“Fremont’s namesake town took a beating too,” said Mitchel. “That must have galled him, to have to open fire on the town named after him!”
Mitchel poured more wine into his and Sherman’s glasses.
“Those were the only two notable disturbances in Ohio. It might have been worse if the Democrats had charismatic leaders like they had with Logan over in Illinois, but they didn’t have anybody who could organize them. Another thing is that Ohio is settled differently than Indiana and Illinois. Our Ohio River counties were settled by New Englanders in the early 1800s. They were a Republican firebreak between the Democrats in Kentucky and the Democrats in the middle counties of the state. That’s why the trouble was localized to Cincy and Fremont.”
“Cincy and Fremont are both river ports,” remarked Sherman. “The riffraff in the ports are the ones who make the trouble. They can’t stand Negroes coming up from the South to compete with them for work. Can’t say as I blame them because most employers won’t pay their Negroes the same as they pay Whites. The fault lies with White employers who think the Negro isn’t worth a damn. But that doesn’t stop the lower classes from blaming us Republicans. They think every Negro who isn’t a slave is going to come up here and take their jobs.”
“That’s one thing we need to work on,” replied Mitchel. “We need to pass laws requiring the same wages for the same work, regardless of the laborer’s color.”
Sherman leaned back, enjoying the wine. For the first time he began to think about how the Free States would govern themselves if they managed to win their independence. “We’ll have a lot of things to take care of when the war’s over. But first I suppose we’d best get on with the business of winning it. That’s what I’m here to talk to you about.” He handed Mitchel a copy of his orders.
Mitchel read them and then looked up at Cump. “I am to move my men to Indianapolis, but they will remain under my command. We will decide how to deploy them when they are assembled in Indy. Is that right?”
Sherman nodded. “That’s right — your men will remain under your command. You are free to cooperate to any degree you want with McDowell. Or you may choose to fight your men independently. It will be your decision. I’m acting in the capacity of your senior staff officer.”
“What do you know about McDowell’s situation? It must be difficult or you wouldn’t be here.”
Sherman stretched back and gathered his thoughts. He did not want to needlessly alarm Mitchel or to understate the severity of the Confederate Union’s breakthroughs.
“Not having been there, I’m not precisely sure of the situation. We’ll have to sort it out as we go along. I do know that the Confederates made a surprise crossing of the Wabash with over one hundred thousand men. Part of their men re-crossed the Wabash near the Illinois-Indiana line and moved west. The other part moved toward Indianapolis. The last telegrams received before I left Cleveland indicate that Grant is fighting successfully to contain the breakthrough in Illinois while McDowell isn’t fighting his men well in Indiana. The Confederates have cut off and isolated Jacob Loomis’ division at Terre Haute. They’re trying to isolate and destroy the rest of McDowell’s army around Indianapolis.”
“An offensive in two states!” gasped Mitchel. “The Confederates must have mobilized every available man they had to pull off an attack on that scale.”
“We’re not sure how they moved so many men to the front so quickly,” said Sherman. “But I’m sure a lot of it has to do with McClellan’s planning, Stanton’s execution, and Robert E. Lee’s tactical command. They have a strong team. We’ll have to make ours stronger.”
“When do we leave for Indianapolis?”
“I’ll be leaving tomorrow morning. You’ll be boarding your men tomorrow and the next day. The government has chartered all the rolling stock between Cincinnati and Cleveland to move them. Your regimental commanders are to make sure that the men board with their equipment, including sixty rounds of ammunition, and five days of cooked rations. We want these men ready to fight when they arrive in Indy. How many men do you have on activity duty?”
“Over thirty-three thousand. That includes about twelve thousand who signed up after the Columbus rally. No more than a thousand are on sick call. We’ve been careful about taking care of sanitation.”
“Excellent!” said Sherman. “Making sure the men are healthy enough to fight is half the battle. Are the men ready for a fight?”
“Those men who signed up after the Columbus rally were itching for a fight the day they got here. Now they shall have it!”
Sherman’s anxiety eased. Mitchel was ready to fight his men no matter how green they were. Most commanders wouldn’t be so confident. They’d be complaining that the men weren’t sufficiently trained, and they’d be pestering the government with inflated requisitions for more supplies than they could possibly need. But Mitchel was ready to fight. And if the general was ready, the men would be ready.
Outside the wind picked up and drops of rain slapped the windows. Sherman began to consider the impact that the sudden appearance of thirty thousand troops in “high feather” would have on the battle-weary Confederates.
“By the time all of your men arrive the day after tomorrow, the Confederates will have been fighting for six days. They’ll be dog tired, hungry, and low on ammunition. We’ll hit them with a fresh army, well rested, well fed, and fully equipped. I pity those poor Confeds. We’re going to bowl them over like ten pins.” He raised his glass and nodded confidently to Mitchel.
An even grander plan took form in his mind. Suppose we are able to punch all the way through and relieve Jacob Loomis’ division at Terre Haute. If we can capture the bridge over the Wabash we’ll be able to push our way across the base of the Confederate salient and link up with Grant’s men on the other side. That will allow us to cut off and destroy a half dozen or more of their divisions. Perhaps after linking up with Grant we’ll be able to do even more than that. Perhaps we’ll be able be able to encircle and capture every Confederate division in the Northwest. That would effectively end the war. And oh how proud it would make the volunteers in Mitchel’s army!
20
Urbana, Illinois, October 5, 1861
General Ulysses S. “Sam” Grant sat at the bedside of his dying division commander Colonel W.H.L Wallace in the bedroom of a home in Urbana, Illinois.
Grant had seen many men die in battle during the last two months of fighting in the Partisan War followed by the Confederate Union War. He had seen men die of all causes during the Mexican War. His heart had hardened to death. But still he wept when the death affected him personally as Wallace’s did. Wallace’s wife, who had arrived from Chicago that morning, sat next to the bedside weeping along with Grant.
“You saved our army,” Grant finally said when he composed himself. “Neither I nor the nation will ever forget what you did here.”
“It was little enough,” said Wallace, who seemed to be at peace with his impending death. “A man is honored most when he is privileged to give his life for his country. I have done nothing more than those under my command who have already passed from this world have done.”
Wallace, a lawyer in civilian life, had fought his volunteer regiment like a military professional to stop the rot of a crumbling front where it had to be stopped, in front of the rail junction at Urbana. He had known enough to bend his line around the town and anchor it along the Illinois Central running north out of town. He had beaten off savage Confederate attacks, directing the battle under fire until falling mortally wounded. His defense of the Illinois Central line had forced Jackson’s mobile divisions to divert their attack northward to find another gap in the line. The rain had started pouring down, and the thickening mud had slowed their progress.