The Smoke at Dawn: A Novel of the Civil War (14 page)

The lack of activity after Chickamauga was puzzling to many, Davis included. The letters that flowed out of Tennessee had become venomous, violations of military courtesy and protocol that Davis could not merely address with his pen. If his generals needed to know what kind of support Braxton Bragg was receiving from their president, he would communicate that firsthand. Davis had no doubts at all that Bragg would perform, and perform well, as long as his subordinates fell in line behind him.

If Bragg’s generals had grievances, he would hear them, certainly. As he drew closer to Chickamauga Station, Davis had settled the arguments in his mind, knew that his mission to Tennessee would be one of reason, of reconciliation, that with the proper amount of convincing, even the most cantankerous generals would come to understand that their faith in Bragg should be as strong as his own. To suggest that any one of them could do Bragg’s job any better than Bragg himself was not a question Davis would even consider. After Lee, Joe Johnston, Beauregard, or Pemberton, the primary alternatives would probably be Longstreet or William Hardee. But both seemed to make enemies too easily, demonstrating a level of ambition that didn’t suit their president. As long as Bragg continued to demonstrate complete dedication to Davis’s authority, he simply would not be replaced. All Davis had to do was make that point with perfect clarity.

As the train lurched to a stop, Davis stepped down absolutely certain that his mission would be a simple one.

They arrived after the evening meal, and as each man entered his headquarters, Bragg felt the strain, the forced politeness. The collective staffs remained outside, Mackall as well, some of the men already engaged in low conversation. There were few secrets in the camp, every soldier in the army aware that President Davis had come, every staff officer understanding that his arrival carried far more meaning than some glad-handing social visit.

Bragg welcomed each man with the same perfunctory handshake, no one rejecting his hand, as Forrest had done, none likely to make such a blatant show of disrespect in the presence of Jefferson Davis.

Longstreet had arrived first, and Bragg watched him now, felt a grinding dislike for the man, knew Longstreet felt the same way about him. Bragg felt disgusted by Longstreet’s demeanor, the large man sitting sloppily in a chair to one side of the room, close to the hearth, a small pipe clamped in his teeth. Simon Buckner had arrived shortly after Longstreet, Harvey Hill and Benjamin Cheatham close behind. The four were Bragg’s most senior commanders, but no one mistook the evening to be anything about glad tidings.

Bragg remained standing, Davis sitting at the desk, and Bragg felt the sweat on his skin, the deep rumblings in his stomach, nothing unusual about that. Davis smiled, a brief formal greeting to each man, pleasant instructions for each to take a chair. There was typical formality to that, Davis not given to friendly banter, the useless small talk that some politicians seemed to enjoy. Bragg appreciated that, shifted his weight from one foot to the other, impatient, still sweating, tried to avoid looking at Longstreet, Longstreet watching him, seeming to taunt him. Bragg felt the man’s smugness, infuriating, Bragg still wondering if Longstreet believed himself to be so far above the rest of them, that his service to Robert E. Lee had somehow imbued the man with angelic powers. Bragg sniffed, tried to erase the thought, looked at Buckner, who nodded toward him, watching Bragg carefully. The stare made Bragg even more uncomfortable, thoughts racing through his brain. What does he know? He has been
loyal to me, at least when he served my staff. But give a man power over others … He stifled that, blinked through stinging sweat in his eyes, the heat from the fire at one end of the room beginning to suffocate him.

Benjamin Cheatham was the only one of the four generals who had not been to West Point, but his skills as a leader in the field had put him in position as the man Bragg had suggested to replace Leonidas Polk. Cheatham seemed more nervous than Bragg, glanced around the room, as though searching for something. Bragg winced at that, thought, Liquor? Is it so true then? It was the one black mark against Cheatham, the rumors that Bragg could never quite confirm, that Cheatham had a tendency toward drunkenness when his leadership was needed the most. Those rumors had extended through the fight at Chickamauga, but Bragg had no direct evidence of that, and so, no real reason to distrust the man. Of the most senior commanders, Cheatham, like Breckinridge, had not placed his signature on the petition calling for Bragg’s ouster. Breckinridge was a politician, his motives simple to dissect. Cheatham’s motives were more of a mystery, whether he had kept his name off the petition as an act of loyalty to Bragg, or whether he was simply too cowardly to document his feelings. Bragg had no idea which.

