Azariah Martin Book One: The Civil War

By John Martin

War is raging, and the Union is going broke. President Lincoln knows there's enough gold in the west to finance the war, but he needs a wagon road to bring it home to the treasury. The chosen route passes through hunting grounds defended by the Northern Sioux and their allies, the Cheyenne and Arapaho. Will this effort to save the Union result in another war out west?

Azariah Martin will help decide that question. But he doesn’t know it yet.

The bitter divisions of the war have torn young Azariah’s family apart. When he leaves the family farm in Pilot Knob, Missouri to mend his relationship with his brother, a Confederate soldier, Azariah embarks on an adventure that lands him in two armies, a prison, a Shoshone tribe, a den of British spies, and ultimately the White House.

• Language: English
• Publisher: John Martin
• Release date: Dec 20, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005554668

John Martin

John C. Martin was born in a hallway at the Carbon County Memorial Hospital in Rawlins, Wyoming on July 22, 1944. His father was a Union Pacific Railroad engineer, but his uncles were cattlemen, and he spent many summers at their ranches on the Powder River near Kaycee, Wyoming.John earned bachelor’s degrees in business and political science at the University of Wyoming in Laramie, and a master’s in communication at Brigham Young University in Utah. He spent four years on active duty in the US Army and served in Vietnam in 1970. He rose to the rank of major and remained in the Army Reserve another thirteen years.He lives and writes in Norman, Oklahoma.

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AZARIAH MARTIN

Book One: The Civil War

Links to maps of Azariah’s journey are provided throughout the book. Click here to browse all the maps at once. Maps provided by the Wyoming State Archives.

Copyright © 2022 John Martin

Published by John Martin at Smashwords. All rights reserved.

Cover Design - Dustin Oswald, PlanetDorshak.com

Cover Art - Dan Carpenter, DanCarpenter.com

Editing and Internal Design - BrickMortarPress.com

This is a work of fiction. All incidents and dialogue, and all characters with the exception of some well-known historical figures, are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Where real-life historical figures appear, the situations, incidents, and dialogues concerning those persons are entirely fictional and are not intended to depict actual events or to change the entirely fictional nature of the work. In all other respects, any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

AZARIAH MARTIN

Book I: The Civil War

By John C. Martin

Table of Contents

Author’s Note

Chapter One: Brother vs. Brother

Chapter Two: Freedom

Chapter Three: Azariah’s World Changes

Chapter Four: Prisoner of War

Chapter Five: Galvanized Yankee

Chapter Six: Montana Bound

Chapter Seven: The Bridger Diversion

Chapter Eight: The Oregon Trail

Chapter Nine: Spring

Chapter Ten: South Pass

Chapter Eleven: Omaha

Chapter Twelve: Mincemeat Pie for Christmas

About The Author

Author’s Note

I have been working on this story in one way or another since 1956. That’s when my dad first told me about digging coal out of the banks of the Crazy Woman Creek when he was a boy. He described several graves near there that had been marked with military headstones. I was twelve years old.

Eighteen years later, as part of my military training, I was required to research and write a paper about the use of artillery in the Indian Wars of the 19th century. I focused on the period between 1850 and 1870. Reading about fights and battles along the Powder River in Wyoming and Montana resurrected my memory of my dad’s stories about digging coal along the banks of the Crazy Woman Creek.

In 1975, while we were camping in the Bighorn Mountains with my oldest son, I asked my dad to show me the spot. One of the battles I had researched occurred where the Crazy Woman crossed the Bozeman Trail. The first casualties of that battle were a lieutenant and a sergeant. As we approached the Crazy Woman from the south on the county road that follows the old Bozeman Trail, I described the battle to my dad, and he pointed out where the old graves had been.

But when we got there, the graves were gone. The government had moved them to a military cemetery. There was a small monument in their place that listed the soldiers who had died there. I recognized the first two names: they were the lieutenant and the sergeant I remembered from my research.

That is when I became connected to my heritage, when I recognized that my life came with the responsibility to honor those who came before me.

That is when Azariah’s story began to take shape in my imagination. Funny thing, I still don’t know why. But I am sure it has something to do with that lieutenant and that sergeant. I would not be here if they had not died there.

President Lincoln needed Montana gold to help finance the Civil War. To get the gold to the treasury, he needed a wagon road. Construction of the road along the Bozeman Trail, which passed through hunting grounds used by the Sioux, Northern Cheyenne, and Arapaho nations, provoked Red Cloud to lead the tribes into a war against the U.S. Army. He won a resounding victory, driving U.S. forces out of the Powder River Basin.

