General. And your horsemen.”

Wheeler saluted, Seeley doing the same, Hardee nodding them onward. Wheeler handed the decanter back to Seeley without speaking, Seeley suddenly facing a new responsibility. They moved out quickly, the others trailing behind, the horses waiting for them in the rain. Outside, Seeley’s company emerged from various shelters, leapt to their mounts. He saw the older sergeant, Gladstone, and handed Gladstone the bottle as he moved past him. Seeley climbed his own mount now, saw others coming together farther out in the rain, all of them waiting for Wheeler to give the order, leading them out into muddy darkness.

NEAR PLANTER’S FACTORY, GEORGIA—NOVEMBER 20, 1864

T
hey had kept a careful eye on the Federal cavalry, but the men in blue seemed eager to complete their crossing, slogging farther from the river, making way for the infantry behind them. Even through the dismal darkness, Seeley could hear the orders, Federal officers barking hoarse profanity, prodding their men to make fast tracks across the bouncing pontoons. Seeley slipped forward, closer to the edge of the wood line, wet brush slapping his face, rain dripping from the brim of his soggy hat, every part of him soaked to the skin. Behind him, others followed his lead, moving forward, no one speaking, the Federal column not more than a hundred yards to their front. He shivered, tried to hear the orders more clearly, could never be calm so close to the enemy. The Federal cavalry had surprised him, had not seemed to care if anyone was observing the crossing, no significant patrols sweeping through the nearby woods, the woods where Seeley had brought his men. It was arrogance, he thought, perfect certainty that nothing any rebels could do could hold back this unstoppable caravan of strength. Surely there had been scouts late the afternoon before, a veil of protection out east of the Ocmulgee, making certain no wayward Confederate artillery batteries might be positioning themselves to embarrass the pride of the Federal troops as they made their crossing of the river. They don’t believe we can hurt them, he thought. Surely that’s it. We have no real army here, and every bluebelly general is puffed up with worship for Sherman, just how “perfect” their plan might be. He thought of Forrest, somewhere out in Tennessee, those glorious assaults against surprised Federal outposts that so often just melted away. He would know what to do here, Seeley thought. General Wheeler, well, probably. He’s just so…what? Miserable? Grouchy? Doesn’t much matter to me, regardless. It’s my job to follow him, do what he says, no matter how much he needles me. I’m still in charge of these boys no matter how much he dislikes me. And now, more besides them.

It was a surprise to Seeley that Wheeler had added to Seeley’s small command, increasing his lone company by more than a hundred men. It was necessary for Wheeler that his troops be organized as
efficiently as possible, that Wheeler maintain careful control over the various patrols and observers. There were just too many Federal troops to be careless, too much to lose if the Confederate horsemen stumbled clumsily through their tasks. Seeley knew better than to take Wheeler’s reorganization as any kind of personal compliment. The number of experienced officers had fallen off sharply, victims of skirmishes with Kilpatrick’s bluecoats, or men just falling away from sickness. Wheeler might not like Seeley’s service with Forrest, but Seeley suspected that somewhere in the man’s good sense, Wheeler would have to agree with General Hardee. If Forrest couldn’t be here to help, at least some of his men were.

The orders this night called for simple observation of the Federals’ crossing of their pontoon bridge, making sure they stuck to the primary road eastward. Various roads snaked through the countryside, the Federals certain to make the best use they could to push a sizable force toward Macon. But the doubt rolled through Seeley, as it rolled through the men around him. Until someone, Richmond perhaps, managed to strengthen Wheeler’s hand with a formidable number of infantry, there was little the horsemen could do but watch as Sherman moved his people anywhere he intended them to go. For now Macon seemed secure, but no one around Wheeler had any expectations that the forces manning their earthworks could withstand a powerful thrust by two Federal corps.

The boasting from Southern newspapers had become absurd, the quotes from President Davis strangely unreal, some of the men close to Seeley daring to ask if their president really had any idea what the war had become. Seeley could only hold on to his optimism; despite the shocking indiscretions from General Hardee, Seeley had to believe Richmond would not allow Georgia to be swallowed up by the Yankees without a serious fight. But just who would make that fight was a question Seeley couldn’t ask. The only enemy he had any involvement with were those troops across the muddy field, trudging their way over their pontoon bridge.

The bridge had been completed now for several hours, but Kilpatrick’s cavalry led the way, what seemed to take another good hour for the horsemen to make their way across the bouncing span. Seeley knew to expect that, that certainly Kilpatrick had his orders to push
out east of the river, screening the advance of their main column. Seeley could see them moving past, low lantern light reflecting off the wet horses, the slickness of the troopers’ rubbery coats. He had thought of keeping a count, and for the past hour more than two hundred of them had come off the bridge, that number telling him that his wisest move would be to remain exactly where he was. As more of the cavalry moved out along the road to the east, Seeley understood just how precarious his situation was. If Kilpatrick’s scouts were suddenly to surprise him from behind, or if the march of their main body suddenly changed to spread through the woods where he sat now, Seeley could be swallowed up without any kind of fight.

