Imminent Peril

By Myles P. Lash

Imminent Peril is a novel of the Civil War that tells the story of the young men of the famous Wolverine Brigade, of Michigan's 5th cavalry. The story is told in the form of a memoir written by a fictitious common soldier caught up in that disastrous conflict. His comrades who fought the battles and the identities of their famous leaders are rendered as accurately as the author could make them. All of the enlisted men who appear in these pages were drawn from the actual ranks of the Union Army.

The underlying humanity and stoic response of these characters as they endure unspeakable horrors offers insight into perpetually consequential events in our nation's history, but holds special relevance to the COVID 19 health crisis raging as this book was composed. At the time of publication, the U.S. had seen more than 1,000,000 lives stolen. The only other times the citizenry has suffered so grievously on American soil were during the 1918/1919-influenza pandemic, which registered 675,000 deaths, and the Civil War, which saw more than 620,000 soldiers perish unspeakably at the hands of their fellow countrymen. Given the size of the nation at the time, almost every family experienced a grievous loss. The level of this tragedy was as incalculable then as it is now.

The Civil War defined the American scene and its culture for the decades that followed. Our nation's reconstruction following the COVID-19 pandemic will be an equally important period.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Dec 20, 2023
• ISBN: 9798350930887

Book preview

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Imminent Peril

Myles P. Lash

ISBN (Print Edition): 979-8-35093-087-0

ISBN (eBook Edition): 979-8-35093-088-7

© 2023. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

FOR LINDA

Contents

To The Reader

List of Characters

CHAPTER 1 : Suppressed Recollections

CHAPTER 2 : The Beginning…Mustering In, August 1862

CHAPTER 3 : Signing Up

CHAPTER 4 : The Pub Visit

CHAPTER 5 : Training At Mad Anthony’s Fort

CHAPTER 6 : Drill Formations

CHAPTER 7 : Defending Washington

CHAPTER 8 : Approaching Gettysburg

CHAPTER 9 : Combat

CHAPTER 10 : Trevilian Station

CHAPTER 11 : Captured

CHAPTER 12 : Andersonville

CHAPTER 13 : 1864

CHAPTER 14 : The Sultana

CHAPTER 15 : The Voyage

CHAPTER 16 : Recovering

CHAPTER 17 : Returning To Detroit

Postscript

Afterword

TOUR OF DUTY : 5th Michigan Voluntary Cavalry Regiment

Acknowledgments

Photographs

I would be willing, yes glad, to see a battle every day during my life.

GEORGE A. CUSTER

I know only two tunes: One of them is ‘Yankee Doodle’, and the other one isn’t.

ULYSSES S. GRANT

To The Reader

IMMINENT PERIL is a novel of the Civil War that tells the story of the young men of the famous Wolverine Brigade, of Michigan’s 5th cavalry. This epic saga is told in the form of a memoir written by a fictitious common soldier caught up in that disastrous conflict. The battles fought by these men and the identities of their famous leaders are rendered as accurately as the author could make them. All of the enlisted men are drawn from the actual ranks of the Union Army.

The underlying humanity and stoic response of these characters as they endure unspeakable horrors offers insight into perpetually consequential events in our nation’s history, but holds special relevance to the COVID 19 health crisis raging as this book was composed. At the time of publication, the U.S. had seen more than 1,000,000 lives stolen. The only other times the citizenry has suffered so grievously on American soil were during the 1918/1919-influenza pandemic, which registered 675,000 deaths, and the Civil War, which saw more than 620,000 soldiers perish unspeakably at the hands of their fellow countrymen. Given the size of the nation at the time, almost every family experienced a grievous loss. The level of this tragedy was as incalculable then as it is now.

The Civil War defined the American scene and its culture for the decades that followed. Our nation’s reconstruction following the COVID-19 pandemic will be an equally important period.

