Mired Glory

By Michael E. Dmytriw

The setting for this fictional story is the civil war. It was by far a time of trial, pain and suffering; a time that America has still not healed from. But, it is not a story about heros and such; many books have been written about those famous characters by learned men. I am not one of those; I simply tell a story. I wanted to point out that I believe that the passions and emotions of turbulent periods transcend the boundaries of time. The emotions associated with warfare impact the people who fought and those that did not. I may be wrong in my conviction, but I dont think so. Its just a story.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: May 15, 2015
• ISBN: 9781503571549

Michael E. Dmytriw

Born in Munich, Germany in 1948 Mike arrived in the United States in time to attend Kindergarten, parochial and numerous elementary schools in Chicago, Illinois. His formative years and early experiences in the windy city served him well, in that, they provided him the tools required to survive two tours in Vietnam as a Marine Corps infantryman assigned to First Battalion, First Marine Regiment, First Marine Division. After a lengthy stay in a U.S. Navy hospital to recuperate from wounds sustained in combat Mike was allowed to reenlist and was assigned duties as a military policeman until he was commissioned as an officer and later assigned as a counterintelligence sub-team commander. Subsequently, he attended numerous intelligence courses, both military and civilian and served with the Naval Investigative Service (NIS) as a Special Agent. Mike retired from service in 1988 and now lives in Southern California with his wife Jeanne.

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One

March 1861

Dear Father and Mother,

I sincerely hope that this letter finds you both in good health and spirits. I miss you tremendously, however, I have been informed by a senior cadet, who serves as the Company Adjutant of a rumor that a special leave may soon be granted for the entire cadet corps. Therefore, my longing to s’ee you both may be short-lived and my wish for reunification realized quickly. I pray that the knowledge he shared with me is correct as I am anxious to spend some sorely needed time with those that I love and miss so dearly.

The past few months have grown increasingly difficult with each passing day. At eighteen years of age I find myself in turmoil over the politics of our wonderful country. There is much heated debate among the West Point staff officers as well as those of us in the corps of cadets regarding the topic of secession. The very word pains me deeply, because it represents all things divergent to what I believe and what carried me to West Point. I suppose that I have much to learn, since I cannot understand any of the disorder which confounds my sense of what is right and what is wrong. It is difficult to know when to follow the head or the heart.

Father, your strength and words of wisdom, coupled with mother’s warmth and compassion have taught me how to be the man I am today. I pray that my conduct in the forthcoming years will make you proud. And yet I find myself at a crossroads and turn to God for deliverance from politics; from those men who carry a bible in their left hand and a whip in their right. I cannot embrace the conviction that some men, because of their color can be enslaved at will and made to bear such a horrid burden by other men; supposed men of God. A self-righteous boast which leads me to disbelieve and question their stated resolve.

Perhaps the reason for the anguish that torments me so is that I may be incorrect in the way I think and feel about this calamity that befalls us. What if slavery was meant to be and the boys from the south were right. I pray that they are wrong, because as I write this my own conviction grows strong toward the contrary. As it has been throughout history, perhaps men need to die for truth to prevail and the moral to rise. Perhaps such is my destiny. However, I cannot fully grasp the ideology that God requires our meddling to resolve anything to his satisfaction. Man can only make matters worse. That is what we do and at that task we excel.

Your loving son,

Conner Reed

The letter was neatly folded and placed in a wrap which I addressed neatly while inwardly hoping that the post man could easily read its intended destination without confusion. I dripped wax onto the flap and pressed an official West Point seal into the wax. I thought that I would be proud to receive such a proper, official looking posting.

