The Railroad War (43 page)

Sam was more than a little stunned to see that haggard, indomitable face break into a wide, warm grin. “I’m most grateful,
General,” was all he could say, until he added, “and overwhelmed.”

“Well, that’s over with, Sam. And I’m glad I’ve done it—though I’ll be lost without you on my staff. But I suppose,” he added
thoughtfully, “that you’ve been off my staff for all practical purposes for a good part of the summer.”

“I have been busy doing a few other things,” Sam agreed. “But I wouldn’t at all mind a command now. I’ve done all the spying
I can handle.”

Sherman looked at him for a long moment from under hooded eyes. “Anyhow,” he said, “you deserve your new command. And I’ll
be delighted to give it to you.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Now,” Sherman said, “I’m going to drop the other shoe.”

Sam stared at him, waiting, and Sherman just sat there examining him. “Should I be looking for cover?” Sam asked finally when
the general had made no move to break the silence.

“When the other shoe falls?” Sherman asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“It depends, Sam. It depends.” He smiled vaguely. Then he asked, almost casually, “I take it that you would prefer not to
be assigned to another spying expedition. Another trip behind the lines doesn’t intrigue you?”

“To tell you the truth, General, not especially. I’ve had my fill of spying.”

“I can well understand that,” Sherman said. He caught Sam’s eye. “I read in your report that you seem to have mislaid Miss
Featherstone in Jackson.”

“That’s a long story, sir,” Sam said carefully. “Long and complicated.…”

“And you are going to tell it to me, Sam. The whole sordid tale, in due course. But meanwhile, and unhappily, we’re going
to have to disregard your wishes about another spying mission.”

Sam stared silently across at Sherman’s gaunt eyes.

“We have another job of espionage for you,
Major.
And you’ve got to go on it as soon as you can make yourself ready.”

Sam took a long breath. “All right,” he said.

“Here’s the thing, Sam,” Sherman explained. “There were a pretty fair number of railway locomotives left behind in northern
Mississippi after the Rebels retreated from there. From what we can tell now, there were maybe fifty or more.”

“Were?” Sam asked.

“That’s right, Sam. They’re gone now. Though we gave orders to destroy everything useful to the Confederacy, somehow or other
these were missed. Later Grenville Dodge’s adjutant, George Spencer, discovered something like fifteen of these, and he had
them brought north of Tupelo for safekeeping.

“What happened was that the Rebels somehow got word of not only those fifteen but all forty or fifty of the rest of them.
You know how badly they need locomotives and other rolling stock, don’t you, Sam?”

Sam nodded. “I’ve ridden on a good portion of what rolling stock they have,” Sam said. “They could use all they can get hold
of.”

“Well, they went and got it. Took those fifteen or so right out from under George Spencer’s nose, even though they were supposedly
guarded by an entire regiment of volunteers.

“And they took the other ones, too, at the same time. And they did it all by means of a couple of artful feints and diversions.”

“Whose idea was all this?” Sam asked.

“It appears that James Seddon sent somebody from their Railway Bureau by the name of Hottel to look after the locomotives.
And Joe Johnston put a bright young engineer major in charge of his railroads. His name is Ballard.”

Sam shut his eyes tight and pressed his lips together. “I know him,” he said. “We were at the Academy together.”

“Ballard?” Sherman asked, then answered his own question. “Of course. You would have been there at about the same time, wouldn’t
you?”

“We graduated the same day. We were friends before the war. It doesn’t surprise me at all what he’s done.”

“Well, then,” Sherman said with a sly twinkle, “that information should make your new job all that much more…interesting.”

“I’m not sure I want another one of your interesting jobs,” Sam said.

“But you’ll take this one.” He looked hard at Sam. “It’s voluntary, like the others you’ve done for me. But you’ll take it,
Sam. You’re the only man I know who can handle it.”

“All right, General,” Sam said, drawing in a deep breath. “I’ll do it—
if
,” he paused, “you still want me to after you’ve heard about my Atlanta trip. And about Jane Featherstone.”

“I want to hear about both Atlanta
and
Miss Featherstone.”

“I’m no coward, General,” Sam said, getting immediately to the point.

“No, Sam,” Sherman said firmly, “you’re not.”