But while Red Cloud’s War was raging, the first transcontinental railroad was being built through southern Wyoming. When it was finished, the Bozeman became obsolete, since the railroad offered safer and faster transportation. One hundred and fifty years later, it’s hard to justify the development of the Bozeman Trail, with all those battles fought and all those lives lost. Why invest so much when a better solution was coming? The choice made no sense.

Or did it?

John Martin

September 20, 2022

Click to view: Raynolds River Map 1859-60, provided by Wyoming State Archives

Click to view a map of the Raynolds River provided by the Wyoming State Archives

Chapter 1

BROTHER VS. BROTHER

15 May 1861, Martin Family Farm, Pilot Knob, Missouri

A gentle drizzle had lasted most of the morning, but now the overcast sky had begun to clear. The temperature was mild; the humidity made it feel warmer than it really was. Mastin Martin and his wife, Lucinda, were relaxing in rocking chairs on the front veranda of the farmhouse. Their sons, James, twenty years old, and Azariah, twenty-two, had been sitting on the veranda steps arguing about the recent riots that had resulted from the looting of the St. Louis Armory.

Their argument expanded into other issues of conflict primarily dealing with the election of President Lincoln, secession, and state’s rights. The argument became more animated as both James and Azariah pressed their opposing points of view. Finally, driven by nervous energy, Azariah stood up, walked into the yard, and turned toward James. The latter followed him, clearly taking his brother’s action as a threat. They squared off against each other with their feet spread apart, hands on their hips, and fire in their eyes. There would be no backing down.

I don’t entertain an interest in secession or state’s rights, Azariah said. "I don’t understand what ‘state’s rights’ means, and I’m not going to waste my time to find out. But I do care about slavery. I think it’s an abomination.

Little brother, I need to make it clear to you right here and now that I’ll do everything I can to end it, not only in our family but in this state and in this nation. He was mad at James, who he figured was in no position to mouth off about the grand expectations of the Confederacy.

And I’ll get it done as soon as possible, he went on. I think you are dead wrong about slavery. Azariah maintained a cool and detached attitude on the outside, but inside he seethed. Had they been alone, Azariah may have allowed more emotion to show in his statement. But their parents were right there on the porch, listening to them. He glanced over and saw the concern on their faces.

James had no intention of backing down. He was smaller than Azariah and not nearly as strong, but that didn’t slow down his temper. What he lacked in size, he figured he made up with aggression. It was time for him to take a stand, and he decided there was no better time than now for him to put Azariah in his place.

In his mind, his brother was absolutely wrong about several key principles of the Confederacy. He was wrong about states’ rights, for one thing—Missouri had a constitutional right to secede if it chose to do so. He was wrong about slavery, too. Slavery was a cornerstone of the Southern economy. He was wrong about the strength of the southern fervor sweeping through Missouri that would ultimately dominate those northern rascals who would, if they got their way, destroy his family’s ancestral way of life. Without question, his brother was in need of a fundamental education about the morality of the gift God had given their race. And it was time James gave him that education.

As the argument grew more animated, Mastin sent their two house servants, Paul and Misty, to the back of the house so they would not hear what was going on.

James had never liked his older brother. He tolerated him because he had to. But he resented what appeared to him to be his parents’ favoritism toward his brother. For as long as he could remember, the two-year age difference had cut a swath through their relationship as wide as the Mississippi.

And he prickled at Azariah’s statements on slavery. As far as James was concerned, the family’s chattel slaves were a sign of prosperity that gave him special status in his Southern community. Other people recognized him as a person of property, and he was proud of that. He saw Azariah as a danger to his standing in the community, and this was something he could not abide.

While he knew the Martins were not as wealthy as some in the Pilot Knob community, they were comfortable in their way of life. Their slaves were the foundation of their prosperity. He could not understand why his brother was so intent on destroying everything.

His brother’s public declaration of his intent to destroy the family was unacceptable to James. It was time to stop him.

Azariah, you are a hypocrite, he said, squaring off against his brother. You own slaves. The family has owned slaves for as far back as anyone can remember. I won’t let you destroy this family.

The slaves are owned by Dad, not me. No human should own another human. It’s not right. They are not property to be bought and sold like a wagonload of hay. They are my equals, and I believe they deserve all the rights and privileges I enjoy. He turned to Mastin. Dad, I will immediately free all the slaves the family owns when or if I ever get the power to do so. He turned back to James. Now hear me clear, little brother. Since I’m the oldest in this family, I’ll be the one making the decisions around here someday. I advise you to back off and stay out of my way.

James exploded into action. We’ll see about that! He balled up his right hand into a fist and punched Azariah with all the force he could muster.

Azariah staggered back, but did not respond in kind. His intent was to let it pass. He would have walked away if James had stopped with the one punch. But James did not stop. He aimed a kick at Azariah’s midsection. Azariah saw it coming. He sidestepped the kick and pushed James’s foot to the side. James lost his balance, falling to his knees.