The evening sun was setting. I lit a small oil lamp on the desk in my room and proceeded to polish the numerous buttons on my jacket in preparation for the next morning when the cadet corps would stand yet another detailed inspection by our Commandant, Colonel P. G. T. Beauregard. The Colonel was a stern fellow who demanded nothing short of excellence from his staff and the corps of cadets. He led by his own example. He wore his uniform proudly and displayed the essence of a Louisiana gentleman whose very presence commanded respect. His countless personal and delegated inspections were always a challenge to pass without earning a demerit. Preparation and attention to detail have always served me well and I was always promoted when I became eligible. Diligence, discipline and obedience to orders is the key to military success. Any less will result in dismal failure and that I could not bear.

I awoke before the cock crowed and began to ready my uniform for the morning formation and inspection. The bugler will sound reveille in another hour or so and soon after will sound assembly. An officer will call the cadet corps to attention, the drums will sound and our nation’s stars and stripes will unfurl upon its majestic mast, high above the quadrant. Rain or shine it happens every single morning at exactly the same precise time and in the same manner. I wasn’t the only one who was awake earlier than need be. Several voices could be heard throughout the area. I had no reason to discern the nature of discussion since the same topic has been constant and continuous for months; war.

While reveille sounded I gazed out over the wide expanse of the Hudson. Just the sight of the grandiose river held me captive and in awe. For the past three years I have been amazed that General George Washington had the foresight and tactical genius to select this location to erect West Point, America’s Military Academy. Washington commissioned Thaddeus Kosciusko, another warrior of renown, to build the initial battlements and buildings which may stand for one hundred years after I have left this earth.

My strong draw to attend West Point as a cadet began when I was very young and my zeal for this birth place of warriors has never diminished. Years ago, as my family traveled from the Ohio valley to Illinois my mother and sister were terrified during the entire trip. There were no known perils in particular, but they were riveted in fear of the unknown. An Army Calvary unit traveling the same direction joined us for over one hundred miles. With the soldiers in escort my mother and sister were relieved of their stress and I was in awe of their commanding presence. I wanted to desperately to be the reason for the content nature my mother enjoyed in their presence. I was inspired by the soldiers. They were well mannered, well behaved and very professional. Indeed, I was inspired.

In short, I have realized my dream and stand on the pinnacle of personal achievement. I am here and every morning when I awaken I realize that I have reached the summit of my life. Perhaps there is a higher plane for me to reach of which I am yet unaware. I am not much concerned about my personal future success or failure at this point in my life. I am, however, consumed with concern for the welfare of my father, mother and my dear Jeanne.

The reverence of the morning and my meditative state was shattered by the sound of assembly and hundreds of footsteps running towards the bugles familiar melody. Quickly I donned my sword and raced to join my classmates. There was much confusion associated with the relatively simple task of forming the long grey line of cadets on this morning. It only took a second to determine that the confusion was caused by the numerous gaps in the formation resulting from absent personnel. In an automatic fashion the cadet corps closed ranks the best we could and formed eight companies. When we had completed the well-practiced maneuver the bugler sounded post and the staff officers led by Colonel Beauregard smartly marched forward and took up their customary position at the front and center of the formation.

Report commanded the staff adjutant sternly. Systematically each cadet Company Commander saluted and reported his company present; his voice echoing throughout the quadrant. When they concluded their ceremonious task the Battalion was called to attention and colors was sounded by the bugler.

Battalion…attention! was the next command, followed by Present arms. The entire staff section and the cadet Company Commanders presented a smart salute as our nation’s flag was raised. Colonel Beauregard did not salute, he simply stood and watched the flag rise quickly to the top of the mast. I was filled with shock and disbelief at the gross disrespect displayed by our Commandant. I glanced to my right at my friend and classmate of three years George, who looked back at me in obvious astonishment with his jaw slightly agape. Colonel Beauregard put all of the pieces to our puzzle together with a short address to the staff and cadet corps.