List of Characters

Chapter 1

Gabriel Maddox …Protagonist, 5th Cavalry recruit Van Buren Township

William…Grandson

Chapter 2

Father, Mother,

Sister Dylan & Willy the dog

Older Brother, David…Army of the Potomac (Michigan’s 5th infantry) initially under General McClellan

Chapter 3

Abraham Lincoln…President of the United States

Aidan O’Grady…Wagon Driver on the trip to Detroit

Gertrude Borger and her father (a River Raisin massacre survivor… Hosts in Detroit

Maddie…Girlfriend

Chapter 4

Abner Doubleday…West Point grad, artillery officer key figure in baseball’s history

John Huff… First one met at pub Company E, marksman who would kill General JEB Stuart. Later mortally wounded at Haw’s Shop on May 28, 1864

Peter Lavalley…Met at pub and was a bunkmate. Killed at Gettysburg July 3, 1863

James Ramsey…Met at pub, from Detroit, Died at Andersonville Oct. 23, 1864

Hugh Jamison…Met at pub, from Victor,

Died at Andersonville Nov.14, 1864

Corwin Kinney…Met at pub, from Saginaw, Died at Andersonville Nov.14, 1864

William Brower…Met at pub and became best friend. Captured at Trevilian Station and sent to Andersonville, died in the explosion of the Sultana April 27, 1865

Chapter 5

Mad Anthony Wayne…Famous Revolutionary War officer and Fort’s namesake

George Clarkson…Bunkmate, Captured at Trevilian Station and sent to Andersonville then transferred to Millen, survived the Sultana explosion

William Horton…Bunkmate, Captured at Trevilian Station, sent to Andersonville and survived

Albert Merriman…Oldest Bunkmate nicknamed Granddad, Captured at Trevilian Station, died at Andersonville

James Carhart…Youngest Bunkmate, Held at Andersonville and survived the Sultana Tragedy

Corporal George Martin…Met the troops early, captured at Trevilian Station on June 11, 1864, died at Andersonville

2nd Lieutenant Henry K Foote Enlisted on Aug. 14 1862,

killed at Poolesville MD Feb. 09, 1863

Captain Purdy… H Company’s lead training officer

Chapter 6

Sergeant Norton… Drill Instructor

Austin Blair…Governor of Michigan

Rusty… Gabriel Maddox’s horse

Chapter 7

Brigadier General Copeland… First commander of the Wolverine Brigade

Chapter 8

Colonel Russell Alger… 5th Michigan Cavalry senior field commander

Major Trowbridge… 5th Michigan Cavalry field officer

General Hooker… A commander of the Army of the Potomac

Major General George Meade… Replaced Hooker as the Commander

General George Armstrong Custer…

Commanded the reformed Michigan Brigade

General J.E.B. Stuart… Commander of the Confederate Calvary

Corporal Cole… 5th Michigan soldier wounded at Hanover

Chapter 9

General Robert E. Lee… Commander in Chief of the Confederate Armies

General Pickett… Confederate General led a desperate charge at Gettysburg

General Ulysses S. Grant… Commander in Chief of the Union Armies & later the President

Chapter 10

General Phillip Sheridan… Overall commander of the Union Cavalry – Eastern Front

Chapter 11

Jefferson Davis… President of the Confederacy

Chapter 12

Captain Henry Wirz…Commandant of Andersonville Prison

Chapter 13

General Nathan Bedford Forest…Confederate Commander at Fort Pillow massacre

Brigadier General John Winder… Captain Wirz’s superior officer

Benjamin Johnston…member of Michigan’s 5th Cavalry, held at Andersonville

William Finch…member of Michigan’s 5th Cavalry, held at Andersonville, killed on the Sultana

John Norton…member of Michigan’s 5th Cavalry, held at Andersonville, Sultana survivor

James Quirk…member of Michigan’s 5th Cavalry, held at Andersonville, Sultana survivor

Henry Warren…member of Michigan’s 5th Cavalry, held at Andersonville, Sultana survivor

Chapter 14

Lt. Colonel Howard A.M. Henderson…Commandant of Cahaba prison

Colonel Archie C. Fisk… Namesake of prisoner exchange camp near Vicksburg

General John C. Pemberton…commanded the Confederate Army of Mississippi at Vicksburg

James C. Mason…Captain of the Sultana

Captain Frederick Speed… Put together transit rolls for the Sultana

John Wilkes Booth… President Lincoln’s assassin

Edwin Stanton… Secretary of War

A.J. Knapp… 18th Michigan Infantry, killed during the Sultana tragedy

Jim Bradish…18th Michigan Infantry, killed during the Sultana tragedy

Jonathan Robins… 18th Michigan Infantry killed during Sultana tragedy

Murry Blake…4th Michigan Cavalry, Sultana survivor

William Brown…5th Michigan Cavalry, killed during the Sultana tragedy

George M. Clincer…corporal, Company E, 16th Kentucky Infantry, Sultana survivor

CHAPTER 1

Suppressed Recollections

The crack of a bat crushing a baseball jarred me awake.

