Bounty Man

By James Clark

This is a story of the Civil War seen through the eyes of a young man whose primary interests are war and women. He is not a superhero, he gets scared when people try to kill him. He is not an educated man, not officer material, but he is well read and smart. The war he fights is as real as I can make it. People in this book are people, not cardboard cutouts.

• Language: English
• Publisher: James Clark
• Release date: Dec 14, 2011
• ISBN: 9781466176478

James Clark

Prof James Clark is a founding director of the world-leading Green Chemistry Centre of Excellence at the University of York, UK.

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Bounty Man

Published By James R. Clark at Smashwords

Copyright 2011 James R. Clark

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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Chapter 1

With a hangman's noose behind me, here I am. Monroe, Ohio, one long step closer to San Francisco, the iron was hot; it was time to strike.

The bunting draped on the porch of the Congress Hotel was beginning to fade; a sure sign that they had gathered up a whole bunch of eager young farm boys and were now looking for someone who could herd them, someone like me. If they were like most volunteer outfits, the higher officers would be local politicians and businessmen and the lower grades would be a bevy of young college men, all of them very loyal, sincere and incompetent. The placard tacked up at a crossroads spoke of the need for all gallant men aged 18 to 35 to strike a blow in the defense of the Union. Ruffin’s Rifles, they were called, otherwise they were known as the 57th Infantry Regiment of Ohio Volunteers. They were paying a hundred dollars to any healthy volunteer who signed up for a year of service. A veteran like me ought to be worth at least twice that much. The old sergeant’s shirt I’d paid half a dollar for was well worth the investment. The weather was on my side, there was no need for a coat that would cover the un-faded area that had been covered by the chevrons; my credentials as veteran were plain for all to see. The discharge form had cost me ten times as much, but with a little luck no one would ever see it. Now all I had to do was be bold.

There were at least a dozen homemade officers clustered on the porch, all looking mighty aware of their martial splendor in their well tailored shiny new blue uniforms. There were only four or five ladies adding their greater splendor to the scene; all of them were married looking, not that that disqualified them for anything. As I had come through town there had been younger girls in chattering clusters all along the street, probably they had left the rally point when the young recruits had been marched away. Those magnificent creatures will be back for tomorrow’s session.

All eyes turned to me as I rode up and tied my pony to the hitch rail. Not only am I handsome of face and form but I was wearing a weather-beaten but clean blue uniform that clearly labeled me a veteran, a commodity in short supply at this time and place. As I swung down from my pony I said to myself, ‘William Addison Morgan, William Addison Morgan.’ I had practiced the name with a pencil and spoken it silent and aloud a hundred times but I wanted the name fresh in my mind. I had picked the name with care, I wanted it to be British but with not the smallest possible hint of Irish in it, Morgan is safely Welch among the old country tribes. I ran through the doggerel again: My mother calls me William, my father call me Will, my sister calls me Willy, but my friends all call me Bill.

A glittery new captain stood at the head of the stairs. I let my right arm snap up in salute to shoulder height then caught it with my left hand. I grinned at the captain. Good morning, sir. That fool of an arm can’t remember that I’m a civilian again.

The captain smiled and returned a full salute. Good morning, sergeant. A fine morning for October, isn’t it?

Yes, a fine day. I brushed at my sleeve and grinned. The stripes still show, do they, sir? More of the crowd was drifting over; it was time to put on a bit of a show. There was an old fellow, first sergeant of another company, a Mexican War man, that said, ‘Ye kin take off the chevrons, ye can take off the shirt, ye can even cut off the arm, but them stripes will be on ye ferever.’

He smiled, Were you perhaps thinking of reenlisting, Sergeant –ahh?

Morgan, sir. William Morgan. But it is mister, not sergeant for a while yet. Yes, sir, I’ll be back in the army come next March, in the regulars this time. I’ve got a colonel’s promise of effort to get me in as a sergeant and his guarantee of corporal.

I see. I’m Arthur Jenner, Mr. Morgan.

Hmm, the last line of the posters I’d read said: See Captain Jenner, Congress Hotel, Monroe, Ohio. I waited for him to offer before shaking hands; I hoped he thought it was diffidence. The captain waved at a poster. The regulars aren’t likely to give you a nice pocketful of money as an enlistment bonus, Sergeant Morgan.

I gave a little laugh and shook my head, This is going to be a long war, sir. A hundred dollars won’t seem like so much when you spread it over four or five years. I’d rather have men around me that already know how to fight.

That remark about four or five years got some startled looks, and a few hints of a smile; even the craziest of doom sayers only talk about a two year war, and I didn’t believe my estimate myself—there’s no way the Confederacy can hold out for two years against the power of the Union, if it ever got into motion—but it fit into my story and it did get attention. The remark about men who already knew how to fight labeled me as a fellow who knew all about war. Enough of seriousness; I gave him a grin, Actually, sir, what I was hoping for when I pulled up to the hotel was pie. I stopped off at an enlistment rally over in Pennsylvania and they had eleven different kinds of pie. I thought I was in heaven.

The colonel had edged in and the captain had eased back half a step. We had fourteen kinds of pie this morning, sergeant, and there might be even more tomorrow. However they have all been gobbled up now. In lieu of the pie perhaps you will be so good as to join my officers and me for dinner. It should be ready about now.

This was a real stroke of luck. It was time to get unconvincingly hesitant. Uh, well, sir, I’ve been on the road all morning.

