Forrest unfolded it. He scowled at the scrawl he had to try to read; it might have been worse than his own hand, something he had trouble believing. “'Your demand… does not produce… the desired effect,'“ he said slowly. Even after he'd read it, it left him unhappy, or worse than unhappy. “This will not do,” he told Leaming. “Send it back, and say to Major Booth that I must have an answer in plain, unmistakable English. Will he fight or will he surrender? Yes or no!”
Lieutenant Leaming turned red. He gave back a salute of drill-field precision, a salute so grand it was almost an insult. “I shall do just as you say, sir,” he replied, and did an about-face every bit as fancy. He strode off toward Fort Pillow.
Fussy fellow, isn't he? Forrest thought. He almost laughed at Leaming's retreating back, to see if it could get any stiffer than it was already. He had his doubts. Turning to Captain Goodman, he said, “People go on and on about how I'm an ignorant, uneducated son of a bitch, but by God, Captain, I know how to say what I mean! “
“Yes, sir, you sure do,” Goodman said with a small smile. Captain Young and Lieutenant van Horn both stirred, but neither U.S. officer said anything. After a moment, Goodman went on, “Sir, you've done all you need to do right up here-all you need to and more. Might be a good thing if you moved farther away from the fort.”
“Ah?” Forrest needed only a heartbeat to understand why. “Reckon so?”
“I do, sir.” Goodman pointed up toward the earthwork. “The niggers yonder who' re skylarking… Well, they're a bunch of damn fools, but they're only a bunch of damn fools, if you know what I mean. But the ones looking our way, and the ones pointing our way… One of them's liable to pick up a Springfield and point with that instead of his finger. I know they're nothing but niggers, but they don't need to be sharpshooters to hit at this range. “
Again, Forrest didn't need long to think about it. He fought ferociously and exposed himself to all sorts of dangers, but that was when his blood was up. It wasn't up now. He could see the good sense in what Captain Goodman said. “All right. I'll do that,” he said. “Bring me the Federals' answer as soon as they deliver it.” He touched the brim of his hat to Young and van Kirk. “Gentlemen.”
“General,” both officers said politely. John Young saluted-not to show him up, as Leaming had, but to acknowledge respect even for an enemy.
“You think Major Booth will give up the fort, sir?” Captain Goodman asked as Forrest turned his horse toward the south.
“I am satisfied in my mind that he will,” Forrest answered. “In the spot he's in, what else can he do?”
He rode back to the position he'd taken before the Federals demanded proof he was on the field. Among the soldiers and officers gathered there was his bugler, a German named Jacob Gaus. He brandished the bugle the way an ordinary trooper would have brandished a revolver. It was perhaps the most battered musical instrument in the war; along with the dents caused by hard travel were two that came from Mini? balls. “Shall I blow the charge, sir?” Gaus asked.
“Not yet,” Forrest answered. “I still have hopes that they will see sense and surrender. “
“And if they don't?”
“If they don't, Jacob… If they don't, they'll wish they had for as long as they live-and most of 'em won't live long.”
Mack Leaming was shaking in his boots by the time he got back inside Fort Pillow. He had no doubt that he'd spoken with Nathan Bedford Forrest. He would have believed it even if Captain Young told him the Confederate was an impostor. One look into the big Reb's eyes told him everything he needed to know. Only a killer had eyes like those hard and cold, always probing for weakness, and always finding it, too.
Major Bradford came up to him. “Well?” Bradford asked. “What does he say?”
“He says he wants your answer in plain English, sir.” Leaming took a certain small pleasure in relaying Bedford Forrest's literary criticism. He would have enjoyed it more were he less alarmed. “Will you surrender? Yes or no?”
“I can't just come out and say that!” Bradford exclaimed.
“Sir, I think you'd better,” Lieutenant Leaming replied. “They will assault this place as soon as Forrest gives the order.”
“So that really is the famous Bedford Forrest, is it?” Bradford tried to keep his tone light, but made heavy going of it. “I saw Young nod, but I can hardly believe it. “
“That is Nathan Bedford Forrest.” Leaming spoke with absolute conviction. “What are we going to do, sir?”
“I won't decide by myself,” Major Bradford said. “This is a decision all the officers in the fort need to make.”
The ones the Rebs haven't shot, Leaming thought. If only they hadn't shot Major Booth. Bradford no doubt meant well, but he was far out of his depth here. His adjutant knew too well he couldn't do anything about that. Major Bradford was what they had, what the fight left them. Leaming said, “If you're going to hold a council, sir, for heaven's sake do it fast. They are about out of patience with us there on the other side of the breastwork.”
Bradford licked his lips. Leaming wouldn't have been surprised if they were dry; his own were. The commandant gathered up half a dozen lieutenants and captains, one of whom had a bloody bandage on his hand but was still at the parapet. “Bedford Forrest demands that we surrender to him at once if we're going to,” Bradford said. “I am inclined to fight it out. Does anyone have a contrary view? If you do, speak up now.”
“What if they get over our wall here?” asked a lieutenant from the colored heavy artillery; Leaming couldn't call his name to mind.
“We drop down to the bank then,” Bradford answered, “and the New Era will blast the Rebs from here to Nashville.”
“I wish to God the Olive Branch could have dropped off her soldiers here,” Captain Theodorick Bradford said.
“So do I!” Leaming said. “The Confederates moved up in the ravines to head them off as openly as if they'd captured the fort. We could have given them more trouble if the truce flags weren't flying.”
“Forrest wouldn't have listened to us. We already talked about that. And the truce involves his men, the fort, and the New Era. The Olive Branch was not party to it. Technically, the Rebs were within their rights to refuse her the opportunity to put men ashore,” Major Bradford said.
He was a lawyer. There were times when his passion for nitpicking punctilio drove Mack Leaming wild. This was one of them, and worse than most. “Sir, to hell with the Rebels' rights!” Leaming exclaimed. “We're talking about our necks here! “
“We've held Forrest off for this long,” Bradford said. “If his men try another push against the fort and fail, I can't imagine how they would be able to nerve themselves for one more after that. I ask again-does anybody feel we should yield?”
No one said a word.
“All right.” Bill Bradford was brisk. He nodded to Leaming. “You say Bedford Forrest wants a clear answer, do you?”
“Yes, sir,” Leaming answered.
“I shall give him one, then. Let me have paper and pencil, someone.” When Bradford had them, he wrote rapidly and handed the pa. per to Leaming. General-l will not surrender. Very respectfully, your obedient servant, L.F Booth, Major Commanding, Leaming read. “There,” Bill Bradford said. “I hope that will be clear enough for General Forrest even without his spectacles, as John Hancock said when he signed the Declaration of Independence.” He laughed at his own wit.
Major Leaming laughed, too, more from a sense of duty than for any other reason. “I'll take it out to him, sir,” he said. Unlike George III, Forrest had nothing wrong with his eyes. Oh, no.
When Leaming reached the flags of truce, he found the Confederate general no longer waited by them. He handed Bradford's note to Captain Goodman. “Here you are, sir,” he said.