Grant Comes East

Chapter Twelve

Richmond, Virginia

July 23, 1863 6:00pm

Gen. Pierre Gustave Toutant Beauregard paced up and down the railroad siding, his anger clearly visible to all who were watching. He pulled out his pocket watch, snapped it open, at least the tenth time he had done so in the last hour, and then snapped it shut.

"Just where the hell is my damned train?" he snarled, looking at his thoroughly harassed staff.

"It's coming," one of the staff replied woodenly. "The dispatcher said that once they get the broken switch repaired, it will be here."

Beauregard looked at the milling crowd of spectators who had gathered at the station to see him off. The afternoon had gotten quite warm, and the group was beginning to thin and drift away.

The send-off was to have been a grand affair, band playing, troops lining the track, his departure in command of what he already called the Army of Maryland a major social event.

Troops had been slowly streaming into Richmond for the last week, more than five thousand following him up from Charleston, eight thousand more from garrison duties in North Carolina and south-eastern Virginia, several thousand more dragged in from state militias as far as Georgia. He judged about half of them to be fit for combat; the others were going to have to learn, and damn quickly. The two brigades that had been detached from Pickett prior to the invasion were already up in Winchester, waiting to move forward.

Except the damn railroads were failing to deliver as promised. Engines were breaking down; sections of track were in such an abysmal state that the trains could barely move at ten miles an hour; the new uniforms and shoes promised by Zebulan Vance of North Carolina had yet to materialize. Again, because of supposed "problems with shipment," no artillery was available, and the remounts for cavalry were one step removed from being converted into rations as an act of compassion.

Yet still it was his army. He had exulted when the telegram came from Davis, ordering him north, to leave as soon as it was evident that the Union was abandoning the siege of Charleston.

Technically his rank was equal to Lee's, and while the implication was that his command would constitute a new Third Corps for the Army of Northern Virginia, he just smiled at that assumption. There would be more than enough room in Maryland, both politically and militarily, to assert his own position. His arrival would be seen as that of the savior sent to bring succor to the battered Army of Northern Virginia in its hour of need. He alone of all the generals in the East had faced Grant and knew his ways. That expertise could not be denied, and he would make the most of it.

The shriek of a whistle interrupted his musings. A lone train was coming around the bend into the station, and on cue the band struck up "Dixie." The crowds, which had been drifting off, came hurrying back, children waving small national flags.

Wheezing and hissing, the locomotive drifted into the station, behind it three passenger cars for himself and his staff.

He climbed aboard, remaining on the rear platform of the last car as staff and an escort of a company of infantry scrambled on to the train. It was already more than an hour late, so there was no time for final, lingering farewells. The last man barely aboard, the train lurched, a shudder running through the three cars. The band struck up "Maryland My Maryland," a tune that everyone seemed to be singing these days.

Striking the proper pose on the back platform, the South's "Little Napoleon" set forth for war in Maryland, the train forcing itself up to ten miles an hour as it left the station, and then settling down to the slow, monotonous pace, railings clicking, cars swaying back and forth on the worn rails and crumbling ballast.