he turned, saw Major Hitchcock, motioned him closer, said in a low voice, “Let’s check the next camp. That lieutenant can wait a bit. Dayton will know what to do, how to talk to that ‘boy.’ We’ll find out just what these men saw out there, some real numbers. He’ll be a little more forthcoming if he’s away from these braggarts. Maybe I can teach him not to make heroes out of scroungers.”
Hitchcock smiled, said, “Yes, sir. In your charge, sir.”
Sherman jabbed the horse with the lone spur, moved quickly past the men still gathering around the wagon. Hitchcock caught up with him now, glanced back, the other aides following, the crowd around the wagon out of earshot.
“General, you think there was any rebel cavalry at all?”
“Yep.”
“Really?” Hitchcock seemed surprised, stared out through the darkening trees.
“Easy, Major. There’s a hundred of our skirmishers out that way, hoping for just that, a fat wad of horsemen trying to bust in here. We’ll get plenty of warning.”
“Thank you, sir. Just not all that familiar with such things.”
“You will be.”
They rode farther, officers coming to attention as he passed, their men calling out the salutes, more of the same, “Uncle Billy.” Hitchcocksaid, “Sir, that not bother you? So much informality? I would think they’d show more respect.”
Sherman stuffed a fresh cigar in his mouth, chewed on the tip, always enjoying that first bite into dry tobacco. “They’re showing plenty of respect. Good for morale. They can call me anything they want, as long as they do the job. You see some general insist on his men calling him by his full rank, all of that nonsense, you can bet it’s because they’re afraid of him, or maybe they hate the man. They love you, they’ll think up some kind of nickname. Always been that way.”
Hitchcock seemed to ponder that, said, “Think they’ll find one for me?”
Sherman couldn’t help a chuckle, pulled the cigar out, twirled it in his fingers. “Don’t count on that. Staff officers are usually pretty invisible. Supposed to be that way. Only adjutant I know who insists on being front and center is Grant’s man, John Rawlins. Puts himself into Grant’s business like some cocky-ass rooster. Wouldn’t put up with that here. But Grant’s good to his friends, and I guess Rawlins is a friend. So Grant puts up with a great deal. He’s put up with me more than most.”
He suspected Hitchcock didn’t know much of what he was referring to, could see the man absorbing every scrap of information Sherman was giving him.
“I can see that you and General Grant have a good understanding.”
“You might say that.”
Henry Hitchcock had been with Sherman’s staff for only three weeks, had come to the army from a notable law practice in St. Louis, by way of the influence of his uncle in Washington. General Ethan Allen Hitchcock had been a longtime acquaintance of Sherman before the war, though Sherman had no idea the old man had a nephew who aspired to be a soldier. The word had come from the War Department, the younger Hitchcock rejecting an offer from Edwin Stanton to serve in the logical position as judge advocate in his hometown of St. Louis. Henry Hitchcock had determined that service in the army meant service close to the front lines, and so the elder Hitchcock had appealed directly to Sherman. There was always room for more assistance, and Sherman had obliged his old friend,welcoming his nephew to camp in Atlanta. What he did not expect was that, unlike every other member of Sherman’s immediate staff, Hitchcock was by their measure old. He was thirty-five.
Sherman appreciated the immediate discovery that Hitchcock could write well, and to the relief of Dayton, McCoy, and most of the other staff, Hitchcock assumed the role as an unofficial secretary. But Sherman had seen this kind of itchiness before, recognized that Hitchcock had that aching need to be a part of
something
, and if he were to
Hitchcock smiled, said, “Yes, sir. In your charge, sir.”
Sherman jabbed the horse with the lone spur, moved quickly past the men still gathering around the wagon. Hitchcock caught up with him now, glanced back, the other aides following, the crowd around the wagon out of earshot.
“General, you think there was any rebel cavalry at all?”
“Yep.”
“Really?” Hitchcock seemed surprised, stared out through the darkening trees.
“Easy, Major. There’s a hundred of our skirmishers out that way, hoping for just that, a fat wad of horsemen trying to bust in here. We’ll get plenty of warning.”
“Thank you, sir. Just not all that familiar with such things.”
“You will be.”
They rode farther, officers coming to attention as he passed, their men calling out the salutes, more of the same, “Uncle Billy.” Hitchcocksaid, “Sir, that not bother you? So much informality? I would think they’d show more respect.”
Sherman stuffed a fresh cigar in his mouth, chewed on the tip, always enjoying that first bite into dry tobacco. “They’re showing plenty of respect. Good for morale. They can call me anything they want, as long as they do the job. You see some general insist on his men calling him by his full rank, all of that nonsense, you can bet it’s because they’re afraid of him, or maybe they hate the man. They love you, they’ll think up some kind of nickname. Always been that way.”
Hitchcock seemed to ponder that, said, “Think they’ll find one for me?”
Sherman couldn’t help a chuckle, pulled the cigar out, twirled it in his fingers. “Don’t count on that. Staff officers are usually pretty invisible. Supposed to be that way. Only adjutant I know who insists on being front and center is Grant’s man, John Rawlins. Puts himself into Grant’s business like some cocky-ass rooster. Wouldn’t put up with that here. But Grant’s good to his friends, and I guess Rawlins is a friend. So Grant puts up with a great deal. He’s put up with me more than most.”
He suspected Hitchcock didn’t know much of what he was referring to, could see the man absorbing every scrap of information Sherman was giving him.
“I can see that you and General Grant have a good understanding.”
“You might say that.”
Henry Hitchcock had been with Sherman’s staff for only three weeks, had come to the army from a notable law practice in St. Louis, by way of the influence of his uncle in Washington. General Ethan Allen Hitchcock had been a longtime acquaintance of Sherman before the war, though Sherman had no idea the old man had a nephew who aspired to be a soldier. The word had come from the War Department, the younger Hitchcock rejecting an offer from Edwin Stanton to serve in the logical position as judge advocate in his hometown of St. Louis. Henry Hitchcock had determined that service in the army meant service close to the front lines, and so the elder Hitchcock had appealed directly to Sherman. There was always room for more assistance, and Sherman had obliged his old friend,welcoming his nephew to camp in Atlanta. What he did not expect was that, unlike every other member of Sherman’s immediate staff, Hitchcock was by their measure old. He was thirty-five.
Sherman appreciated the immediate discovery that Hitchcock could write well, and to the relief of Dayton, McCoy, and most of the other staff, Hitchcock assumed the role as an unofficial secretary. But Sherman had seen this kind of itchiness before, recognized that Hitchcock had that aching need to be a part of
something
, and if he were to
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