It was a cloudy afternoon in August 1917, fifty-five years since I had left this very same property to fight in our nation’s Civil War. I was quite comfortable at the family home that I had inherited from my parents. More importantly, I was very much alive and thoroughly capable of enjoying the warmth of an invigorating Michigan summer. As the region’s eldest citizen, the locals respected me as a war veteran and a solid contributor to the community, even if they considered me worn out. This was an impression I was not only comfortable making, but cultivated via the long grey whiskers I sported to enhance my distinguished appearance.

My two married children lived close by and I had been blessed with five grandchildren. Although deeply saddened by the loss of my beautiful wife two years ago, I was generally content with my current situation.

Sitting on the cherished family porch rocker on this afternoon, I had a fine view of my tall and handsome grandson as he played the national pastime with his friends. William was named after General Sherman, the famous Civil War military commander under whom I had so proudly served. As expected, everyone called the boy Willy. This made me smile, because it evoked precious memories of my loyal childhood dog. My grandson was both a good student and a star athlete. As part of my quiet campaign for him to concentrate on his studies, I had been strongly advocating his enrollment in the well-regarded university in nearby Ann Arbor. I was pleased by his evident excitement at this prospect, though I knew that it stemmed less from the solid academics offered at the institution than the opportunity to play a more competitive brand of collegiate baseball.

The bottomless joy Willy and his friends took in the sport as they threw themselves around the diamond was a pure pleasure for me to behold. However, a dark cloud hanging over us tempered my excitement about the future. The Great War in Europe was expanding and sucking in the youth of more and more nations into this calamity. As a concerned war veteran, I had vociferously supported President Wilson’s position that the United States should remain neutral and stay out of this terrifying international conflict. However, the nation’s perspective began to shift when the British liner, the RMS Lusitania was sunk by the Germans and 128 Americans were numbered among its dead. By early 1917, as additional U.S.-flagged commercial ships were targeted and sunk, the radical alteration in public opinion was nearly complete. Even Wilson began to favor our joining The War to End All Wars. The Selective Service Act was passed and now millions of men were being called to duty.

Having seen photographs of the conflict in the Detroit papers, I knew the fighting must be even more horrible than that of my own experience. It was abundantly clear that modern technology had significantly advanced and ushered the world into an incredibly destructive and vicious period of armed conflict. I had no trouble imagining the scope of the bloody carnage brought on by the new mobile armored cannons called tanks. Aerial combat that rained havoc from the skies was also introduced, along with the horrific application of mustard gas to hellish battlefields in no need of such enhancements.

As it was very clear to me that Willy would likely be going off to war soon, I wrestled with the question of talking to him about the service and trying to prepare him for the truly dreadful aspects of the battlefield. Like most veterans, I rarely discussed my military experiences, especially with civilians. Apart from very occasional, quiet chats with my now departed brother (since only a former combat soldier could really understand what we went through) and a single, quick family debriefing upon my return home, I never spoke of my service.

That is not precisely true. The lone exception to this rule was my affiliation with the National Sultana Survivors Association, which I joined in 1885 and whose annual meetings with my former compatriots I diligently attended, as we grew old together. The stories that were shared there exposed memories and fears that could not be voiced to, or comprehended by, anyone else.

Now I felt compelled to reflect on the question of whether it would be helpful to talk to my grandson, as he was about to face enlistment. Could it do any good? Should I provide to him cautionary notes along the lines so memorably gifted to me by the father of my host, Mrs. Borger, on the evening prior to my military induction in Detroit? I vividly recall his descriptions of the blood-curdling situations that he experienced in combat during the War of 1812. In the end, the old veteran informed me, his service had been as much (and perhaps more) about protecting his fellow soldiers and assuring his own survival as it had been about fulfilling the mission crafted by military commanders and politicians, far behind the front lines. I recall being taken aback by his flatly-expressed caution to never volunteer: Nothing much good could become by being an over exuberant soldier. And I’ve never forgotten his grimly prescient final comment: It was bad enough fighting the British, he said, a grossly misbehaving foreign power. The seasoned veteran said that he couldn’t begin to imagine the psychological damage that must be inflicted upon a soldier by being forced to take up arms against, much less maim or kill, one’s own countrymen. There was some comfort, I supposed, in Willy being exempted from that particular aspect of wartime’s inferno. But who knew what fresh hell awaited him and the boys he now played with on the green field before me?