By authority of the Secretary of War and the Governor of the great state of Ohio, we are all courageous soldiers now; we can probably stand up to a little dust. However if it bothers you there is a wash basin and a bucket of water in my room, sergeant. It wasn’t hard to guess that the colonel was a politician.

I smiled and nodded effusively. Well, thank you, sir. Thank ye kindly.

The sweet-faced and sharp-eyed lady I took to be Mrs. Colonel Ruffin said, I seem to detect a hint of New England in your speech, Mister Morgan.

I doffed my hat with a flourish and bowed deeply, It is just recent habit, ma’am. I’m actually from further west, over in Indiana. I’m on my way home now to winter with my folks before getting back to the war.

She liked having men bow to her, the ladies don’t get enough of that here in the North, and bowing is always an easy way to get on a woman’s good side; it shows them that a fellow understands the high regard they are due. She paid me with a nice smile. There will be no ladies at the dinner, Mister Morgan, just you courageous though dusty soldiers, but be careful what you say; I have my spies.

I laughed, and she gathered up the other ladies with a glance and led them off.

The colonel detailed my new friend, Captain Jenner, to lead me to the wash basin. Jenner told me how much they could use an experienced hand like me. I told him that he sure was right to want a few experienced men, and I wished him good luck in finding some, but was careful to show no personal interest. Instead I asked about the regiment and Jenner gave me a lot of useful information.

It was a fine dinner, fish, pork and beef and turkey. There were four kinds of wine, too. According to military protocol, if I had been at that table at all as a sergeant, I should be right in the middle with a second lieutenant on each side and one across from me. As it was I was near one end of the table, just one captain away from the colonel. They hadn’t invited me to dinner for my beauty alone, it was sure that I would get a chance to do some talking. I was rather glad to be well away from Lieutenant Colonel Sykes at the other end; he was the former sheriff; that sort of fellow tends to be well attached to their former profession and he might have seen a poster with my picture on it.

I decided it would be best not to impose myself on the high and mighty ones in the beginning, but I knew I had to talk if I was going to make a big bounty out of the 57th Ohio. I lifted my glass and took a sip, which naturally turned my head a bit toward the fellow on my right. I went through a little act of tasting the wine thoroughly, and gave my neighbor a little nod and smile. Umm. Very good.

He took a sip and nodded in agreement. Yes, it is good.

I turned my eyes back to my plate but I kept talking. I’ve known people who were ready to come to blows arguing the respective virtues of French versus Italian or Spanish wine. I really can’t understand that sort of thing. France, Spain, Italy, they all have excellent wine. I admit that I don’t enjoy the German wines as much. But there is a Danish wine–umm, the name escapes me—but it is very good, in its way it is good as any.

The colonel spoke to me, Then have you traveled in Europe, Mr. Morgan?

I smiled to show that I recognized the honor that had been bestowed upon me at being noticed by a person of his eminence, Oh, yes indeed, sir. As a cure for potential wanderlust, it has become sort of a tradition in my family for the younger sons to go to sea for a few years while father and the older boys work their heads off putting a farm together for the wandering boy. My grandfather, my father and now me, we’ve all been around the world, or nearly so. I missed that tiny little chunk of the world that runs from the Strait of Malacca to the Cape of Good Hope.

The colonel chuckled, That’s only about ten thousand miles. It is rather easy to overlook a few little places like Siam, Africa, India and Arabia. The wines they make in those places have no great reputation, though some Mosul I tasted once was good, if rather sweet. It was surprisingly good when you consider that every couple of generations the vintners are purged—driven out of business if they are not killed outright—and their vines uprooted by the imams. May I top up your glass, Mister Morgan?

Time to establish my reliability. No, thank you, sir. There are three other bottles on the table that I would like to sample. I like the taste of wine, but I don’t have much of a head for it. I had taken only a third of a glass, and they would see me do again when I tried out the other bottles in case someone was watching. And now it was time to give them what they were waiting for, the war. What you can do for me, sir, is to use your influence to have that bowl of spinach passed this way again. It is amazing, sir, but after a month or two on salt pork and hard-tack, a fellow starts to dream about vegetables and especially the greens.

There came a snorting guffaw and, So that’s what you young fellows dream about now a days, is it? It was different when I was young. This was from Major Handley across the table; he was a jovial looking old grey-head; he was probably ten years older than the colonel, and probably too old to run off from his bank and play at being a soldier.

I chuckled, I think I know what you mean, sir. Like I said, it takes a few weeks of salt meat and biscuit to change your dreams. But, honestly, sir, this summer in Virginia I dreamed—actually dreamed—about a meal I had while tramping about in Italy. It was just bread and cheese and a cup of wine, but there was also a sort of spicy lettuce, what they called arugula. It was that head of arugula that I dreamed about. I grinned and glanced around, It is needless to say that, if this story gets passed on to any of the fair ones, I will deny it with a sincerity bordering on ferocity. That got me a couple of polite chuckles, and more attention. There was some horse talk going on down at the other end of the table, but the rest were keeping an eye and an ear on me.

Was the food that bad in Virginia, Sergeant–uh—Mister Morgan?

"Well, sir, it was pretty bad, but not real bad. Iron rations didn’t bother me as much as it did a lot of fellows, you get used to it if you ship before the mast; I spent nearly a year up for’ard before I worked my way aft as purser’s assistant. Don’t misunderstand, sir, we always had enough to eat, it was just awfully monotonous.