"Gentlemen… cadets! Regardless of your station in life, or your religious convictions, or your political view point… no matter how you stand on the subject of slavery, or the subject of ceding from the Union… each one of you must swear allegiance to your beliefs. This must happen today… this must happen now… before you are dismissed from this formation. I must share with you news that under normal circumstances would be cause for great celebration… but, it is with a heavy heart I must inform you that as of this date you are all hereby commissioned as officers in the Army of the United States of America. Do not cheer, do not rejoice over this highly irregular and despicable decision made by the War Department for they have indeed sealed your impending demise. You yet may have one chance for survival should you make the right choice… as I have.

I have been requested by the War Department to relinquish my command of West Point effective immediately as Washington is well aware of my loyalty to the great state of Louisiana. That is where my allegiance lies and for whom I will bear arms against the Union. Louisiana has severed ties with the Union not more than two weeks ago, many more are expected to follow our lead. All of which were slighted by the Union and its misguided government.

By granting your commissions one year early they intend to swell their ranks with officers who are not fully qualified to lead on the field of battle, therefore marking you for an early departure from this earth. If I should meet you on the field opposite me I will not grant you quarter for it will be my duty to dispatch you. However, those of you who choose to follow me south are dismissed and ordered to fall into a column of three’s directly to my rear. If any of you gentlemen desire to survive the trials of the battle soon to come, follow me to victory. We depart immediately!"

Just a few moments ago I held Colonel Beauregard in high regard… now, he exposes himself to us as a coward and traitor to the country he was sworn to defend. With just a few well-chosen words he destroyed the image he displayed during the past years as Commandant of the Point. He very effectively removed from me every trace of respect I once had for the man. I no longer stood at rigid attention as I watched half of my class of twelve hundred men step forward and re-form into rank behind our former commanding officer. I stood my ground, glancing towards George who was walking towards me. I was very glad he was one who chose to remain.

So… the bastard means to kill us does he! Certainly an impossible undertaking on his part. I believe that his shallow intimidations should be heeded by him and those fools he is taking with him into the hell we shall rain down upon them when next we meet, said George as he sauntered over to where I was standing.

I responded, I am very happy to see you remain on this side of the line that was drawn by Beauregard. I couldn’t bear the thought of impaling you with my saber and destroying your fine custom made uniform… on the other hand, there is a bit of delight at the very thought.

George and I watched together as several supply wagons and horse teams were brought forward with artillery in tow. Beauregard and his newly formed rebel band has sacked the Points armory and supply warehouse. There is no honor in what he was doing and the sight disgusted me, but inwardly I knew that I would do the same given different circumstances, perhaps much worse. I would have assassinated Beauregard in his sleep and started the inevitable slaughter that’s to come right here at the Point. I would not allow five or six hundred well trained officers to leave here only to take the field against me later. They would remain here as my ally’s or as the Confederate’s first martyrs.

I’m not sure how it happened, but nearly all of the six hundred officers who remained clustered around the flag pole as we watched the procession of deserters leave in a dusty cloud created by horses, wagon wheels and footsteps. No one uttered a sound; we watched the scenario unfold in silence. How ironic that we would gather here, around the flag we were sworn to defend, and not one of us armed save for our sabers. Before long the departing men drifted from sight with their plunder. The cloud of dust they created in their haste to leave settled on their uniforms transforming them from Yankee blue to rebel grey; the same color as their hearts.

Although I was angry, full of heart felt discomfort and fear concerning the unfolding events over which I had no control, I harbored some indifference. A part of me just did not give a damn for the high and mighty politicians, northern and southern alike who led us to this death of a once glorious nation. The bastards will set us back by 100 years; never to recover. Mark my words… we will never be able to erase the disgraceful blight we have brought down upon ourselves as a result of indulgent and self-righteous greed. We should all attach ourselves to the chains of those we have enslaved… for we have also enslaved ourselves. History will not be kind or sympathetic to what we have done as a country thus far.

Just as the long line of Confederates disappeared in the dust, the remaining Union officers began to disperse slowly returning to their barracks. A melancholy atmosphere filled the air as thick as molasses. Confusion alone overshadowed anger and despair. My survival instincts came vividly alive in my mind as self-preservation became a profound consideration. George turned and proceeded to walk towards the barracks. Before he took his third step I called out to him.

