Lee smiled broadly. “Yes, I expect a lot of Southerners would be glad to shoo the Yankees off into their own country. But that wouldn’t bring peace. It would be the beginning of never-ending war until one side subjugated the other. By saving our Confederate Union now, we will prevent the scourge of civil war from roiling us down the generations.”
Jackson reflected on that for a few minutes.
“I wonder what would have happened if the election had gone the other way and Lincoln had been elected President?” He looked at Lee with a puzzled expression. “He’d have been sure to put the Abolitionists in charge of his government. And we’d of been just as sure to leave the Union. The Yankees would be making the same arguments for returning us to the Union by force as we are making for returning them, wouldn’t they?”
“We should thank Providence that the people wisely elected Douglas and Davis,” Lee said after a moment of his own reflection. “They threw a wet blanket over the Fire Eaters before they could wreck the Union from the South. They’ve shown equal vigilance in suppressing the Rebels at the North. Their single principal has been to preserve the Constitution and the Union, no matter from which direction it is threatened.”
Stoneballs decided to bring the subject back to war, which always animated his spirits.
“It will be a different kind of war out here than what we had in Pennsylvania,” he said gazing out on the flatlands. “The kind of war we want.” His eyes shone luminous blue as if he could already envision war raging across the Illinois prairies. “It will be a campaign of maneuver. There isn’t a ridge of hills for the enemy to conceal himself behind, and not A river east of the Mississippi or North of the Ohio that can’t be forded, or at least bridged impromptu, on the march.”
“That’s why we’re here,” said Lee. “Let’s eyeball the Wabash to make sure that we can get our men across it rapidly. I’m expecting that Grant and McDowell will not have realized the necessity of fortifying it. Middling rivers provide the illusion of security. But they are usually easy to cross, especially now at autumn’s low water mark.”
“On the maps the Wabash looks to be about the size of the Upper Potomac,” Stoneballs replied. “Should be fordable every other mile or so. To speed the crossing our engineers can cobble together a pontoon bridge from small boats and barnyard lumber.”
“The farmers won’t appreciate your men demolishing their barns,” said Lee in a chiding but amused tone.
“Or flirting with their daughters,” added Stoneballs in a tone that sounded serious.
“Armies never leave the land or the people undisturbed,” answered Lee. “The way to disturb them least is to make this campaign sufficiently decisive to end the war in one bold stroke. We have planned for sixty days to reach the winter stop-line of Chicago — Fort Wayne — Indianapolis — Cincinnati.”
Stoneballs was duly impressed. “If we do get that far it will be an epic march in the annals of military history.”
“We have to make sure it gets off to a good start, here on the Wabash,” Lee explained. “McClellan’s plan calls for us to concentrate 120 regiments on a five-mile front and move them across the river before the enemy knows we’re there.
“Thirty regiments will move south to encircle the enemy’s garrison at Terre Haute. Thirty regiments will attack Indianapolis from the west. The other sixty regiments — that will be your command — will move north to re-cross the Wabash at Williamsport, Indiana. That’s about thirty miles northeast of Danville. You will roll up Grant’s line in your drive west to the Illinois River. That will bag us about sixty thousand prisoners and bust the door to Chicago wide open.”
“The logistics of this operation will be formidable,” observed Stoneballs. “Feeding and equipping 120 regiments on a campaign to advance three hundred miles deep into enemy territory will strain the railroads and shipping companies of the entire Mississippi Valley.”
“Our commissary agents will be scouring the Mississippi Valley,” answered Lee. “But our men will also be able to subsist on the harvest from Illinois and Indiana. There’ll be plenty of roasting ears and pork on our way up to Chicago.”
“Hadn’t thought of that,” said Stoneballs. “Living off the land as we advance will help ease our supply situation. We’ll be able to move all the faster if our resupply is limited to ammunition.”
Stoneballs contemplated the immensity of the planned conquest of Rebel-held Illinois and Indiana in silence. His gaze remained fixed out the window as the train rolled along the Terre Haute and Alton Railroad toward Paris, Illinois, the last town on the route inside Confederate Union lines.
The train stopped, as planned, at the tiny farming community called Kansas. Lee had not wanted to detrain at the Paris station in case it was under surveillance by Free State spies. He and Stoneballs had taken the precaution of travelling unannounced in civilian clothes.
Colonel of Volunteers John Logan, who commanded the militia forces in Illinois, was duly waiting as instructed beside the station for the arrival of “unnamed Confederate Officers.” He sat the seat of a nondescript covered army wagon. But there was nothing at all nondescript about “Blackjack” Logan. In his early thirties, with a dashingly handsome face and abundant curls of think black hair, and possessed of a confident manner, he was the very persona of command presence.
“Welcome home!” exclaimed Logan as soon as he recognized Lee. “Our army longs to hear the voice of its master!”
Lee smiled and put his finger to his mouth. “Shhhhh! I do not want it widely known that Stoneballs and I have arrived here! Please make sure you and your driver keep your lips sealed.”
“My driver is my nephew,” replied Logan. “He’s a card sharp. His left hand doesn’t know what the right hand is holding. He’ll keep his mouth shut.”
Lee introduced Stoneballs. “I’m sure you already know him by reputation.”
“Indeed I do,” replied Logan. “We heard all about Stoneballs’ breakthrough at Gettysburg that relieved our men of their predicament.” He extended his hand. “Welcome to the West.” He winked and added, “We don’t have any stone balls out here, but we do have plenty of corn cobs if you run short of shot and shell to fire off at the Rebels.” Logan laughed at his joke, then cut it short when he saw Lee was rolling his eyes.
“I understand that our logistics will be sufficient to carry us to Chicago,” said the humorless Stoneballs. “If your quartermasters do their jobs properly there will be no need for heroic improvisations.”
This time Lee could not help himself. He laughed out loud at the seriousness of Jackson’s reply. Logan couldn’t help laughing either. “We’ve had ample time to properly equip our men,” Logan said in conciliation to Jackson. “I’m sure all will go as planned with the movement of the troops and with their supply.”
“I expect it will,” concurred Lee. He addressed Stoneballs. “Logan is responsible for retaining our Confederate foothold in Illinois. During the Partisan War he raised the volunteers who halted Grant’s attempt to link up with Captain Nathanial Lyon’s Free Staters in St. Louis. He won an important victory for us at Carlinville. If Grant had been able to make it into St. Louis our entire position in the Northwest might have unraveled.”
The three men climbed into the back of the covered wagon and were driven by Logan’s nephew through the town of Paris without stopping. A mile to the east of town they reached the Confederate picket post. Logan hopped out and identified himself while Lee and Jackson remained hidden away in the back of the wagon. They continued on into the no man’s land between there and the Wabash.
“No enemy patrols operating in this area?” asked Stoneballs.
“None have ever been reported operating west of the river,” answered Logan. “I’ve sent a company to reconnoiter to the banks on our side just to make sure.”