"It isn’t that the army didn’t try to feed us better; the failure was just more of the confusion that came from the sudden growth of the army. That first call for 75,000 three month militiamen more than tripled the size of the army, and the next call for volunteers, about tripled it again. Later on I learned that there were whole warehouses full of fresh food meant for the army that went to waste because the commissaries just didn’t know what they were doing. Everyone thought that their sort of supplies were the most important of all; the horseshoes fought the musket balls and the telegraph wire, and all of them were sure that what they wanted moved was more important than vegetables.

Trains of wagons went back and forth empty because of all the confusion, so I heard. And there were more hundreds of wagons in store that couldn’t be used because they had no wheels. Everyone knows that when the arch traitor was Secretary of War, he sent all the newest and best muskets and cannon into the southern armories and forts, but he also sent the wheels and ironwork off of wagons and limbers and caissons, and a whole lot of other hardware along with it. I assure you, gentlemen—if you had any doubts about it—that this treachery has been in planning for several years, at the least, and most likely for decades. The attempt at thievery of two hundred Columbiads, by Davis’ lap-dog Floyd, was merely the latest episode of the conspiracy to arm the traitors at the expense of loyal citizens. There were plenty of nods of agreement to that. It is always a good idea to tell folks what they want to hear, unless you have a pretty darn good reason to tell ‘em different.

At the foot of the table Colonel Sykes was on his feet with his glass raised. Gentlemen, I give you a toast. To the loyal and alert citizens who foiled that attempt by Floyd the Perfidious!

I don’t like toasts that come in the middle of a meal—let alone in the middle of my story—but I stood and added my voice to the incoherent babble, and took a sip in honor of the people of Pittsburg. I was afraid the hubbub caused by the toast would lose my audience. A sharp faced captain named Hawkins shifted the attention back to me. How big a part did lack of supply play in the Rebs whipping us at Bull Run, Mister Morgan?

This was the question we had all been waiting for. They were expecting me to pay for my dinner by telling about the war. My story would, I hope, do more than entertain. I let my face grow grim and a little angry. "Almost none, sir. The thing is that we weren’t whipped by the Rebs, sir. My regiment was whipped by a Yankee staff major galloping up and bellowing out, ‘Pull back! Pull back! Beauregard has got us surrounded.’ Then off he rode in a hurry, no doubt trying to save more of the brave men in blue from the disaster he imagined. And it was all just his imagination, sir. Up to then we had chased off one regiment of Rebs and stopped the next batch cold, and we had begun to back them up. But that one panicky red-sashed major whipped us when two regiments of Rebs couldn’t do it. My regiment’s officers started sounding confused and they began looking around for someone to tell them what to do, and all they saw was confusion and other officers looking around at them. Then the men in the line started looking back over their shoulders wondering what was wrong and the fire just went out of them. About then the Rebs must have seen us wavering because they let out a yell and charged, and then the running started.

I talked to a lot of fellows from different outfits afterward and a lot of them told the same story. They said they knew of the same sort of thing happened to some of the Rebs, too, one panicky fool starting a whole regiment running. But our whole regiment didn’t run. I paused to take a sip of wine and stared off into the middle distance as I remembered that grim and terrible day. I didn’t lose any of my audience.

I waved a hand, "My company was clear over on the right flank with the captain dead. The company on our left had an old farmer named Green for a captain, and when his line began to waver he started using language no gentleman ever uses, and his troops steadied down and let off a volley that stopped our share of the Rebs cold. Then Green wheeled his company—pretty slow and clumsy like, but they did it—wheeled them to the left. Well, my company was way off from the center of the confusion, but we figured something was going on, something scary enough so that we did not want to be left on our own. So we sort of wheeled to the left along with Captain Green, which meant us going to’ards the Sesesh and trotting to keep up. The Rebs backed away from us, some of ‘em real fast, the others just stepping back while they reloaded until we were right up on them, then they ran too. We finally got around more or less in line—a pretty bad line, one man thick in places but with little clumps here and there like knots in a rope—and then we could see the Reb regiment charging through the space where our regiment used to be. About half the Johnys that had been facing us and Captain Green were running around us and tailing on to their regiment, and the rest must have decided that those fellows were running because the Yanks had won the battle, so they ran off the other way vowing to make it to Alabama before nightfall.

"Then Captain Green yelled, ‘Charge!’ and we did it. We took those Rebs by surprise! They knew they had already won the war, and wanted to be the first into Washington, and then here we came. We were all in a mob now charging into the side of another bigger mob that sort of melted away in front of us. Then we formed a roundish sort of a square with Green’s first sergeant leading us back towards Washington, and Captain Green gimping along behind us giving the orders.

"All around us was a scattering of Rebs potting away at us. Captain Green had his left leg and right arm all bloody, and his sword gone, so he would point to a clump of the enemy with his scabbard and say, ‘You fellahs, shoot those fellahs,’ and we would do it. Out front the men would fire then stop to reload and others would step forward. At the rear, the men who had reloaded would stop and the ones that were empty would move past them on into center of our mob while they reloaded, then they would stop again, so in our retreat we were heading north at about half a walking pace, not running like rabbits.