I was an old man now, but perhaps it would be useful to foreshadow the likely combat horrors that my grandson would confront. I felt compelled to clarify for him that war was no picnic and that he needed to dismiss any romantic notions of intriguing foreign travel that his naïve friends were excitedly describing. Simply stated, soldiers had to endure arduous and bruising training sessions followed by even worse combat situations. Along the way, if they were exceedingly lucky, they might enjoy a few stolen moments of tomfoolery with their new buddies, but mostly he could count on long periods of boredom and tedious marches punctuated by terrifying moments of overwhelming fear and gruesome carnage.

This would be a difficult message to convey to a young man who was the exact age that I was when I went off to war. As I pondered my approach to this daunting discussion, my mind drifted off to the long-suppressed recollections of my own military story. With my eyes closed, I was surprised at how vividly these thoughts were etched in my memory. Luckily, I can memorialize my experiences in a more articulate manner since I advanced my education after returning from the war by attending the University of Michigan where I majored in American Literature and subsequently spent years teaching in small communities surrounding Ypsilanti. You’ll have to trust me that the descriptions of my odyssey are better told in something other than farm-boy English.

CHAPTER 2

The Beginning…Mustering In, August 1862

My trip began on a beautiful cloudless day. It was going to be a hot one for sure, but at least the rain had finally stopped and the trail to Michigan Avenue was dry. The path was surrounded by tall grass and an occasional bunch of wildflowers. The air was filled with butterflies and the faint buzzing sound of bumblebees darting between colored flower petals. This pleasant natural hum of bees, swaying grasses, and chirping robins blended with an unusual crunching noise as I walked over the hundreds of grasshoppers that crossed my path. My right hand firmly grasped the homemade leather baseball that Mom had slipped into my jacket pocket during her final tearful goodbye hug.

Just as I had planned, the journey of a lifetime was ahead of me. My goal was that this adventure and brief stint in the military would provide me with an expanded set of experiences and exposure to unique places and things. I was anxious to grow up quickly and excited to see where this soldier’s passage would take me. It was an open-ended question. I understood my own self-image of being a somewhat naive and very young Michigan farmer who would likely return to my father’s homestead and plow the exact same fields. That was all right with me as long as I could hold onto broader and more dramatic memories that a soldier’s tour of service would most certainly provide. What I couldn’t perceive was that the sudden end for those numerous grasshoppers under my boots that morning would presage a set of horrifying events ahead of me, serving as a grisly but undeniably apt metaphor for the random, terrifying deaths I would witness and the outsize roles played by fate and luck in one’s survival. Hell, at my age, I didn’t spend any time thinking about metaphors.

GOODBYE

Earlier that same morning I had said goodbye to my sister, Dylan, and made her promise to write often. Her name revealed that we had a touch of Irish in our blood on our mother’s side of the family. Grandma came to this country in the early 1820’s. Our family considered ourselves of English heritage and never dealt much with our Irish lineage until a swarm of distant relatives arrived in the 1850’s escaping the Potato Famine. My sister reveled in meeting her new distant cousins; she finally had playmates that had beautiful red hair, just like her. Sis was great; despite the fact that she was younger than me, Dylan always felt responsible for both of us and watched out for me like a little mother.

It was extremely difficult to leave my parents. Mom was crying and holding me so tightly that I thought she would never let go. She had every right to be emotional. From her perspective it was way too early for me to leave home at all, much less to march off to war. I hardly shaved and didn’t have a single hair on my chest, although I was reasonably tall, compared to the local folks. Mom was proud that her little Gabriel actually stood about 5’10, but she was very worried about my weight—maybe 120 pounds, she liked to say, if he was dressed in soaking wet dungarees." In my mom’s eyes, I was a wonderful, happy boy who was always helpful on the farm. She also knew that I was fueled by exciting, youthful dreams of exploring our vast country, a wanderlust she and Dad had always encouraged in me, even as a young child. Coupled with the intense love for the U.S.A. instilled in me by my extremely patriotic father, going off to war seemed inevitable, at least in my mind, so I was a bit surprised at depth of the sorrow in both their goodbyes.

