The Railroad War by Jesse Taylor Croft Page A

out the window, gaining time. He didn’t want to tell her what she wanted to know. Even though there was some risk
     to her in ignorance, she had no need to know what General Sherman’s purposes were. At the same time, he needed her—as long
     as she had information that General Sherman desperately needed. It would not do to set her against him.
    “I can well understand that you are reluctant to speak to me of military matters,” she said, beginning to look pitiable. “But
     I am anxious about my own position in Jackson.”
    “We will, of course, arrange for your safety,” he said. He took a breath and continued, “This war will drag on as long as
     the South has armies that are capable of putting up a fight. At the same time, the South is outmanned, outgunned, and outproduced.
     And that means that the southern armies will eventually lose just about every fight they engage in—as long as the North can
     catch them. If the Confederate armies keep moving and avoiding battle, then the hope is that the North will grow tired of
     chasing them and will give up. We have to try to catch and beat the southern armies until they are not capable of fighting
     anymore. That’s what Sherman is trying to do now.” He paused. “Or else we have to destroy their capability to fight in ways
     that do not require battles.”
    “I don’t understand.”
    “We destroy factories and railroads and food.”
    “Even if ordinary people are hurt by that, not just the soldiers?”
    “Even if all the people are hurt by that.” He leaned closer to her. “That’s the way of war, Miss Featherstone.”
    She nodded.
    “That’s why what you have to tell me is so important. You could conceivably make the war shorter.”
    Her mild look seemed a reproach. “But when will Sherman enter Jackson?” she asked.
    “I have no idea,” he answered. “That’s why I’m here now talking to you—in order to find the information that will make that
     decision possible.”
    A most curious woman, he thought. He was beginning to see what made her a successful spy.
    “You must be very thirsty,” she said, breaking the uncomfortable moment. “I’m afraid all that I can offer you is plain water.
     But I can promise that it will be cold.”
    “Then I will take that gratefully,” he said.
    “Francoise?” she called out. When Francoise appeared, she instructed her to bring a pitcher of water and glasses.
    After Francoise had returned with the water and then left, Hawken began asking Jane Featherstone particulars about the military
     situation in Jackson, about the disposition of General Johnston’s troops, and about his timetable for departure.
    As he and she discussed these things, he came to a conclusion about what he had to do to prevent Johnston’s departure—or at
     least to hinder it for a couple of days, long enough for Sherman to complete the flanking movement he had already begun.
    Sherman’s Thirteenth Corps, under Ord, had taken the rail line that ran south toward New Orleans. And his Ninth Corps, under
     Parke, had done the same for the line that ran north to Memphis. So Johnston would have to move east.
    A cavalry attack, if it could be mounted, would probably do the job. But the question was whether there was time to return
     to Sherman’s lines and arrange that. Hawken doubted it.
    The railroad line to Meridian had to be cut.
    It was well past noon when Hawken finally stood to leave.
    When Jane Featherstone rose to lead him out, she said, “Will I see you again?” Her face was as expressionless as usual, but
     now for the first time Hawken caught flickers of vivaciousness—and steel—in her eyes.
    “Yes, if it’s possible, I’d like to see you again,” he said, meaning it. She excited his curiosity. But there was also an
     undertow of passion and recklessness beneath her mildness.
    “And I, too,” she said with her half smile and soft voice. In addition to the glimmer of gaiety in her eyes, there was something