George, stop… we have more pressing things to attend to at the moment. There is nothing in the barracks for us except memories. Those days are long gone. Come with me; there is something important that we must attend to with haste.

He followed me without question, but I suspected that did so purely out of trust and a good amount of curiosity; I was sure. As we passed the stables I yelled out to George to saddle up two good horses and a pack mule. I continued forward to the last of the row of storage sheds nearby. I spotted an unbroken lock on the door, which indicated to me that the contents of the shed were not disturbed by the men who followed Beauregard. I assumed that in their haste to leave they neglected to ransack this one shed, or perhaps were unable to break the lock.

I used an old horse shoe to beat on the lock and after just two hard strikes the lock broke and fell to the ground in two parts. I pulled open the large wooden doors and entered the shed. Once my eyes adjusted to the poor light of the interior I could see numerous crates stacked uniformly. I read the markings on the stack nearest to me which read Colt Manufacturing Company. I used a pry bar laying nearby to open one of the crates to discover one dozen 36 caliber colt revolvers contained within. I immediately removed two of the six shooters and placed them in my waist belt.

As I moved to examine the longer crates nearby George entered the shed. He looked into the crate that was already opened and exclaimed, That Goddamned Colonel isn’t going to be too pleased to find that his rebels left this treasure behind. What the hell else did they leave for us to play with? Let me help you open the rest of these things.

George opened the smallest of the crates and shouted, Pistol cartridges; thousands of them!

That’s grand, now we need to find the crate that holds the carbine ammunition. This box has Burnside Carbines in it destined for the cavalry.

We spent the next half hour loading pistols and carbines onto our pack mule and saddle bags. Several others found the shed also and took possession of what we had left behind. George and I took four pistols and three carbines each. We loaded several hundred rounds of ammunition onto the pack mule and an equal portion into our saddle bags. Every weapon was loaded and readied for action. George found one full case of black powder which we also confiscated. These are all very valuable implements of warfare that were carelessly neglected by the departing rebels. I will do my best to return these items to Beauregard and his troops; one well aimed cartridge at a time.

A familiar voice called out from inside the shed, Which direction do you two gentlemen travel?

The question was posed by Travis McArthur a fellow who hailed from a prominent family from New York. He was a man of good breeding and character. I always thought well of him and predicted that he would make a fine officer one day; his day had come as he was now a fine officer.

George, uninterrupted in his work responded, Any direction on the compass you choose will place you in the middle of this war. I believe that I’ll be joining McClellan’s brigade where ever they might be camped; perhaps in Ohio, maybe Indiana or even that backwoods place called Illinois from where my friend Conner hails. McClellan has a fine, disciplined cavalry which I intend to command one day.

You have a good start as a Commanding Officer George. You have a gun, a horse and an ass to follow you; not to mention the gaudiest uniform in all of West Point. The only reason I’ll ride with you is to keep you from getting lost in the woods, shot by rebels or scalped. I ceased my lighthearted ribbing of my friend George for the moment and shifted my attention to Travis who had also saddled a horse and helped himself to several weapons, just as we did.

Travis, I suspect that you will be heading home to New York and if so, someone needs to report the occurrence of this day to the War Department. I am confident that they may have no idea of what has happened here today. It is important for the War Department to know that the artillery, horses and weapons have all been pilfered by the departing rebels. West Point does not have the means to pursue nor engage Beauregard in battle. The War Department may decide to send troops to intercept Beauregard and hang the treasonous bastard. If you choose to return from New York and join us on our trek westward your presence will be more than welcome. We will wait here for your return, but for no more than two days.