My father stood behind us. He tenderly gripped my shoulder and I could see small tears welling up in his eyes. Our little black and white puppy, Willy, began jumping on all of us, thinking that he was going on a trip. After our group hug, we finally said farewell. I told them I would try to find my brother, David. Willy’s spirits remained high, his tail wagging vigorously as he followed me down the path, until Dad called him to come back home. With his tail lowered between his hind legs, he returned and only looked back once. I felt like he understood that I was leaving without him.

When I turned around for the last time, I could see my mother sobbing in my dad’s arms. I left home with mixed emotions that included the nagging question of whether I was being selfish by leaving within only a year of David’s departure. The conflicting emotions choked me up. Nevertheless, I was finally on my own…a curious young man facing an uncertain, yet predictably challenging future.

Walking down the trail, I was haunted by one uncertainty above all. In combat, when the deadly shelling stopped and I was challenged to stand up and courageously charge the enemy...would I? I knew my brother, my hero, was definitely already performing as expected. He’d always had a knack for making my dad proud, and now the Union Army was certainly benefitting from his resolute and proficient actions. But that was my brother, not me.

As a kid, I remember seeing a passing animal show with all kinds of strange creatures, and hearing, for the first time, a lion’s roar. This burly beast was the embodiment of virility and courage as he paced in his cage, poised to respond savagely to all threats. This was my brother. And here was I: untrained, untested, and headed off to learn a proper response to dangerous battlefield conditions and other unknown challenges. It was difficult for me to even maintain a good walking clip, so distracted by the uncertainty of my forthcoming response to combat. Would I emulate the courageous lion, or in the end, would I be like the more skittish creatures, the unimpressive and somewhat contemptuous and fearful breeds? As the sun rose in the sky and drops of sweat appeared on my brow, I had no answers.

Still, I reminded myself: After months of waiting, I was finally on my way to Detroit for the adventure of a lifetime. Detroit, with a population of over 46,000 residents, was the biggest city I could imagine. It had barely sunk in: little ole Gabriel Maddox was going there to join the United States Army!

Dylan had snuck me a recruiting poster about joining a cavalry unit that she had picked up in Ypsilanti. The poster noted that in late August of 1862, the State of Michigan was forming a new regiment of volunteers to be recognized as the 5th Calvary. So, I waited throughout the month of July and hoped that the recruiter would pass by our family farm, just east of Ypsilanti. Ypsi was a small town of 4,000 folks located about 30 miles west of Detroit. It was centered at the intersection of the Huron River and Michigan Avenue and was basically on a straight route between Ann Arbor and Detroit. I knew the recruiter would come through our area, because it gave him the opportunity to engage in recruitment discussions with the large pool of eager college boys that were studying at the University of Michigan.

Though Ann Arbor had only 5,000 residents, it would grow along with its increasingly famous public university. No one back in 1862 could have imagined that, following coach Fielding Yost’s success with the school’s football team, the University would open Ferry Field in 1906, a stadium with the capacity of 46,000 fans.¹ These enthusiastic supporters would gather for games on beautiful fall afternoons to cheer on their favorite Wolverine football team. I couldn’t have known it at the time, but the Michigan Cavalry that I was attempting to join would adopt that same, fearsome moniker, and my fellow soldiers and I would proudly carry it onto the battlefields before us.

BASEBALL

I was actually somewhat familiar with the University of Michigan’s bustling campus, having visited it several times over the years with my brother David. By the early 1860’s it was teeming with more than 1000 all male students.² One beautiful spring Saturday we took the family wagon to Ann Arbor to watch a cricket match—a somewhat strange, but popular English game that involved striking a bowled ball with a flat bat and running between what were called wickets.

When we arrived at the large play-field we could see a group of young fellows, all dressed in white, assembling for the game while a small crowd gathered to watch the match. What really caught our eyes, however, was a happy bunch of ruffians who occupied a distant corner of the sandlot. When we investigated, we found that they seemed to be arguing about the rules for a different game, one they called baseball. This was a sport