Azariah grabbed James by his shirt collar and the back of his pants, then half carried, half dragged him toward the house, where he slammed James headfirst into the brick wall of the house.

Then he backed away, surprised at what he had done to his little brother. His intent was to stop fighting.

James’s brain burst into a shower of lights when he hit the wall. He was aware Azariah had released him, but that didn’t matter. He remembered he was mad, but he wasn’t sure why. Unsteadily, he turned around and looked at his brother.

When he saw Azariah standing there, James’s rage blocked out all pain. He shook his head and staggered toward his brother. His thinking was fuzzy, but he knew he had to stop Azariah no matter what.

But before he could act, Azariah delivered a haymaker punch to his nose, breaking it. James fell back against the wall, his lights out, all the fight in him gone.

Azariah heard his mother, Lucinda, start crying.

Mom, I’m sorry you had to see that, he said, turning to her. I tried not to let it happen.

Mastin got out of his rocking chair, shaking his head, and walked to James.

Do you think he learned anything? he said as he knelt down beside his younger son. He helped James sit up and looked into his eyes, which were open and a little dazed, but clearing. Son, I think you bit off more’n you can chew this time. Then he stood up. You boys finished with this, now?

Yes, sir, said Azariah. Yes, sir, said James.

Then I’ll have no more of this. Do you hear me? Both boys responded, Yes, sir.

Now shake hands and go about your business. They shook hands, but James would not look Azariah in the eye. Azariah felt the anger in James and realized that he had crossed a bridge and burned it down behind him. He had left James on the other side, and there was no way for them to get together again.

James, I’m sorry. I should not have hit you.

James used his left hand to wipe blood from his nose. To hell with you.

Things would never be the same.

Neither Azariah nor James realized that their fight was a manifestation of the stresses alive in Pilot Knob, Missouri in the spring of 1861. It was true that Missouri had entered the Union as a slave state, and that the governor favored secession. It was also true that a significant percentage of the population were Union supporters or neutral but leaning toward the Union. In Pilot Knob in particular, Unionist sympathies were held by a significant majority of the population.

The secessionists, while not as numerous, were just as vehement in their position. In the community of Pilot Knob, Missouri, it was truly neighbor against neighbor, brother against brother, father against son. It was not uncommon for mothers and daughters, wives and lovers to get caught up in the contradictions of the time and heat of the moment. The anger and tension caused by the rising flood of political arguments over states’ rights and slavery spilled out with vicious and damaging results almost on a daily basis in Pilot Knob. That Azariah and James should come to blows had been only a matter of time and a symptom of the times they lived in.

On this day, when these contradictions surfaced in the front yard of their farm, the Martin family was severely and irreparably damaged.

16 May 1861, Martin Family Farm, Pilot Knob, Missouri

James was missing from the breakfast table the morning after the fight. Mastin took the opportunity to talk to Azariah.

Did you mean what you said yesterday? About the slaves? Yes, sir, I did.

Son, we take good care of our slaves. They live well and they give us a fair day’s labor. We give them a good quality life in return.

Azariah had dreaded this moment. His father was right, their slaves enjoyed a good quality life. However, in his mind that quality of life was not of their doing. They were beholden to his father, not to their own device. And because they were beholden to his father, neither they nor his own family were truly free.

It bothered him that his father and mother did not see that they, too, were enslaved by this system. He chose his words carefully.

It’s true we treat them well, he began. And for that I’m proud of this family. But they are still slaves. They are not free. I can’t abide that. Dad, it tears me up inside to see them treated as chattel.

I don’t do that. You know that, son.

It doesn’t change the fact that they are not free.

No, I guess you’re right about that, it doesn’t. Mastin took a puff on his pipe and looked at Azariah. When the time comes, I don’t expect it to be too long from now, I’ll support whatever decision you make. He looked at his wife. She nodded. I guess it’s time for change, he continued. Your mom and I are too old to change our ways overnight. You have to give some time to adapt, to get comfortable with a new world that will destroy generations of tradition. All I ask of you is that you make this as easy on us as you can. Will you promise to do that for us?

Yes, Father, Azariah said. Yes, Mother. I promise.

Just before supper, as Azariah was fetching water from the well to clean up the dirt and sweat from his days’ work in the field, James rode up wearing a Confederate officer’s uniform.

Azariah, I need to talk to you, he said in a firm voice laced with authority and contempt. He didn’t dismount.

Azariah heard the edge in James’s voice. He put the pail of water down. Okay, he said. What can I help you with?

I have joined the Confederate Army. I have a commission as a lieutenant in the cavalry. I am recruiting a troop of cavalry from Pilot Knob and the surrounding communities. I expect you to volunteer and ride with me.