"After a while–it couldn’t have been near as long as it seemed, not near as long—we went through a scattered line of Rebs and saw a regimental line with the Stars and Stripes waving over it. A purty sight it was, sir, I tell you. Regulars, they were, all black with powder but steady as a row of stumps. They opened a hole in their line and we went through it; it felt almost like going home.

"The regulars’ colonel rode up to us, and Captain Green dropped dead. He didn’t get hit again; he’d just finally bled to death. The colonel says to me, ‘Form your company there on that rise, sergeant, two ranks, front rank kneeling, second rank standing.’ Off he went, so I did what he said. There were half a dozen other men that out ranked me still alive, but no one disputed my orders. Later on the colonel told me he was surprised when he looked around and found we were still there, he said he hadn’t expected it of troops as raw as we were. I don’t know, maybe we were just too tired to run. It felt wonderful to just stand still for a while. Take my word for it, gentlemen, fighting a battle is very tiring, half an hour of it feels like a long day’s work. I was pretty envious of the first rank that got to kneel down there, but since I was in command—even if by accident—I figured I had to stay on my feet.

Just as we got spread out along that little ridge there came a loud crash as the whole battalion of regulars fired nearly all together. I looked around and saw the swarm of Sesesh sort of jump back, not because they were running but because all those in the front of the swarm went down. The second volley was raggeder when it came, and the Rebs’ regiment sort of shuddered as the fire ripped through them. The third volley was not much better than a bunch of militia would do but it sufficed; that Reb Regiment could endure no more. A volley of Minnie ball fired by well trained men is a terrible thing, gentlemen, a truly terrible thing. There should be no thoughts of shame in that Reb regiment about backing off after three volleys like that. The Rebs retreated more orderly than they had charged, and they left at least a third of the regiment there on the field. All the while I don’t think those Rebs got off fifty shots while their regiment was being destroyed.

I saw questions forming in the faces around the table. I didn’t want my story to be interrupted lest I forget part of it; I hurried on. "About then a wagon came tearing along, retreating—so he thought—as fast as he could go straight for Beauregard. The driver didn’t pay our little band on the hill any mind—we didn’t even have a banner or a drum, let alone our colors—but when he saw a regiment of bluecoats facing the other way he must have figured something was wrong with his plan. He turned his team around, and I stepped out and raised my hand to stop him. He stood up and raised his whip, and I raised my musket. That made him see reason. I says, ‘What kind of ammunition are you carrying?’ ‘Musket, buck and ball, .58 caliber’ he says. It was a little small for our muskets but it was a whole lot better than nothing. ‘Get down and unload twenty boxes of ammunition and a box of caps,’ I tell him. ‘I won’t do it,’ he says, and as kind of an afterthought he said, ‘I’ve got my orders.’ I figured that no one had really given him orders to take that ammunition wagon all the way to Canada at a run, so I reasoned with him some more, ‘You’ll do it or I’m going to stick you with this bayonet.’ So he did what I said. I held his horses and watched him, counting the boxes. ‘Go on now,’ I told him, ‘but if you get those horses beyond a walk I will shoot you.’ Actually he was looking a little more calm, now that no Johnys grabbed him the minute he stopped running.

I had my men fill up their cartridge boxes. I was surprised to find I had only had eight rounds left. I must have fired off more than thirty shots, but I didn’t remember more than two or three. I let my voice go somber. "I think about that at nights, sometimes; I may have killed men with shots I don’t even remember shooting. Well, never mind that. The colonel of the regulars was riding his horse back and forth behind the sturdy blue line. I waved him down and said, ‘Sir, I captured a Yankee ammunition wagon. Your fellows need to freshen up?’

He laughs a little then he asked, ‘Is it Minnie ball, sergeant?’

"‘No, sir, buck and ball, .58 caliber.’

"‘It will have to do,’ he says.

"We reloaded his troops, telling them to put the new ammunition at the bottom, like the colonel said. I couldn’t think of what to do next, so I went back to the colonel. He points toward the enemy, ‘In about ten minutes that brigade of traitors is going to charge us, and I am going to fall back before them. About a furlong behind you there is a little clump of trees on each side of the road. Put half your men in each clump of trees. Have them lie down; there’s no need for you to get hit by stray shot or shell. If the enemy is following us close when we go by, I want you to fire three volleys into them then you can run. That will slow them down enough. We’ll have the next line set before you get to us.’

"I marched my troops back to the trees and told them the plan, ‘fire three shots then run.’ The men looked mighty relieved to know exactly what they were supposed to do; every soldier does. I got the men spread out, and laid them down behind trees and bushes then I walked back to our little rise of ground to watch the fight.

"Well, the Reb brigade, two regiments abreast, charged mighty fast and fierce until they came to that patch of ground where two or three hundred of their accomplices were lying groaning or forever silent, then they came on at a more moderate pace, and the whole war moved toward me with not much of excitement happening.

"When the regulars came through us, the main body of the Rebs was three hundred yards behind them, and not trying very hard to catch up. Then there was one Rebel officer mounted on a splendid white horse that came prancing out in front, yelling and waving his sword, and about fifty or sixty Rebs broke away from their regiment and came running after him. When they got to about fifty yards from us I stood the men up and we fired a good volley. There must have been a hundred and more of us left out of the two companies, so that volley had well over a hundred musket balls and nigh on to four hundred buckshot in it. The thing I remember most was that white horse turning red in an instant. Probably a third of the men had fired at the officer because nobody had thought to tell them to distribute their fire. There was plenty of shot for everyone though. Two thirds of the Rebs went down and the rest went hobbling away. A buckshot, even at fifty yards, is no laughing matter, at least none of those Rebs were laughing about ‘em.

