Chapter 10

Even in the midst of armed combat, there always comes a time when the opponents fall into a sort of malaise waiting either for orders or slowly building up strength for a major campaign striking deep into the heart of enemy territory. The period just before the Christmas season was just like that along the river that had been our directional lifeline always pointing us in the right direction ... South.

I was sitting on a wooden barrel cleaning my Spencer Carbine yet again. I knew I did it too often but old habits are hard to break. I never cleaned it without having a back-up weapon next to me just in case the sneaky Johnny Rebs decided to play at infiltration. It had been my experience in this time period of the American Civil War that neither side did that very much at all preferring to pound each other to little pieces on the open battlefield. I can’t even blame it on the terrain or the lack of sufficient cover because it was more a sense of proper behavior rather than more important things like the element of surprise or covert maneuver. Since I had the benefit of long-range perspective, it seemed to me that it was more a function of ingrained rules of conduct passed down at military academies and on training grounds on both sides. It was easy to see it was not constrained to the American Civil War but also to armies around the world.

Thinking back to my prior readings in the future, I remembered that the French and Indian Wars and a large part of the American Revolution witnessed covert actions and the benefits of using surprise to overcome the enemy. I suspected it was the training of the army officers operating in the field during the American Civil War that was still causing them to imitate the European methods of warfare and act as gentlemen on the battlefield. It was certainly not the best way to sort out the chaos of killing and maiming of men with maximum effectiveness.

Those thought were uppermost on my mind as I continued to keep my head down and make it through this unexpected war without having it shot off by some Rebel sharpshooter.

I was just having my morning coffee which was unusually tasty due to the Negro cook that prided himself on making a “fine cup” of the frothy black mixture. A fairly large contingent of horse soldiers came into our camp from the direction of the railhead and I saw they had the American flag as well as the colors of the famous General Sherman and his fast-moving headquarters. He was the sort of office that led from the front and never from behind so I assumed his troops were following close behind.

He was an impressive figure of a man looking fierce and serious with the unmistakable stance and attitude of a senior officer. I noticed that he did not display the usual gold braid and stars of a high-ranking general but only wore plain blue uniform of a union army officer. I thought that most impressive because it reminded me of most of the officers in actual combat in my era that was careful to remove such signatures of rank to avoid being taken out by a vigilant sniper. There was no chance of mistaking him because he was familiar to me from my military science studies when we discussed the brilliant strategy devised by General Sherman to split the South in two and carry out a “scorched earth” approach that deprived the enemy of any re-supply or the necessities of life.

I remembered that he used the name of William and signed his letters as “General W.T. Sherman” because he preferred his name of Tecumseh for the Indian leader of that name that often scored victories even when vastly outnumbered by his opponents.

His taking of Atlanta would be in the history books and his famous “March to the Sea” made him the most hated Yankee in the Deep South. The General’s entourage was extensive and was probably his entire operational headquarters that usually stayed at his side despite his reputation for always being right up on the frontline and in the thick of things no matter how desperate. I saw him throw me a glance like he recognized me for being out of place and I wondered if he had some sort of sixth sense that warned him I was not supposed to be there. I kept my eyes down after that and he swept into the main tent to make his report.

The security detail with the headquarters element was a motley crew of uniformed soldiers, armed Negro troops, and tough-looking men in civilian clothing that I thought looked exactly like modern day mercenaries working on a private contract for General Sherman outside of the chain of command. I was later to discover that these men were a contingent of his former militia members from California that had participated in the “Vigilante” efforts to restore order in the gold fields and save the lives of innocent civilians and private property. It was a part of his past that the General did not like to discuss in mixed company and he never referred to his close bodyguard as anything except the simple address of “soldier”.

Our commanding officer came into the each platoon’s campfire and told us,

“The General is looking for some volunteers to help him scout the route down into Georgia. He wants to take Atlanta as soon as possible we can all be home before next Christmas. Each volunteer will get extra rations for the next thirty days and they are already casting a new medal for the liberators of Atlanta back in Washington, D.C. for anyone that joins this expedition force. All volunteers can draw an extra pair of boots at the supply boxcar because it might be a long campaign.”

I have to admit, I was sorely tempted because I wanted to see firsthand the methods employed by General William Tecumseh Sherman to invade and wrest control of the heart of the Confederacy from the Rebel hands. I wondered if it was the same modus operandi employed by General Patton in constantly keeping his armored forces moving ever forward in pursuit of the enemy.

My reluctance was based more in respect for advice from my mentor Sergeant Noble who admonished me that “never volunteering” was always the best course of action if one wanted to retire instead of being buried with honors. After struggling for the better part of the morning studying on the “pros and cons”, I decided that the opportunity was too delicious to pass up and I signed my name on the line and got my ticket for the promised added rations and the new boots that would probably come in handy if I lived that long.

Most of the added rations came from places like New York State and Pennsylvania and it underscored the wide gulf between the ability of the northern states to produce, package and distribute such products to troops in the field and the relative inability for the Confederacy to do much more than deliver sacks of rice and grain to central feeding facilities. It was a small thing but important to troops in the field moving from battle to battle never knowing where their next meal would come from. Of course, the armies of the Confederacy were more than adept in improvising measures to meet the needs of their fighting forces but it often required outright stealing from civilian sources or paying them with worthless Confederate paper money. Since most of the fighting was still in southern territory of seceded States, it was robbing their own people and caused irreparable harm to the relationship of the fighting armies to their own citizens.