Simon Bolivar Buckner was the youngest of the group, but certainly not the least experienced. It was Buckner who had surrendered his forces to Ulysses Grant at Fort Donelson early the year before, the first in a series of battlefield disasters that allowed the Federal army to occupy most of Tennessee. But Buckner carried no stain for that particular defeat, no disgrace. The surrender had been ordered by his commanding general there, John Floyd, who had put Buckner in charge of handling the surrender, while Floyd himself slipped away. The outrage against Floyd had been absolute, and Davis had responded by removing Floyd from command. That had cost Floyd more than pride, the man’s health failing rapidly, his death coming just a few weeks prior to the fight at Chickamauga. For a while, Bragg had appointed Buckner to his staff, but Buckner’s experience in the field made him too valuable to keep that close to headquarters. The inevitability of losing Buckner to field command had annoyed Bragg, but now, knowing Buckner had put his signature on the petition,
Bragg had forced himself to forget any good service the man had done. He was simply one more enemy.

Daniel Harvey Hill had come west after the fight at Gettysburg, though he had not served under Lee for several months. Bragg had already experienced Hill’s disagreeable nature, a penchant for bitter sarcasm, and a surly personality that had tested the patience and the tolerant spirit of Robert E. Lee, as well as several of Lee’s commanders. Prone to feuding, Hill had been received by Bragg as a form of punishment, as though Hill’s inability to get along with anyone had caused Davis to force him on Bragg. Though Hill had served well in Mexico, and led troops in the field up through the Battle of Fredericksburg, Bragg had to wonder if Hill had advanced to the rank of general for any other reason than his being the brother-in-law of the late Stonewall Jackson.

The silence in the room was complete now, the greetings past, Bragg’s nervousness growing, his fists clenched by his side. He caught the continuing look from Longstreet, saw a hint of a smile, but there was no friendliness to that, Longstreet staring at him with more of a smirk. Bragg tried to look away, couldn’t avoid Longstreet’s show of slovenliness, the man showing a kind of relaxed confidence, as though something had been decided, some secret that only Longstreet knew. Bragg waited for Davis, who said, “Please, General Bragg. Be seated. It is my honor to be among such an illustrious group of commanders, distinguished as you all have been. There are two purposes for my visit here. I should like to address the presence in this camp of a man you all certainly know, in the hope that the charitable hearts among you should find a place for him at your councils. I refer of course to General Pemberton. I have asked the general to remain away from this meeting, so as not to cause him any undue embarrassment. I had thought we could discuss an opportunity for returning him to the field, at the head of a corps perhaps. Every army must make use of experience where it is found, and John Pemberton is certainly a man of experience at leading troops in the field. I defer to General Bragg of course, as to what, if any position there might be here. General?”

Bragg blinked sweat out of his eyes, had suspected this was coming. He had met briefly with Pemberton when Davis first arrived, a
formal, awkward conversation about nothing at all. Pemberton’s eagerness to find a place in Bragg’s army was painfully apparent, but Bragg had done nothing to encourage the man. Now Davis was asking for a formal response to a question that most of the Confederacy already answered. There was no confusion as to who carried the blame for the catastrophic failure at Vicksburg.

Bragg shifted his weight in the chair, glanced at the others, saw nothing pleasant in their expressions, thought, Yes, it’s good Pemberton isn’t sitting here. This could be most humiliating.

“Your Excellency, with all respects to General Pemberton and yourself, I do not feel there is an appropriate place for General Pemberton in this army. I have given this a great deal of thought, and I do not believe anyone here would disagree, though of course I will not speak for these men. But, in my opinion, sir, if General Pemberton was given command of a corps, or even a single division, there would be a mass protest that might very well result in a great many desertions from this army. No man from Mississippi would serve under him, I assure you.”

Davis seemed annoyed, and Bragg felt he had tripped over Davis’s foot. Surely, he thought, he does not believe Pemberton will be accepted. Davis shrugged, another surprise.