No, Azariah said. Then he turned back toward the house, picked up the pail of water, and walked around the porch toward the back door, leaving James astride his horse in the yard wanting a pound of flesh from his brother and getting none.

James was missing from the table again that evening. Mastin said a devotional before the meal, one of those nondescript devotionals Azariah had heard a hundred times before. It was clear Mastin’s mind was elsewhere. Each time Azariah heard this kind of prayer, totally absent of emotion and religious conviction, Azariah wondered what it really meant.

When the prayer was finished, Misty and Paul began serving the family dinner.

Lucinda said to Azariah, I saw James and you talking in the front yard earlier. What did you talk about?

He told me he joined the Confederate Army and he was given a commission as a lieutenant in the cavalry.

His mother caught her breath, put her hand to her mouth and whispered, Oh, dear!

Azariah continued, He asked me to volunteer with him. I told him no.

Lucinda stammered, Oh, no! and began to cry.

Mastin stood up at the head of the table and moved to his wife. He kneeled and gathered her in his arms.

Azariah choked as he said, Mother, I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. I don’t know how to fix it. He stood, walked out of the dining room and out the front door.

He walked into the front yard and the early evening feeling a strong need to be alone. The night sky was clear, and the stars were coming out. He hoped the brilliant night sky with its stars arranged as if by a painter’s eye and the cool, clean evening breeze scented with the life of a new season would help to clear his troubled mind.

Azariah stopped by a pole fence, leaned on the top rail, and listened to the night noise. Azariah’s favorite horse, King, slowly moved up to him on the other side of the split-rail fence and nuzzled his arm, looking for a handout of oats or sugar. Azariah absentmindedly petted the horse’s muzzle. Not getting the reward he was begging for, King lost interest and moved on.

Not far off in the uncleared part of the pasture, a rabbit squealed, giving notice that its life would soon be over. Another sign of the mystery of the cycle of life, Azariah thought. Something dies so that something else can live, something sacrificed for a new and mysterious tomorrow.

One thing remained clear to Azariah. He was not a soldier; his duty was to his family, and he would see that duty through. He reached into his shirt pocket and took out the makings for a cigarette. He rolled and lighted one and took a drag. The smoke hit his lungs, and he coughed. The sensation was not pleasing. Azariah looked at the red glow of the end of the cigarette and wondered why he tried to smoke. He really didn’t like the taste or the feel of the smoke. He stubbed out the

cigarette on the top pole of the fence, rolled the paper and tobacco into a small ball, dropped it on the ground, and turned to walk back to the house. He was determined to put the conflict with James behind him.

If James wanted to be a soldier, so be it. Azariah would neither support nor criticize his brother’s decision.

17 May 1861, Martin Family Farm, Pilot Knob, Missouri

It was two days after his fight with James when Azariah walked through the outside kitchen door. He walked over to the stove and retrieved a coffee cup. Misty, my dear, how did you know I am in need of a good cup of coffee?

After all these years you should realize that I already know all there is to know about this family.

Well, I can’t argue with that. Is Paul around?

He’s fetching some firewood for me. I expect he will be here shortly.

Azariah sat down at the kitchen table and sipped his coffee. "Good.

I have something on my mind, and I need your educated advice."

You sit right there with your coffee. How about a big slice of fresh baked bread with some butter and honey for backers?

As Azariah finished buttering a slice of warm bread and was about to spoon honey on it, Paul entered the kitchen carrying a load of wood. Get yourself a cup of coffee and sit right down here with me and our baby boy, Azariah, Misty said. He has something he wants to ask us.

Paul put down the load of wood, poured himself a cup of coffee, and took a seat. Is there a problem? he said, spooning sugar into his coffee cup.

Azariah responded, Oh, no, not with you or Misty. The problem is with me. I need your help. Azariah went silent trying to compose his thoughts into a presentable package. He took a sip of coffee to give him more time to prepare. Did you hear the fight I had with James the other day?

Misty looked at Paul. They both knew that the smart response was to say no. But they sensed what was coming was important. Paul responded, Yes, we did. It broke our hearts to see our baby boys fighting.

Did you hear what we were fighting about? Yes.

Did you hear what I said to Dad? Yes.

How do you feel about that? Azariah took another sip of coffee and went on before either Misty or Paul could respond. I’ve been thinking a lot about it. I mean what I said. But when the time comes I can’t just set you free and be done with it. It wouldn’t be fair to you or anyone else on the farm. I need to prepare you to be free so you’ll be ready to reap the rewards that come with freedom. He took another sip of coffee. How do I get you prepared for that glorious day? I need you to help me figure this out.

Misty looked at Paul as if asking him if it was all right to speak. He nodded. She then looked at Azariah. "You don’t have to worry about Paul and me. We have