"The Reb brigade stopped to regroup while they were still well off, and for that time I do believe that our little ragged handful were farther south than any live men in blue coats. Our time of glory lasted about ten minutes, until the colonel sent someone to fetch us and get us back behind his regiment in support.

And that was the way it went. We stayed with those Regulars the rest of the day. Most of the time we were behind them; not that even that was safe on that day. One time we went down to a stream each carrying half a dozen canteens, and we were surprised by a couple of dozen Rebs. They seemed to expect that we would run off when they blazed away at us, and earlier in the day we probably would have. Instead we fired off a bunch of shots–not the most generous man alive would have called it a volley—then charged them with the bayonet. I grinned then. "It was kind of awesome, that charge was, all those canteens clanking and banging, and by that time we knew enough about war to yell when we charged. I think we scared those Rebs more than we hurt them, but they ran off all the same.

Another chore we did for the real fighting men, the regulars, was to gather up more ammunition off the dead, rebel and patriot alike, keeping the .69 and .75 caliber for ourselves and passing all the .58 caliber to the regulars. Some of the dead Yanks came to life when we went to rob them of their ammunition; they were men who had run until they dropped; they ran for no damn reason at all but senseless panic. I got them on their feet and put muskets in their hands—there were plenty of them laying around—and they were steady as anyone from that time on. I’ve heard tell that it wasn’t just horses but some men too that ran ‘til they just fell down dead, and all for no real reason at all. There were some outfits that weren’t even engaged, that went to pieces when they saw others running away. That day—.

I snapped my head up and looked around the table. My apologies, gentlemen, I got carried away. I didn’t mean to hog the conversation. Every eye was on me. Every one of them wanted me to go on with my tall tale. There was no horse talk going on down at the far end of the table now. I turned my attention back to my plate and tried to look embarrassed.

The colonel said, Please go on, sergeant. He had forgotten that I was just Mister Morgan now, and I forgot to remind him.

I paused as if I needed to rest after telling that much of the story, just as I had made up the story about being exhausted after walking on the battle field. We gathered up about a hundred of—stragglers, I guess you would call them—but there was one bunch of thirty or forty men that wasn’t in no way straggling, they were fighting their way back just like we did, that thirty was all that was left of a whole company of New Yorkers—one of those big social club militia companies, a hundred and forty strong before the shooting started—saved by one fellow that kept his head. Our little band of brothers-in-law grew to two hundred men and more, enough so at one time we could be used for something more useful than fetching water and ammunition. The colonel wanted to make a stand in a wide place. He brought back a young lieutenant and split my command in half to make a refused flank position at each end of the regimental line. The Rebs didn’t like the looks of things so they stopped and waited while a couple more of their regiments or a battery could come up. Well, that delay was all that Colonel—uh—that was the colonel’s purpose, so after half an hour we moved on and didn’t fight there at all. And that was what we spent the rest of the day doing, moving back just fast enough to keep from getting flanked or to dodge artillery, slowing down the Rebs along that one road. I’m not even sure what road it was, but that half regiment of six hundred regulars and a couple of hundred volunteers, held back maybe ten thousand men who wanted to turn it into a Sesesh thoroughfare running right into Washington. I looked around at all the intent faces. I figured I had talked long enough. And that was the Battle of Bull Run, the little part of it that I saw.

They tried to get me to talking again, but I figured I had paid enough, even for that fine dinner, and for supper too for that matter. I thanked them for their politeness but refused to impose on it any further. I had told the story almost exactly the way I planned it—the canteen filling adventure was a spur of the moment creation that had worked well, but such excursions are dangerous—and I didn’t want to give any details that I might forget about and stumble over in the future. After a few attempts to get me going again they gave up on me.

As I strolled around town to walk off dinner Captain Jenner strolled along with me. He introduced me to several score of townsfolk, a good majority of them female. I saw a few of them that were interested. I had rather firmly rebuffed Jenner’s attempts to enlist me, but when he entreated me to at least stay over for breakfast and fourteen kinds of pie; I thought of Missus Ellen Dawson and allowed myself to be persuaded. Jenner tagged along when I put Jack in the livery stable, and told the liveryman to put it on his bill. I refused an offer of a room at the hotel, saying I would camp out, though I had other plans. Mister Bogardus, the liveryman, commanded me to come sleep in the tack-room if it rained, but I didn’t think I would. When I went to rub Jack down, Bogardus put a stable-hand to the work. You can’t help liking being treated like a hero.

Jenner gave up on his recruiting mission and went off. I went back out into the town to meet more of the ladies. I met Missus Dawson again, and we chatted. She told me that she liked to go for a stroll in the evening, and asked me if I liked that. I assured her that I did. She told me that if I should happen to stroll westward out of town I would soon come to a pretty little stream with a path running along it. She told me that if I happened to turn right on the path, it would lead right to the little orchard behind her house. Sadly she said, That big old house seems so empty with my husband away in Columbus. I told her that loneliness was about the worst thing in the world. About then Jenner returned and the conversation became three cornered for a while, then Missus Dawson was called away.

