“Well, yes, sir, I suppose I could,” Colonel Culpepper said. “But then you would have a private for an aide, and you are a general, sir.”
“You say Murback is a good man. Would he make a good officer?”
“Yes, sir, I suppose he would.”
“Then, if you recommend it, I will promote him to second lieutenant.”
“I would be glad to recommend it, but we already have a full complement of officers in the regiment.”
“I’ll carry his commission against my staff, that way it won’t reflect upon your regimental complement.”
“Very good, sir,” Culpepper said. “Murback!” he called.
Abner, who had been seeing to the colonel’s horse, hurried up when he was called.
“Lieutenant, you will be attached to my staff until further notice,” General Johnston said.
“Lieutenant?” Abner replied.
“Yes. I’ve just given you a commission.”
Abner smiled broadly, then came to attention and saluted the general. “Yes, sir!” he said. “Thank you, sir.”
After the brief meeting with Culpepper, Johnston left, signaling Abner to come with him. With good-natured teasing and catcalls from his old regiment, Abner left Colonel Culpepper and his fellow Texans, to follow General Johnston.
“General, uh, exactly what does an aide do?” Abner asked.
“It’s a pretty simple job, Murback,” Johnston replied. “You just do what I tell you to do. Do you think you can handle that?”
Abner laughed. “Yes, sir, well, I have a lot of experience doing that, so I reckon I’m your man all right.”
Abner followed General Johnston into a large and elegant two-story farmhouse that was being used as his headquarters.
“Are you hungry?” Johnston asked.
“Yes, sir, a little. We were about to have supper.”
“Well, you’ll be messing with the headquarters staff now,” Johnston said. He nodded toward the kitchen. “I think there is some cold chicken left, and some coffee. You are welcome to it.”
“Thank you, General,” Abner replied. He walked into the kitchen and started to pull back a cloth that was draped over the food on the table.
“Here, Private, what are you doing there?” a sergeant asked, harshly.
Overhearing the remark, Johnston stuck his head back in the kitchen. “Cooper, this is Lieutenant Murback. He is acting as my aide-decamp. See if you can find a lieutenant’s blouse for him.”
“Yes, sir,” the sergeant said. “I beg your pardon, sir,” he added to Abner.
Abner, unused to being called sir, smiled. “That’s quite all right, Sergeant Cooper,” he replied. He pointed to the table. “Is it all right if I get something to eat now?”
“Yes, sir, indeed it is, sir,” the sergeant said. “Would the lieutenant like some coffee?”
“Yes, thank you,” Abner replied. Abner turned back the cloth and selected a drumstick. He had just taken a bite when he heard a commotion in the living room of the house. He nodded toward the sound. “What’s going on out there?”
“The general has called all the other generals to a meeting,” the sergeant said. “I don’t know what it’s about, though, because I didn’t get invited.” The sergeant laughed at his own joke.
“Well, I didn’t, either, but I think I’ll just take a peek,” Abner said.
Holding his coffee cup in one hand and his piece of chicken in the other, Abner stepped into the open door frame, then stood there, just out of the way, watching as Generals Beauregard, Bragg, Polk, Hardee, and Breckinridge attended General Johnston’s conference.
There were not enough places for all the generals and their executive officers to sit, so Beauregard, who was second in command only to Johnston, disdained a chair or a place on the sofa, to sit on the floor near the fireplace. When several officers of lesser rank offered their own seats, Beauregard waved them off, insisting that he was quite comfortable where he was.
“Gentlemen,” Johnston said when all were assembled, “while I have guarded against an uncertain offensive, I am now of the opinion that we should entice the enemy into an engagement as soon as possible, before he can further increase his numbers.”
“General, I think we should strike at Pittsburg Landing right now, while the Yankees are engaged in off- loading their boats,” Bragg suggested. “They haven’t built any fortifications, and my scouts tell me they’ve set up tents, just as if they were on parade.”
“An attack of the kind you propose is exactly what the Yankees are counting on,” Beauregard said.
“What do you mean?” Bragg asked.
“Think about it, Braxton,” Beauregard replied. “Why are they setting up tents? Why have they built no fortifications? Because they are hoping to draw us out in a bold and foolish attack.”
“Do you think boldness is inappropriate?” General Johnston asked.
“Not at all, General,” Beauregard replied. “But I think boldness should be tempered with caution. I prefer a defensive offense.”
“You talk in riddles, sir,” Bragg said, and the other generals laughed.
“Yes, General, perhaps you would share with us what you mean,” Johnston said.
Beauregard stood up, brushed off the back of his trousers, and cleared his throat. “I think we should take up a position that would compel the enemy to develop his intentions to attack us. Then, when he is within striking distance of us, we should go on the offensive and crush him, cutting him off, if possible, from his base of operations at the river. If we could then force a surrender from such a large army, the North would have no choice but to sue for peace. We could win the entire war, right here, right now.”
The others all began speaking at once, and Johnston had to hold up his hand to quiet them.
“Gentlemen, gentlemen, I appreciate your suggestions and ideas, but as I am in command here, the ultimate responsibility rests with me. General Beauregard, your contention that we could win the war right here is a good one. That is why we must not let the opportunity slip out of our grasp. But I believe General Bragg’s suggestion offers us the greatest chance for success. I believe it is imperative that we strike now, before the enemy’s rear gets up from Nashville. We have him divided, and we should keep him so if we can.”
Johnston’s word was final, so there was no further argument on that subject. The discussion then turned to the plan of battle, and in this, Johnston decided to form the army into three parallel lines, the distance between the lines to be one thousand yards. Hardee’s corps was to form the first line, Bragg’s the second. The third would be composed of Polk on the left and Breckinridge on the right.
“As second in command, General Beauregard will coordinate your efforts. Gentlemen, please have your elements in position by seven o’clock in the morning. We shall begin the attack at eight.”
There was a buzz of excited conversation as, for a few moments, the generals discussed the orders with each other.
“And now, I am certain that you all have staff meetings to conduct, so I release you to return to your units,” Johnston said by way of dismissal.
The assembled officers stood and saluted as one. Then they trooped outside, clumped across the porch, and mounted their horses to return to their units. Beauregard stayed behind.
Abner had watched it all from his position in the doorway, so fascinated by being a witness to the actual battle plans that he forgot all about being hungry. His half-eaten piece of chicken was still in his hand, and the coffee in his cup was getting cool.
Johnston stayed in the front door for a long time after the others left. He hung his head, almost as if praying, and during that time Beauregard said nothing. The only sound in the room was the popping and snapping of the wood fire burning briskly in the fireplace.
“Excuse me, sir,” the sergeant said quietly, and Abner stepped out of the way as Sergeant Cooper, carrying coffee, moved into the living room to give each of the generals a fresh cup.
“Thank you, Sergeant,” General Beauregard said.
The sergeant left and Abner realized that he, too, should leave. After all, this was a private moment between the two top commanders in the field. Yet it was that very thing, the fact that he was an observer to such a private moment, that kept him glued to his position in the doorway. His presence was either not noticed, or was