Travis reared his mount and galloped off with numerous other soldiers following his lead. I felt certain that Travis was the only man in the group who knew where they were headed, but that did not matter. There was much anxiety in the air amongst the remainder of the Corps and it was apparent that many wanted to do something, but didn’t know what to do in the midst of the confusion that reigned over the Point at present. War is imminent. There is no sound, but the assembly drums beat loudly in our souls. The noise in our hearts is deafening and fearful as we are called to war. We were called to make decisions for which we were ill prepared to make but, they were nevertheless made.

Two

We waited for two days at West Point before heading northwest. It was determined more prudent to travel the most northern route, along the Erie and then turn southwest into the western frontier. Most of the corps that stayed loyal to the Union was still at the Point. Many insisted that we should all await orders from someone in authority; a senior officer perhaps or even someone from our congressional delegation. George argued that we are all United States Army officers now and therefore obligated to do something; not sit on our asses and wait for permission to fight.

God forbid that I ever take orders from some damn pork bellied politician. I’ll be go to hell, it’s those idiots who started all this horse shit we’re all mired in. I don’t see any of those rich bastards wearing a uniform of any color; blue or grey for that matter. George’s argument was strong and loud leaving no room for doubt regarding his stand on the problem. On this point we stood shoulder to shoulder in complete, solid agreement.

More than thirty officers decided to accompany George and me west. During the two days that we delayed our departure waiting for Travis and his group to return we all occupied ourselves by scavenging food, water and other supplies. We discovered an empty supply wagon which we commandeered and loaded it with provisions.

Before our departure George and I inspected the area to determine if there was anything else we may need as we would be traveling for more than two months; maybe more. In the administration building I looked through the Commanding Officer’s desk and was pleased to have found parchment, ink and a writing instrument. I held up my booty and called to George to see.

You absolutely brilliant son of a bitch… every one of those thirty-three stars are coming with us. Beauregard and his rebels had no use for this flag and left it behind. This will serve as our Command Standard on our journey and remind us every day of our mission. Absolutely brilliant Conner!

I was completely unaware that I was standing behind the Commanding Officer’s colors which so excited George. When he looked towards me he assumed that I was referring to the flag and not the writing materials I found. He ran to it like a long lost lover. George quickly and carefully placed the flag in its leather case and closed the buckle securely.

George looked at me still ginning ear to ear and asked, What other treasures did you discover?

I answered, Not much, just some writing materials we could possibly use later.

What the hell do you intend to use it for, starting a cook fire?

Not at all George! These materials will be used to document Beauregard’s surrender; maybe even General Lee’s.

George laughed heartily… then he stopped and donned a dead serious look on his face. He spoke slowly and deliberately. If I ever see that man again, he will not receive any quarter and there will be no surrender. He shall lay in a shallow grave and I shall piss on his remains. This I swear by the all mighty.

Many others of us drifted off to join up with federal forces nearby. It won’t be long before this beloved place will be bare to the bone and void of the breath of life we gave the Point. Friendship, comraderies, devotion to duty, loyalty to country and spirit de corps have all but, been erased from our lives. Everything we held dear in our hearts has transformed to uncertainty and fear. No matter how hard we try to maintain an air of gallantry on the exterior we must all face the reality of the fate that awaits us. When we leave this place of honor we will go forth to kill our brothers. No doubt our brothers will celebrate our demise if that be God’s will. However; I truly believe that I will survive this conflict and be left alone to mourn the victory. There will be nothing left to rejoice about; we will all suffer defeat in some form. The Point has prepared us equally well, friend and foe.

I became quite irritated suddenly for no apparent reason saying Come on George, let’s saddle up and get the hell out of this place. Travis and his group are not going to return and we have more than enough provisions for all of us to last the entire journey. I’ve had my fill of this place.

So be it, my friend; we have our legacy to create and mine will not reflect that I missed a splendid little war while sitting on my ass at West Point. Let’s make history on horseback with sword in hand!

For the past three years I wondered if my friend was fully correct in the head. At times I would simply dismiss the thought as ridiculous; however, of late his mannerisms and