I had no doubt that Jenner was there to make me a hard cash offer; I knew I had made a good impression with my story, and I decided to hold out for three hundred dollars. A fellah with three hundred dollars in his pocket could go all the way to California in style. We wandered for a bit; I refused the offer of a drink but accepted a pipe load out of his pouch. We sat on a bench on the porch of one of the stores and smoked and chatted and looked at the ladies; there were a lot of them on parade. After half an hour he said, Bill, how big of a hurry are you in to get home?

Not much of a one, Art. The folks know that I’m loafing my way home. I plan to do a bit of hunting and fishing on my way. But I’ve got to tell you that I’m in too much of a hurry to spend a year in the 57th Ohio.

He chuckled, I think you’ve got us pretty much convinced of that. But Colonel Ruffin is very much aware of how much we need the advice of an experienced man like you, especially right in the beginning. Would a hundred dollars a week tempt you to put off your fishing trip for a month?

That startled me plenty. Three hundred dollars was the most that I had hoped for from the 57th Ohio, and now they were just handing it to me, and more, and they wouldn’t be putting my name on a wanted poster when I left. A hundred dollars a week! Well now, that certainly is a temptation. However I am sort of inclined to ask what the colonel wants me to do for all that money, but I can’t quite see myself saying no to it. Four hundred dollars would go a long way towards building a farm.

What the colonel wants is simple enough. We’ve all read the papers, Bill. We know that a lot of new raised regiments shatter like glass, but some few fight like tigers. The colonel wants his regiment to be tigers. He has heard you talk. He thinks that you know things the 57th needs to know, and he thinks you can teach us. That’s the long and the short of it.

It was awfully hard to be hesitant, but I managed it. Well, I swear; I sure never thought about becoming a school teacher to a regiment. A hundred dollars a week! It is a sore temptation, but I can see many things that might go wrong. I don’t imagine the colonel would pay a hundred dollars a week, if all he wanted me to do is drill the troops. That means I will be teaching you officers, you gentlemen, as well as the farm boys. Do you think there is not a single one of you fine haired gentlemen that will take offense at receiving instruction from the likes of me? I am a stranger, an outsider. I’m a farm boy and a sailor; not a college man, not a gentleman.

Well now, I don’t think anyone that knows you as well as I do would doubt that you are a gentleman; but that is not the important thing. You are a soldier. And it is not my judgment about that, or Colonel Ruffin’s, it was the judgment of that Regular Army colonel that put you in charge of your company when Captain Green died, and left you in charge when he saw how you handled those men. By the way, what was that Colonel’s name?

I fiddled with my pipe a while then dropped my voice. Art, there are reasons why I didn’t tell you his name. I probably should have called Captain Green some other name, but I just blurted it out when I was spinning that yarn. I was remembering, not thinking, when I let his name slip out. I still get sort of excited when I think about that day. So I won’t tell you who that colonel was, but I will tell you that he was a Lieutenant Colonel that got brevetted up to brigadier general after the battle. If you go back and read the papers that tell about Bull Run, you might be able to figure it out. But all of that has nothing to do with how your officers will react to me being set up to be their teacher.

He looked a little angry. I’ll name a colonel for you, and tell you that Colonel Ruffin would be glad to get rid of any officer who is too stupid to value the opportunity you represent. And to tell you the truth, Bill, I wouldn’t want to fight alongside a man who is such a fool. He smiled. By the way, President Lincoln is not a college man either.

I laughed, Well, that is one thing me and the president have in common. Very well, you have convinced me, or just maybe it was the hundred dollars a week. But I will only promise two weeks. After that we shall see; more than likely you will have wrung every trace of arcane knowledge and ancient wisdom out of me. That suit you?

Right down to the ground. The colonel will be pleased. There will be a council of war at three this afternoon. I should go see the colonel and tell him you’ll be there.

I saw Ellen again but she passed by on the other side of the street, seeming not to notice me though I knew she had. That gal has got good sense.

At the council of war there were twice as many officers as had been at dinner, and there was one fellow wearing sergeant-major stripes.

Colonel Ruffin introduced me. "Gentlemen, Mr. Morgan is a six months veteran of this war. He took part in–as he puts it—Bull Run and eight other skirmishes. I was not able to induce him to join us–he has a general’s promise that he will be taken into the Regulars at the rank of sergeant, and is not interested in our bonus money—but he has graciously consented to give us a few weeks of advice. Mr. Morgan, would you care to address the meeting?" He made no mention of the hundred dollars a week; that was to be kept secret.

I stood up, nodded and smiled. Gentlemen, Colonel Ruffin has told me that you are all good men, smart, well educated, loyal, and dedicated to the cause. I myself am not an educated man, not officer material, but I am experienced to a degree in this particular war. I hope that I can advise you on a few practical points over the next few days. Now, for the rest of this council of war, I am going to sit over there in the corner and listen and smoke this fine cigar the colonel has given me.

I listened, but I didn’t smoke much of the cigar. It might have been a fine one and no doubt it was expensive, but in the end it was still a stinking, foul tasting cigar. All a cigar is good for is to demonstrate that the smoker can afford cigars, give me my old pipe and a pouch of whisky cured Kentucky coarse-cut any day. There was a lot of palaver about drilling and going into camp down by Cincinnati and balancing out the size of the companies. They had eighty-seven new recruits to distribute. Fourteen kinds of pie seemed to have worked wonders today. They went on for more than an hour before they began to run down. Finally the colonel called on me, Mr. Morgan, have you any comments?