He kept his stare on the lanterns, watched the movement off the bridge, saw a pair of artillery pieces moving away with the cavalry. He understood that, knew that Federal cavalry would haul their own fieldpieces, if only a few. A wagon followed, then another, and for a long minute no one came off the river at all. He kept his stare through the rain with curious intensity, but now more horsemen appeared, a cluster of men keeping close to the bridgehead. Foot soldiers were spreading out now, guards being posted, and Seeley watched those men as they spread into position, knew those would be the men most likely to learn he was there. The officers on horseback seemed in some sort of council, and Seeley thought, Brass, certainly. Probably trying to figure out how to get dry. There’s a few houses farther out on the road, but I bet that Kilpatrick fellow’s grabbed those.

He could hear orders called out, more infantry spreading out along the road, some of those men slogging closer to the brush line, the hiding place where Seeley had placed his men. He felt the instinct to back away, but his men were spread out all along the thickets, and no orders could be called out. His heart began to beat harder, a stab of nervousness, not helped by the wet chill. No, he thought, if they move right into our line, we’ll have to hit them. Sabers. The powder might be wet. We sure as blazes can’t have fistfights breaking out.

The Yankee foot soldiers settled down in an uneven line halfway out in the field, no more than fifty yards in front of him, most of those men curling up into some kind of makeshift cover, their own bedrolls, or shelter-halves. The chill of the rain was relentless and Seeley was shivering now, knew those men would be as miserable as
he was. No one wants a fight out here, he thought, not in this. It’ll be morning soon, and they’ll make a camp here, add a bunch of men to these few. Fine by me. I’ll be long gone.

He looked past the row of Yankee skirmishers, heard their low talk, griping mostly, curses toward the weather or the officers who had given them this duty. Seeley didn’t smile, was too nervous still. Some of the men new to his command were complete unknowns, and he had to trust that no one would be tempted by the enemy being so close to do something abominably stupid. So far his men had been as silent as he was, obedience to his own order he appreciated. He knew what he was seeing, the advance of what was surely an entire Federal corps. The shivering grew more intense, hard cold in his chest, the column shoving forward under the shouted curses from the men on horseback. Seeley had never crossed a pontoon bridge, wondered just how that felt, especially in the cold black of the rain. You slip, stumble, and you’re in the river. And dead. They might not even notice. No wonder those men are in a hurry.

The rain had settled into a hard, hissing drizzle, thick and misty, masking the sounds of the marching column. Seeley could make out the muted clink of canteens and mess kits, bits of grumbling from the skirmishers close to his front. Beside him Seeley heard breathing, a hand on his shoulder.

“Cavalry all gone? What the dickens?”

Even in a whisper he knew the voice of Gladstone.

“Not certain yet. They could come back.”

“Captain, sir, those bluebellies have done skedaddled out of here to find someplace to keep their bedrolls dry. Those officers right out there is cussing up a storm to move those troops over this here river. Those bluebellies have been on their feet for most of the day, waiting to go somewheres, anywheres a’tall. The only
happy
Yankees out there are the engineers who built that stinkin’ bridge. They’re drinking their whiskey in some house in that nothing little town. Which reminds me, I didn’t properly thank you for that bottle you tossed me. Not bad.”

Seeley was still nervous, didn’t need a conversation with the older man, not now. “Courtesy of General Hardee. Thank him.”

“Well, by crackin’, I might do that.” Another man moved up behind him, another whisper.

“What now, Cap’n?”

Seeley ignored the man, and Gladstone said, “Seems to me if the bluebelly cavalry done gone, those foot soldiers is mighty alone. We got the whole company right here, another out to the right. Might be a good time, bustin’ right in on ’em.”

Seeley thought of Wheeler, the man’s stern orders issued to all his commanders,
Seek opportunity
. He stared hard, tried to ignore the rain in his eyes, studied the column, at least a full regiment already across, and now, a gap in their column, more officers riding on the bouncing bridge, harsh words, and Seeley felt the hard stir in his gut, had been through this with Forrest, the same orders.
Seek opportunity
. And attack it.

He turned, a handful of men close by, others sitting low in the brush to both sides of him. He kept the whisper, spit out as loudly as he dared. “Back to the horses! Formation!”

He led the way, the others responding to his quickness, the entire line backing away, tracing their steps through the thickets, the trees taller now, holding away the rain. He could see the gathering of horses, one-fourth of his men left back to keep them together, the cavalry’s protocol. Another company had moved closer as well, and he saw a man up on a horse, knew by the man’s posture it was Dibrell. He moved close, still dismounted, said in a harsh whisper, “General! Captain Seeley, sir. We should attack the bridgehead! The Yankees don’t know we’re here. Their cavalry has moved away!”