Free A Blaze of Glory by Jeff Shaara Page A

can’t remember …”
    The prisoner began to cry, hard sobs, and Seeley couldn’t avoid feeling sorry for the man, a flash of thought, never be a prisoner. Never .
    “Oh, wait … I heard the supply sergeant … said something about the river.”
    “The one you swam across?”
    “No, sir! The Tennessee River! Some town, like in Georgia … I heard of it.”
    “Georgia? You’re not making sense, son. You’re in Tennessee.”
    “Savannah! That’s it. Something about going to Savannah. The sergeant made a joke about it. Stupid generals gonna make us march all the way to the ocean. But somebody cussed him out for being stupid, said there was another one … another Savannah … in Tennessee!”
    Seeley felt McDonald stand up tall beside him, and the captain said, “Lieutenant, get the men in the saddle. We can’t wait. Bring this boy with us, until we can hand him off.”
    “How’ll he ride, sir? No spare horses.”
    “You decide to let your sergeant run your command, Lieutenant?”
    Seeley had waited for this, wondered if the value of the prisoner outweighed the risk they had taken. Of course, he thought. He knows I didn’t make this plan myself.
    “Sir, I saw an opportunity to grab a prisoner, get some information. Had to make a quick decision.”
    “Well, when you make decisions that go against my orders, you’ll pay for it. Even good decisions. This boy’ll ride with you. Hey, Yankee.”
    “S-s-sir?”
    “You’re gonna be tied up real snug to my lieutenant here. You ever ride a horse?”
    “Not much, sir.”
    McDonald slapped Seeley on the shoulder.
    “Enjoy your ride, Lieutenant.”
    Seeley waited for the prisoner to be pulled up to his feet, thought of the rope they would use, something stout to tie the prisoner against him. It was the only way in the dark, no chance for the man to fall off, slip away. He began to move, felt another hand on his arm, heard the familiar deep growl close to his ear, the voice of Gladstone.
    “Nice of you to take the blame and all. But, beggin’ your pardon, sir. For takin’ the credit, you owe me a bottle.”

CHAPTER FOUR

    JOHNSTON

    ROSE COTTAGE, CORINTH, MISSISSIPPI MARCH 23, 1862
    T he newly assembled army around Corinth had been designated now the Army of the Mississippi, and though Beauregard had insisted the command belonged to Johnston, his actions suggested that Beauregard believed himself to be in the best position to manage the army’s affairs. On the march from Murfreesboro, Johnston had to suffer through lengthy communications from Beauregard that could only have been interpreted as orders . The missives included a steady stream of requests and the requirements for Beauregard’s own plans for troop movements, distribution of supplies and ordnance, and the proper construction of the defenses to protect the railroad. Beauregard’s display of so much authority made Johnston wonder once again if Jefferson Davis had sent Beauregard west for this very purpose, but Davis’s letters showed no sign of any lack of confidence in Johnston’s command. Beauregard’s behavior was simply … Beauregard.
    To the Creole’s credit, he was an efficient organizer, and his standing among the civilian population had produced significant results, new volunteers answering his call, the other commanders throughout the Mississippi Valley answering as well, supplies and troops continuing to march toward the crucial railway. Beauregard’s success was an obvious contrast to Johnston’s inability to produce the same kind of enthusiastic effort, one more example of the blame levied against Johnston for so much of the bad news that had come from the army’s failures in Kentucky and Tennessee. Johnston was grateful as well that Beauregard had assumed control of an essential part of the army’s change of positioning, since Johnston had to focus his attention on the rapid transport of the twelve thousand men he brought from Murfreesboro. That march also included the precious