“But Jane made threats.”

“I’ll listen, Sam. And then I’ll make up my mind.”

“All right, General, tell me what you have in mind.”

Sherman resumed discussing the locomotives: “What they’ve done is they’ve moved the engines down to Mobile, where they’re
going to ferry them across the bay so they can transport them back up to Atlanta.

“We can’t let them reach Atlanta. If they do…” He paused, then said thoughtfully, “Imagine fifty or sixty more trains of reinforcements
and weapons and ammunition able to form up to give aid to Braxton Bragg. Imagine what could happen if twenty thousand men
were moved in a couple of days from Virginia to northwest Georgia.”

“I get your point, General,” Sam said.

“Where this movement of locomotives is going to be most vulnerable,” Sherman continued, “is in Mobile itself. It’s going to
take them weeks to modify the ferries so they can get those engines across the bay.”

Sam nodded understanding.

“I want you to go down there, Sam, and stop them. Or at least stop as many of them as you can. Put them out of commission.
Blow them up. Sink them. Do anything to them that your fertile and devious mind can devise.”

Sam shrugged. “All right,” he said.

“Now,” Sherman said, leaning back in his chair and relaxing, “you tell me all about your trip to Georgia. And I want you to
leave out nothing—you hear that, Sam;
nothing
—about your escapades with the fascinating Miss Jane Featherstone.”

“Yes, sir,” Sam said with a slow sigh. “You are aware, General, that there are parts of this story that I’d rather not tell
you.”

“I know, Sam. I know. Those are the parts I’m most interested in hearing.”

As soon as Will Hottel passed through the door of Noah Ballard’s borrowed office on Front Street in Mobile, Noah was yelling
at him at the top of his voice. As he yelled he waved a paper over his head like a banner.

“Goddamn it, Will,” he shouted, “how are you going to explain this? How can you do this to me? How can you do this to yourself?”

The paper in his hand was an order from Captain William Hottel, in his capacity as chief representative of the Confederate
Railroad Bureau in Mississippi and western Alabama, authorizing the release of fifteen of the locomotives previously destined
for Atlanta, Georgia, to the responsible officers of the Mobile & Ohio, the Mississippi & Tennessee, and the Mississippi Central
railroads. Nine of these fifteen locomotives were to go to the Mobile & Ohio, and three apiece to the other two lines.

The paper had an effect on Noah nearly identical to his likely response to a message from his wife that she had found another
man.

“Will,” Noah continued without Hottel having uttered a word, “you’ve cut off my hand and my arm! And you’ve cut off your own
hand and your own arm! Goddamn it!”

“Calm down, Noah,” Hottel said quietly when there was a break in Noah Ballard’s furious cascade of words.

“Calm down? Jesus Christ in heaven!” He released the paper, and it fluttered to the floor between the two men.

“That’s right, Noah. You don’t need to let off all that steam.”

“It’s nothing at all, is it?” Noah yelled, “nothing at all that we had sixty and some odd engines down there on the docks
ready for shipment east, where they’d be the core of the Confederate railroad—
our
railroad. Now we have fewer than fifty. Why did you go and do that, Will?”

Hottel waited for Noah to let a few more salvos fly. Then he finally spoke. “You seem to think, Noah, that those locomotives
belong to you and to you alone by virtue of some kind of divine right, if not because of lawful proprietorship. I don’t think
you’d ever claim those are your own machines, but you act as though they are.”

Noah didn’t answer. He stared, fuming.

“Well, they’re not yours, Noah,” he said softly. “Get that thought into your head. Nor are they mine. They are the responsibility
of the Railroad Bureau. And therefore”—he paused to let what was coming sink in—“they are
my
responsibility. They are mine, Noah, to dispose of and dispense as I see fit, insofar as I judge they will be of use to the
Confederate States of America. Your responsibility, Noah, lies solely in making sure that such locomotives as I deem are necessary
will be transported to Atlanta.”

“That’s all double-talk, Will Hottel,” Noah said. “And you know it. You’re talking a load of shit.”

“You’re wrong, Noah. I’m doing what I think is best for the Confederacy.”

“What do you mean, best? The Confederacy needs those engines in Georgia and Virginia. The Mobile & Ohio doesn’t need nine
of these locomotives. They have enough to suit their needs already.”