I stood up, but I hesitated, trying to look diffident, then firmed up my jaw as if I had made up my mind to tell them some things that they might not want to hear from a lowly sergeant and a stranger. "Well, sir, there are a couple of problems you might not be aware of in using Hardee’s Tactics. Colonel Hardee—uh—maybe I should say general, I hear the Rebs have made him a brigadier. Anyway, Hardee wrote his book in 1856 but that book has a lot of eighteenth century in it. Wars of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries were fought by small professional armies, and only in the summertime. Putting the men elbow to elbow is—With all due respect to General Hardee, I must say that putting men elbow to elbow is absurd.

"Actually you can march down a well paved street that way. I myself have marched down Pennsylvania Avenue that way four different times, and the president and the congressmen and the citizens all cheered as we went by. Standing elbow to elbow and taking short slow steps may look fine when you are on a flat smooth drill field, but it isn’t easy to march that way in a furrowed cornfield. In broken country, up and down hills and through brush and trees it can not be done. It certainly can not be done in a serious fight. Even Hardee says that when the fighting starts you should not load a musket by the numbers and fire on command. He does not seem to grasp the folly that is inherent in training one way and fighting in another. And he does not say anything about spreading the men out before a fight. The men do spread out, sir, they jab one another with their elbows and jostle and knock one another out of line, and the fellow that is trying to aim his musket is being bumped by men on both sides and is shying away from the musket of the fellow behind him that is slapping him on the side of the head. This morning Captain Jenner said something about new regiments that shatter like glass in their first battle. Those are the regiments that have been well trained to pass in review, and have had no training at all in how to fight a battle. When the heavy fighting starts, the men suddenly become aware that what they have been trained to do can not be done, and that shakes a fellow’s nerve worse than being shot at for the first time. And one more thing, sir, when men are standing elbow to elbow there is just no way that even a poorly aimed musket ball can get through a regiment without hitting someone."

The room was dead still. There was worry on every face, or was it anger, or fear? These men had been studying their manuals diligently, and thinking of it as Holy Writ, and now they had been told that their fountain of wisdom had unsavory ripples in it. Ruffin stopped pulling at his beard and said, We will take another look at Hardee and make any necessary modifications. Was there anything else, Mister Morgan?

"Yes, sir, I heard one thing that disturbed me a great deal. Day after tomorrow the regiment will load on the cars and go down to Cincinnati to begin training. Sir, I’ve seen some awfully green troops, but I’ve never seen any so raw that they needed more training before they could learn to ride on a railroad car. A fellow that has never seen a car before can ride one. The 57th Ohio doesn’t need to learn how to ride the cars; they need to learn how to walk. Sir, gentlemen, Napoleon and General Wellington both said, ‘Lose not a minute.’ Colonel Ruffin, if we take the railroad down to Cincinnati we will be losing a hundred and twenty miles of terrain and two weeks of time. I recommend that we walk the regiment down there. As we go along we will be able to gather in more recruits. We could drill every morning until noon, and then do a twelve mile hike in the afternoon.

"Rain or shine or howling blizzard we should hold to that schedule, because the battle does not always wait for a nice sunny but cool day to happen, not in the nineteenth century. About every third day we should march out with no dinner. About as often we should keep marching after sunset, and try our hand at pitching camp in the dark. Missing meals and wandering through strange ground in darkness are things that for sure will happen often in this war.

"Another thing that will happen if we ride shank’s mare instead of the railroad, is that some of the men will decide that it wasn’t such a good idea to bring along three extra pairs of shoes and half a dozen big thick books that they had been putting off reading. It might be a good idea to arrange to have an extra wagon meet us after the first day’s march, to send all the excess goods home.

"And, gentlemen, there is another thing that I must tell you. It may distress you to hear it, but it would be better for you to hear it now than be presented with the stark fact later on. There will be a dozen or so of these boys who will begin to think that they aren’t so sure that they did the right thing when they decided to become soldiers. Putting them down suddenly amongst twenty thousand strangers in a camp down by the river, will be a shock to boys that have never been away from home before. On the other hand, camping out with just their friends around them will seem more normal to them. And after a week or two they will be more likely to think of the regiment as their home. The French have a term for this, esprit de corps. There is nothing more valuable to a military organization. You who have read Xenophon will know that such a spirit can change farm boys into indomitable warriors. I will not elaborate on the effects that hanging a few of these boys as deserters might have."

I gave the colonel a little bow. That is my advice, sir. I hope you will give it some consideration.

The room was still. The colonel sat pulling his chin whiskers and thinking. That certainly sounds like excellent advice, Mr. Morgan, sage in every particular. However I do have my orders. It may be a task beyond my capabilities to have those orders changed, but I will do my damnedest. I can’t remember just how the order is worded. Art, go up to my room and fetch it; it will be in the leather portmanteau somewhere. Harry, you’ve got the best pen in the regiment; put Mr. Morgan’s suggestions in as good a military form as you can make it. Keep it as short as you can for the telegraph. George, if the brigadier won’t go along with the idea, I’ll want you to go see the governor about it…

It sounded hopeful. I didn’t tell the colonel the most important thing. Two more weeks out on the trail would let my new side-whiskers grow out, and I would look less like any description or drawing of Charles Riley or Bertram Harrison that might be on some fading wanted poster.

As the meeting broke up, I latched on to the sergeant major. Afternoon, sergeant.

He looked at me a little fishy-eyed, but he said, Good afternoon, Mister Morgan.

