The Railroad War (13 page)

Tom glanced at Sam, expecting to find tears on the captain’s face. But to his surprise, none were there.

“You know, General,” Sam said when he resumed, “when I was with the spy, Jane Featherstone, I considered my choices. I knew
that something had to be done to keep Joe Johnston in Jackson as long as possible. I knew that the best thing to do toward
that end would be a raid by a detachment of cavalry to break the railroad to Meridian. But I also knew that in order to make
that work, I’d have to come back here through the lines and…” He looked up. “There simply wasn’t enough time.”

“It wouldn’t have worked anyhow,” Sherman said. “If I’d had a cavalry troop capable of cutting that line, don’t you think
I’d have done it already?”

“Yes, sir, I know that,” Sam said. “And I knew it then.

“And I also considered,” he went on, “trying to set fire to a bridge. But they’re all guarded too well for one or two men
to be of much use. So, I decided to try the crash.”

“And, as you say,” Sherman said quickly, “it worked.”

“It did,” Sam said. “But, sir, those were not soldiers fighting a war against us. They were civilians trying to get the hell
out of the way. Women and children, two or three hundred of them…!”

“Stop!” Sherman said sharply—it was an order.

“Sir,” Hawken said, pulling himself together.

The general waited for a long moment, watching Sam closely and with sympathy. Before he spoke to Sam, he gestured for his
orderly to come over. “Corporal,” he said quietly when the orderly was bent over beside him, “I understand that it’s too early
in the day for whiskey. But as far as I’m concerned, these two men are still into last night. I’d therefore greatly appreciate
it if you’d bring the captain and the lieutenant a good stiff jolt of the best stuff you can find.”

“Right away, sir,” the corporal said.

“Good,” Sherman said, and nodded.

“Thanks,” Sam said, glancing at Tom to confirm that he, too, was more than ready for strong drink. “I could use it.”

“I know,” Sherman said. He tugged at his beard again. “I know too, son, what’s going through your soul. You’ve got waves of
remorse crashing around within you because you killed all those people, and you believe in your heart that none of them deserved
to die.”

“It was women and children,” Sam repeated helplessly.

Sherman nodded. “That’s right, women and children and old men and old women. None of them deserving what you did to them.
Isn’t that right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Right. And I think very highly of you, of both of you, for taking it so hard. You’re not only courageous, you’re caring.
And both those things make me pleased to have you with me.

“The cold, hard truth is that you did just exactly what needed to be done. All of it—yesterday, last night. Even the babies
lying dead in their mothers’ arms on your account.” He looked hard at Sam. “Do you understand that?”

“Yes, sir,” Sam said. Then corrected himself, “No, sir.”

“I didn’t think you would. Let me tell you some more of the cold, hard truth.”

At that moment the orderly arrived and placed two three-quarters-full glasses of whiskey in front of Sam and Tom.

“Was I right in pouring none for you, General?” the orderly said.

“That’s correct, Corporal,” Sherman said. “But do be so kind as to leave the bottle in case my friends go dry.”

“Yes, sir.”

Sherman looked at Tom, and then at Sam. “First of all, what happened was an accident. Not the crash itself—you intended that—but
the results. You had no way to know in advance that the train was full of noncombatants. Am I correct in that?”

“You are, sir.”

“But—and here’s a chilling and maybe frightening thought for you, Sam—I will maintain that even if you knew in advance who
was on that train, you did the right thing. And I would have commended you in your knowledge of that as much as I have already
commended you in your ignorance.”

“I don’t see…”

Sherman waved him to silence.

“You do not have some people in a war and some people out of a war. It’s not that simple. Just because you’ve taken a solemn
oath and a commission from Congress that proclaims you a fighter, you believe that sets you apart from everyone else in this
country? Do you believe that that puts you in the war and it leaves those women and children out?”

“Yes, sir, I do believe that,” Sam said. “Women and children and old people are not at war with me. I believe that.”

“You and too many others,” Sherman said under his breath. And then, a little louder, “I wonder how many deaths that woman
Featherstone is accountable for.”

“But she
chose
what she’s doing.”

