“No, no, I strongly disagree,” General Polk said. “Our troops are most eager for battle. Consider this, gentlemen. They left Corinth to fight, and if they don’t fight, they will be as demoralized as if they had been whipped.”
“I totally agree,” General Bragg said. “We can’t even consider withdrawal now.”
“Funny you should say that, General Bragg, as it was your delay that has put us into this situation,” Beauregard reminded him.
“I apologize for the disruption in plans my corps caused,” Bragg said. “I make no excuses, but I do apologize.”
General Breckinridge rode into camp then and, when he dismounted, was surprised to learn that the impromptu war council he had happened upon was even contemplating withdrawal.
“What is your opinion, General?” Johnston asked Breckinridge after outlining the situation for him.
“Gentlemen, I say we attack. Speaking for myself, I would as soon be defeated as retire from the field without a fight.”
“Well, that leaves us only Hardee to hear from,” Beauregard said.
Breckinridge chuckled. “Hell, Gus, you know where Bill stands on this. He’s already deployed and eager for battle. If he were here, he would vote to attack.”
“Then it looks to me as if the vote is in,” Jonshton said, “and there’s no doubt as to the way it has gone. The attack is still on.”
“Now? With darkness nearly upon us?” Beauregard asked. “Do you intend to launch a night attack?”
“No, we would have no means of control during such an attack. We will go at first light tomorrow,” Johnston said. “Gentlemen, once all your troops are in position, put them at ease and have them sleep on their arms in line of battle. At least tomorrow we will have no unexpected delays in arrival.”
“General, there is one more thing you should consider,” Beauregard said, not yet ready to give up his argument.
“What is that?” Johnston asked.
“General Buell,” Beauregard said, referring to the Union general arriving from Nashville. “He has, in all likelihood, joined with the others by now, and if so, that would bring the number of men arrayed against us to nearly seventy thousand or more.”
“The attack order stands,” Johnston replied.
“Very good, sir. I will see that everyone gets the word,” Beauregard said. The decision having been made, Beauregard was, once more, the loyal subordinate.
Beauregard and the other generals left to attend to their various duties. Johnston watched them ride away, then he turned to Abner, who had listened with great interest to the entire discussion. Abner could see the look of determination in General Johnston’s eyes.
“You were listening to our conversation?” Johnston asked Abner.
“Yes, General.”
“You understand, don’t you, Lieutenant Murback? We have no choice but to attack. We have given away too much ground as it is, and now the Yankees are on our very doorstep. If we don’t stop them here, they will occupy all of the South within six months including . . . where is it you are from? Texas?”
“Yes, sir. Bexar County, Texas.”
“Then you understand why we must stop them here. General Beauregard is worried because their numbers may be seventy thousand? Hell, I would attack if they were a million.” He was silent for a moment longer, then, inexplicably, he chuckled. “But don’t worry, my young friend. Ultimately, the numbers are unimportant. Like us, the Yankees are spread out between Lick Creek and Owl Creek, and they can present no greater front between those two creeks than we can. In fact, the more men they crowd in there, the more difficult it would be for them to maneuver, and the worse we can make it for them.”
Johnston was silent for a long moment, then he looked at Abner. “All the boys from your county came, I suppose?”
“No, sir,” Abner said. “We had some who stayed back, some of my closest friends in fact. They’re not cowards, either, because I’ve seen them fight against Mexicans and outlaws. It’s just that, they say they don’t believe in this war.”
“But you came,” Johnston said. “You believe in this war?”
“I don’t know if I can answer that question, General. If I thought I was just fighting so rich men could keep their slaves, why, I don’t think I would be here, either. I think it’s more than that, maybe something like honor and duty, and love of one’s land. It’s more complicated than I can understand, but . . . here I am.”
“Were there bands playing, flags flying, and pretty girls waving when you left?” Johnston asked.
Abner grinned broadly. “Yes, sir, there surely was that,” he said proudly.
“I’m glad,” Johnston said. He was quiet for a long moment before he spoke again. “After this battle, the country’s mood is going to change. Never again will men go off to war with bands playing, flags waving, and women throwing flowers at marching troops. We are in for a day or two of bloodletting the likes of which this nation has never seen. It will change our way of looking at war forever.”
Johnston wandered off several steps, and Abner knew that he wanted to be by himself. Respecting the general’s need for privacy, Abner pulled some cold jerky from his saddlebag, walked over to an exposed root, and sat down to have his supper.
Chapter Six
San Antonio, Texas
Saturday, April 5, 1862:
The Oasis was much less crowded now than it had been before the regiment left. That was understandable since business had been exceptionally good over the last several weeks. Young men had come, not only from the surrounding ranches, but also from all over Texas to be a part of the regiment. Consequently, as the regiment was forming, the new recruits spent many evenings in the saloon, talking loudly of deeds of daring as yet undone.
With the departure of the regiment, most of the saloon’s customers were gone. There remained only those men who were too old to serve, and a few young men who, for one reason or another, had refused to go with the others.
On this particular day, four of the young men who did not leave with the regiment were sitting around a table in the Oasis Saloon. The four were James Cason, Bob Ferguson, Billy Swan, and Duke Faglier. Although Duke had arrived in San Antonio only a few months earlier, he had already formed a friendship with James, Bob, and Billy.
Nobody knew much about Duke, for he was a very quiet-spoken young man. James was curious about his new friend’s past, but would never presume to question him.
“Has anyone heard from the regiment?” Billy Swan asked.
“Pa said that Mr. Murback got a letter from Abner,” James said. “The letter came from somewhere in Louisiana.”
“Are they fightin’ in Louisiana?” Bob asked.
“According to the letter they hadn’t seen any fighting yet. They were just marching every day. He said he thought they might be going up to Tennessee.”
The men were silent for a long moment, then James spoke again.
“This is turning out to be a lot harder than I thought it would be,” James admitted.
“What is?” Bob asked.
“Staying behind while all our friends have gone to war. Knowing that they are facing dangers while we are safe at home.”
“You aren’t having second thoughts, are you?” Bob asked.
“I don’t like the way others look at us, or what they think of of us. And I don’t fault them for their opinions. But as for the war? No, I’m not having second thoughts. No good can come of this war, and I don’t want to have anything to do with it.”