He had about ten years on me so a little respect wouldn’t be out of place. What do you think about marching the boys down to the river, sir?

It’s a good idea. It would be better if that road south wasn’t so good.

Yes, that is a good thought. You smoke, sergeant? I offered him my pouch.

He sniffed at the pouch. Umm, this is a lot better than mine or I’d offer back. He loaded his pipe, but before he lit up he stuck out his hand. Felix Manerheim.

I shook his hand. William Morgan, sir. Then I grinned at him. I can do a German accent that amuses everyone except Germans.

He laughed, "It’s probably a better accent than mine. My folks came over in 1778, after the Revolution began in America, not 1848 after the revolution began in Germany. I sprechen a little Deutsch with my grandmother, but she still thinks I’m a foreigner."

Some say, ‘Love makes the world go ‘round,’ others say ‘money makes the world go ‘round,’ but really it’s grandmothers that make the world go ‘round. One of my grannies—

He didn’t quite growl. Your pardon, but I don’t think you waylaid me to talk about grandmothers.

He was giving me that fish-eyed look again. The man was not a fool. He wasn’t going to be taken in by my Irish charm. I might as well get down to business. Well, you’re right about that. I waylaid you because I wanted to find out if you had as much sense as God gave a goose. It seems that you have. Next I want to know if you are just another loyal but ignorant citizen that may some day be able to match his enthusiasm with his effectiveness. You have been given a position of great responsibility and I want to know if you are worthy of it.

He nodded. Fair enough. Those were things I’ve been wondering about you. You go ahead and ask your questions, and then it will be my turn.

What service have you had?

Two years in the regular army. About ten years ago the army thought they had more Indians than they could handle. They had trouble getting men who would sign up for six years, and offered two year enlistments in the infantry. I signed up. The army couldn’t talk the Indians into standing up in long ranks so that we could shoot them so after about a year they found enough horses to turn some of us into dragoons, about half the regiment. We did better after that. Or maybe we did better because they made me a corporal. I was in a few fights, I wouldn’t call them battles. They promised me sergeant within a year if I would reenlist. I didn’t.

I nodded. Next question, where would you rather camp, down on the flat next to the stream, or up on a hillside where you will have to carry your water up hill in a bucket?

This time a year in this country, I’d pick the hillside. This Indian Summer isn’t going to last forever.

Good. Since you spent a year in the infantry before you got promoted to horseback I presume you already know how to march. One last question, do you have some burning desire to spend the next two weeks walking in the rain through the lovely Ohio countryside?

He chuckled. I wouldn’t say the desire is a burning one. What do you have in mind?

I want your help in talking Colonel Ruffin into sending you on the cars down to Camp Dickenson to make sure we don’t get stuck in a swamp.

I’ll manage that. I understand that they are sending the regiments down into Kentucky as soon as they comb the burrs out of their tails. I’ll find us a place with good drainage that isn’t too steep. While I’m waiting for a good place, maybe I can find out what the hell a sergeant major is supposed to do. Oh, one thing you didn’t mention, I want these men to be hard. One thing that I learned when I was in the army is that it is the new men and the lazy ones that die of fever. Walking down to the river with a load on their backs will harden them up. When you are fighting Indians a hell of a lot more men die of fever than arrows. I imagine that when we fight American traitors, a hell of a lot more men will die of fever than lead poisoning.

I agree. All right, now it’s your turn. Ask anything you want.

Well, naturally, the question that was in my mind was, what the hell makes you worth a hundred dollars a week? You’ve already given me a couple of answers. That march south and sending me on ahead might be worth fifty dollars a week. What else have you got?

I made my face grim and hard. "One experience, sergeant. I’ve got a quarter of the service you have, a hundred and eighty days. I’ve been in nine fights; eight of them were about like your fights with the Indians, chasing Rebs and being chased through the bushes. The other fight was one where the Rebs stood up in long ranks so we could shoot them. I learned something in that fight. I learned that battles like that are not won by gallantry; battles are won by just keeping your head. That’s what I’ve got to teach the 57th Ohio. I’ve got to teach the privates to keep their heads enough to remember to put a percussion cap on their musket before they pull the trigger. They picked up muskets at Bull Run that had half the barrel full of ammunition, seventeen rounds was the highest number I heard.

I’ve got to teach the corporals to make sure the men in his squad are loading their guns properly and pointing them in the right direction before they give any attention to their own musket. I’ve got to teach the sergeants to spend most of their time looking at their own men, not gawking at the enemy. And most of all I’ve got to teach the officers to go on being officers, go on being leaders, when they for the first time see what a musket ball does to a mans head when it hits. If I manage that I’ll be worth a hundred dollars a week or a thousand.

Manerheim puffed smoke and thought and said, If you can do that in a month you’re worth the money. If you can do that in a month I expect you can walk on water too. Let’s go see the colonel.

I smiled because I was happy. I was happy because I had gotten rid of the man most likely to spot me for a fraud.

Chapter 2

Tu 15/10/61

Ellen fed me a cold breakfast and bundled me out of the house well before dawn. She put on a sad face when she told me I couldn’t come back this evening. There was a chance that someone had seen me wandering down toward her house, and if they saw me do it again they might begin to wonder. It was a perfectly reasonable protection of her reputation, but I had some difficulty in being pleasant about it because I was marvelously comfortable in her bed. I figured she had had her