“That’s just my point, son. You’re right, she did choose. And if she gets shot for her choice, it’s her own doing. But in
a larger sense, no one chooses war, neither her nor you, nor me, nor Jeff Davis, nor Joe Johnston. It comes on you like weather.
We’re all caught up in this flood—the soldier who shoots at me as well as the woman in Jackson who, after we march into that
town, spits in my face or throws a pail of shit down on my head.

“Every man, woman, and child in this country is caught up in this war just as much as you or I, Captain. They can’t refuse
it or turn it back or escape it any more than they can escape the rain or the tide.”

He looked hard at Sam again. “Got that, Captain?”

“I hear what you’re saying, General,” Sam said and took a long sip of whiskey. It was clear to Tom, from the expression on
Sam’s face, that Sherman’s words had made no impact on him. He still looked as though he carried full responsibility for the
deaths of dozens of innocent people. “But, General,” Sam said, putting the glass down, “you’re wrong.”

Sherman jerked his head back, surprised at being contradicted. But then he smiled his grim little smile. He liked this young
Texan; he was tough—tough enough to tell Major General William Tecumseh Sherman that he was wrong.

“I’m not wrong, Captain,” Sherman said, still smiling, “but I’m not going to debate you, either.”

“I wasn’t planning to debate you, General. I’d never win.” And for the first time that day, Tom Stetson noticed a smile on
Sam’s face.

“Well, my friend,” Sherman said, “it appears that you are capable of displaying some sense. So tell me how you managed to
get back here from that wreck near Meridian in so little time. As we’ve been talking, I’ve been running the distances and
the difficulties through my mind, and what I’ve come up with doesn’t calculate. Not unless you’ve come up with a form of transportation
only angels have heretofore been capable of.”

“I’m no angel,” Sam said with the hint of a twinkle in his eye.

“That’s just as well,” Sherman said. “I don’t need angels here in Mississippi. So how did you get here so fast?”

“The two trains behind the one I hit stopped when the engine drivers saw what had happened,” Sam said. “And so I went up to
the last one and ordered him to back up to a turnoff and run on back to Jackson to let them know what had happened. When he
came close to the place where I’d told Tom to wait for me, I had him let me off. And here I am.”

“Nobody knew that you’d caused the crash?” Sherman said. “You were just a major who seemed to have his wits about him?”

“That’s just about it,” Sam said.

“Damn!” Sherman said. “That’s lovely! You might have a tender conscience, but you are surely as bold a man as I’ve come across.
And you move fast. I like a soldier who moves fast.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“I think I might have to keep you as my aide.”

“Were you thinking of letting me go?”

“No, of course not. Though I hate to think what will happen when Grenville Dodge gets word of this escapade of yours. He’ll
want you for his own purposes. I outrank him, but he never let that stand in his way.”

“I’d like to stay with you, sir.”

“By all means. Meanwhile, what are we going to do next?”

“Attack,” Sam said simply. “Joe can’t move for at least two days.”

“Pleasant thought,” Sherman agreed. “Unhappily, it’s not so easy.”

“Why not, sir?”

“It’s like this, young Sam. I’m not going to batter myself senseless against the fortifications General Johnston has created
between him and me. I tried that five days ago and found the experience less than exhilarating.

“What I need to do is cross that river and close his flanks—if Joe will wait for me long enough to do that. I don’t expect
him to do that, with or without his trains. But if I can do that, then I will attack. But in order to do it, I need a pontoon
bridge, and Johnston’s friend General Forrest has deprived me of the one that was being shipped here for that purpose.”

“But what about the fords?”

“No good,” Sherman said. “They’re fine for a few people at a time, but useless for my armies.”

“And that’s all we can do then, sir, wait?”

“There’s another bridge reportedly on its way. It may arrive on time—and safely. And meanwhile I’ve sent patrols up and down
the river to search for boats. They might find enough of them.…”

“You don’t expect that they will.”

“Joe is nothing if not thorough. If there are boats, he has them stored somewhere in Jackson, or somewhere else that will
make them unavailable to me.” Sherman glanced at Tom. “I’ve been leaving you out of this discussion,” he said. “I don’t mean
to ignore you.”