“You may not have noticed, Noah,” Hottel continued coolly, “that Mississippi is still contested by us and them. The state
has not been completely lost. And what’s more, I for one do not intend to hand Mississippi to the Union on a silver platter.
If we’re going to prevent that, then we need functioning railroads.”

“When do you think the Confederacy is going to mount a serious offensive in Mississippi? Do you have any idea about how long
it’s going to be before we give serious thought to retaking Vicksburg? Let’s say, for the sake of discussion, two years. In
two years, then, we might need those locomotives in Mississippi. Meanwhile we need them right now in the east on the seaboard.
And we need them under central control. Sixty locomotives under the authority and direction of the Railroad Bureau might begin
to make a real impact. But if you start giving those engines away to this little railroad and that little railroad…” Noah
stopped, then dragged his hand through his hair. “Jesus, Will, it’s the goddamned dumbest idea I’ve ever heard.”

“I’m sorry, Noah,” Hottel said, “that you don’t see the logic of my decision.”

“You’re sorry? Shit. You’re
sorry,”
he repeated mockingly. “Well, how about that?” He stopped and shook his head. When he resumed, he restoked the fires of his
fury. “There’s another thing, Will. Another piece to all this rottenness.”

Will looked at him, politely interested.

“You never once came to talk to me about any of this move of yours. Why didn’t you do that?”

“You know as well as I do why I never came to you, Noah,” he said quickly. “It’s because it would have been a meaningless
act. Nothing I could have said to you would have convinced you. So why should I bother?”

“I’d think common courtesy is a good enough reason,” Noah said. “Not to mention what I took to be friendship gained out of
a lot of hard times and shared dangers.”

“The point remains, Noah, that you would not have listened to reason. I did what I had to, do.

“Besides, it’s already done. Colonel Sims backs me, and James Seddon backs him.

“So admit your losses, Noah. Be a man and live with them.”

“You are a son of a bitch, Will Hottel.”

“I don’t want to leave here your enemy, Noah.”

“That seems hard to prevent, Will.”

Hottel started to leave. “I’m sorry about this.”

“Yeah,” Noah said as he turned away from Hottel. He wanted to avoid taking his hand or his salute, or any sign of recognition
or farewell from the captain. As far as Noah was concerned, what Hottel had done was unforgivable.

It was not just anger that made Noah Ballard burn white hot; it was fear. Fear that this act of Will Hottel’s, bad though
it was, might be repeated. Other rail lines were desperate for traction. Would Hottel donate still more of the priceless engines
to them?

If the woman who was the great passion of Noah Ballard’s life had rejected and deserted him, he would have been less white
hot with fury.

After Hottel left, Noah retrieved his copy of Will Hottel’s order and tore it into small pieces. Then, clenching and unclenching
his fists as he moved, he prowled around the office he was using while in Mobile. The building it occupied was on Front Street,
and it belonged to a Mobile merchant and cotton shipper whose business had collapsed because of the war and Farragut’s blockade
of Mobile Bay. Since he had no immediate use for it, the merchant had offered to loan the building to the Confederate authorities.
And they had taken him up on the offer.

The office, which was on the third floor of the building, presented a good view of the docks, Mobile River, and Blakely Island
across the river channel. From his windows, Noah could see all the work going on. Three ferries were being altered so that
they could carry his locomotives, but he was too jangled and dismayed to merely stand above the action and observe. He wanted
to mix with other people. Better still, he required the reassurance of friends.

If Lam Kemble had been around, Noah would have gone instantly to him. He could have unburdened himself to Lam, let off his
rage, taken a drink or two, maybe even managed to laugh a little. But Lam and his cavalry squadron had been yanked out of
Mississippi at the first intimation of a large battle shaping up in Georgia. That left Noah on his own now.

Restless and still angry, he left the office and the building, crossed Front Street, and personally inspected the day’s work
on the ferries that were being adapted to transport the locomotives.

The work that had to be done was substantial. In order to make room for locomotives, much of each ferry’s superstructure and
deck house was being ripped away. A pair of locomotives would then be placed on rails on the deck, one on the port side, and
the other on the starboard.