“Yes, well, I defer to your judgment, General. I continue to believe that General Pemberton will yet serve this nation in some excellent capacity. His zeal for our cause is unquestioned.”

Bragg looked at the others, Cheatham shaking his head, Hill and Buckner staring down, Longstreet chewing on the pipe with irritating disinterest. Bragg said, “Does anyone wish to comment? Does anyone here feel that General Pemberton would serve well beside you?”

Longstreet said, “Nope.”

Cheatham shook his head again, said, “I regret to say that no soldier from Tennessee would serve under him.”

The others kept silent, and Davis said, “Well, then, I shall explain to General Pemberton that his place shall remain with me. Any disappointment in that regard shall remain private. Let us move past that. I did not make this disagreeable train ride solely to find a command for a friend. I am hoping to understand why, in the Army of
Tennessee, there has been so much … well, turmoil. General Bragg has won a truly marvelous victory against our enemies. I for one am greatly pleased with his leadership. But there is discord here. I have been informed that the victory at Chickamauga is regarded by some as an empty one, a triumph for which we gained nothing. I do not agree with that. Not at all. I am hoping that this gathering shall convince me that you do not believe that, either. I intend to put a halt to the loose talk I have heard coming from this place. You can assist me by offering your absolute support and loyalty to your commanding general. I should like to hear from each of you. I should like to know your feelings about General Bragg, and I would like you to offer a constructive view as to how this army can move forward with General Bragg at its head. General Longstreet, as ranking officer here, will you lead the way?”

Longstreet looked at Bragg, shook his head. “I have not been in the service of the Army of Tennessee for sufficient tenure for me to offer any opinion. With all respects, sir, I should not be called upon to offer one.”

Bragg looked at Davis, saw a hard stare toward Longstreet. Davis said, “I insist, General. Your observations carry great weight in this army, no matter your tenure here.”

Longstreet slipped the pipe into his pocket, rubbed a hand on his beard, and Bragg waited for the stare again, but Longstreet looked only at Davis.

“If you require me to speak, sir, then I shall obey. My estimate of General Bragg’s abilities is not high. The little experience I have had under his command has not changed that opinion. I believe, sir, that General Bragg could be of far better service to this nation in some other position than by leading the Army of Tennessee.”

Davis seemed surprised, and Bragg saw a quiver in Davis’s hand, the man flexing his fingers for a long moment. Davis said, “General Longstreet, I had hoped …” He stopped, looked down at the desk, and after a pause, said, “General Buckner, will you offer a word of support for General Bragg?”

Bragg looked at Buckner, saw his head slowly shake.

“I am sorry, Your Excellency. I cannot. General Longstreet’s views … are my own. General Bragg is not the man to lead this army.”

Davis did not look up, seemed to close his eyes. “General Hill, will you offer your view?”

Hill did not hesitate, his voice clear and distinct, louder than Bragg wanted to hear. “The others have spoken. I can offer nothing to distract or contradict their words. I would prefer that some other commander be elevated by you, sir, to head this army. The men in my command have little confidence that General Bragg will lead us to victory. As you all are aware, I served as honorably as was in my power under General Lee. In that army, the spirit of the men remains high, even in times of trial. The men there rally to their commanding officer. Such is not the case here, and I do not believe that, unless there is a change … it will ever be.”

Bragg felt a rush of heat, steadied himself in the chair, his face flushed, the sweat soaking his shirt, running down his back. He could feel the familiar fury rising up, the need to shout them down, to strike back at their words. But Davis looked at him now with a hard stare, a silent command,
quiet
. Bragg felt the energy drained from him, Davis still watching him through tired eyes.

After a pause, Davis said, “General Cheatham, your comments?”

Cheatham hesitated, no surprise to Bragg, the man most new to his command. And perhaps, Bragg thought, he will set them right. He will not be so quick to push me aside. Cheatham cleared his throat, said slowly, “Your Excellency, as you know, I did not add my name to the disgraceful document that was either inspired by or authored by, I would assume, someone in this room. I do not feel it serves our cause, or this army, to embrace such discord as we now suffer.”