“I don’t have anything to add, sir,” Tom said.

“That puts you in the same boat with General Parke and General Ord,” Sherman said. “Don’t fret about not having any ideas.
You’re in good company.”

The general pulled his watch out of its pocket, glanced at it, then rose abruptly. “I have to meet with the two generals in
fifteen minutes. Then, after long and careful discussion, they will agree with me that there’s nothing to do but wait. Perhaps
that bridge
will
get here.”

He started to leave, turned abruptly, and said to Sam, “I’m proud of you, young Captain Hawken. And I’m damned thankful that
you work for me and not for those people across the way.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“You too, Lieutenant.”

The general again started to march away, but it was as if he didn’t want to leave, for he turned and addressed the younger
officer.

“Sam,” Sherman said, his face relaxing from its usual rocklike stiffness, “I have letters from Ellen and Willy.” Ellen was
Sherman’s wife, and Willy was his nine-year-old boy, whom he adored. “She has agreed to bring Willy and the other children
down from Ohio for a holiday as soon as this campaign is done. Willy asks after you especially.”

“I’d like to see Willy,” Sam said. “Very much.” Sam and Willy had got along famously during previous visits the Sherman family
had paid the general. Sam had become something like Willy’s official military guardian. It was a job that he welcomed rather
than resented, for Willy was lively and bright.

“I’ll make sure that both of you spend time together after they arrive.”

“I’d like that, sir.”

Noah Ballard, in shirtsleeves rolled past his elbows, stared in dismay at the wreckage of the first of the passenger cars
on the Meridian-bound train that the pirated locomotive had slammed into. It had been quickly determined that a Union spy
had been responsible for the tragedy. The first passenger car had followed five freight cars, and had preceded four other
passenger cars. It had broken cleanly in two, after which the front half had caught fire. The fire had also set the freight
cars ahead of it ablaze, and all these leading cars had been crushed together into a sprawling pile like logs in a bonfire.
Among the passengers who had managed to crawl away from the fire and carnage of the initial passenger car were a fourteen-year-old
girl and a three-year-old boy. Both had lost their mothers.

The boy had been taken away somewhere to be tended to. They should have done the same for the girl, but she was left to search
in the knee-deep wreckage for her mother and two younger sisters.

Those who’d been sitting in the rear half of the broken car had had better luck. All but eight of them had survived, though
most of the survivors had suffered various injuries, mostly minor fractures and breaks.

Noah had arrived on the scene fifteen minutes earlier, but already he had a pretty good idea about the magnitude of the disaster.

The problems were so large he didn’t want to think about them.

There were footsteps behind him.

“Noah?” It was Gar Thomas. Next to him was Captain Hottel, his immaculate gray uniform neither creased nor blemished by his
descent into the hell of the wreckage. Gar Thomas had none of the captain’s special gift for cleanliness. He was covered with
grease and soil, and the bald spot on top of his head was sunburned an angry red.

“Yes, Gar,” Noah answered absently.

“How much are you going to try to save?”

“How much of what?”

“Of the equipment and rolling stock.”

Noah thought about that for a few seconds. “Probably none of it,” he said quietly.

“What do you mean?” Gar said.

“I haven’t completely decided yet, but my inclination is to yank everything off the tracks and just leave it. The important
thing is to repair the track.”

“All of it?” Gar said, incredulous. “You’ve got ten percent of our total locomotion not fifty feet from where you’re standing.”

“It ain’t locomotion anymore,” Noah said, his voice calmer than he felt. “Or at least that’s my guess; I haven’t gotten up
there to see it yet. But my guess is that even if we could repair it, it would take weeks. I don’t have weeks. I don’t even
really have tomorrow.” He looked at Gar and then at Hottel. “Leave it.”

“For Sherman?” Hottel said.

“I want to get this wreckage off the track so we can use what we have left.”

Gar was shaking his head. Old railroad man that he was, he deplored waste. There was much that was beyond salvage in the wreckage,
but there was much that could still be used.

“Do you remember what I told you yesterday in General Johnston’s parlor?” Captain Hottel said. “About the dozens of locomotives
and cars that may still be available in Mississippi?”