When Johnny Came Marching Home (15 page)

I hadn't argued, having learned by now there was no point disputing any position the army took. I also knew the lieutenant's first reason was undoubtedly true—I'd heard enough anti-Negro remarks within our own ranks. But the second reason I found laughable. Josiah had been assigned to the hospital unit, and as such was expected to crawl out under heavy Reb fire to drag our wounded to safety, hardly a job for an
unreliable
Negro.

"So now that yer a big-time sergeant, what plans ya got fer us?" Abel asked.

I looked at him and grinned. "Well, I thought we'd start off with you polishing my boots."

"In a pig's ass. I let ya kiss my sister without thumpin' yer sorry self, but tha's as far as it goes. By the way, I got a letter from her. Did you get one?"

I patted my hip pocket. "Got it right here."

"Wanna let me read it?"

"I don't think so."

"Too much mushy stuff, huh?"

"Could be."

"Damn. This keeps up, I could end up havin' ya as a brother-in-law."

I smiled, but didn't respond.

Abel waited to see if I'd say anything, then went on: "So what're we gonna do in this here new unit? An' when're we gonna do it?"

I raised my chin in the general direction of the Reb lines. "We're gonna wander around in the woods out there and see if we can find those gray-coated bastards. We're going out tonight. They want us to check up on a place called Brawner's Farm. It's just south of Stony Ridge where we attacked Jackson's troops and got our tails kicked."

"Oh, tha's real good," Abel said. We're goin' back without the 60,000 men we had the first time an' see if we can do better." He paused to smile at me. "An' you gonna lead us."

"That's about it."

Abel started to laugh softly. "I ever tell ya how
grand
it is bein' parta this Grand Army of the Republic?"

 

* * *

 

We were laid up in a stretch of narrow woods that ran along the southeastern bank of Catharpin Creek. There was a wide field ahead of us, a field were men had died by the hundreds only days before. I had a long glass fixed on the main house on Brawner's Farm. There were sentries surrounding it, making me certain there were officers inside—high-ranking officers by the number of men standing guard.

"Damn, I wish we could get closer," I hissed.

Johnny was lying beside me. "We're damn well close enough," he whispered back. "Ever' time we get too close to them Rebs they try ta stick a bayonet in our gullets."

I could see by the glow of small fires that there were two encampments—one south of the farm, and another to the north. "We'll just wait to see who comes out of that house and where they head," I said. I had six men with me, stretched out in a line about ten feet apart. I had sent two more with Abel to scout an unfinished railroad spur that ran below Stony Ridge. The general staff wanted to know if it was complete enough to carry any trains that might be used to replenish Lee's supplies. One of the great advantages the North had was an extensive rail system that kept men and ammunition flowing, along with replacements for artillery pieces lost in battle. The South was often forced to move equipment by wagon, and that usually left their forces at a tactical disadvantage. Now they were struggling to correct that problem, but building railroads and fighting a war at the same time was an almost insurmountable task. Our generals intended to keep it that way.

Abel returned about an hour later and slid in next to me. "That railroad's lookin' pretty good," he said. "They got a bridge finished that takes the tracks over Bull Run, an' they's guardin' it like it was made a gold. Looks like they're plannin' a second bridge for wagons an' men, but it ain't near bein' finished yet."

"Sounds like something our generals might want to blow up," I said.

"Well, they better send a whole lotta men," Abel replied. "Those Rebs fer sure look like they wanna hold onta it."

"Don't ya go gettin' any ideas 'bout blowin' it up yerself," Johnny whispered.

"Can't," I said.

"Why's that?" Abel asked.

"Didn't bring any dynamite."

"Well, that's sure the first smart thing I heard ya say today," Johnny said.

"Amen to that," Abel added.

 

* * *

 

Thirty minutes later we saw a group of six officers exit the farmhouse and stand briefly under the side lamps that illuminated the front door. I fixed my glass on them, moving from one face to the other. Three of the men had generals' stars on the collars of their tunics. The others wore the insignias of a colonel and two majors. The general who stood in the center of the group bidding farewell to the others was a short man with a white beard who I recognized from newspaper photos as Robert E. Lee. The second general had a long black beard, and from descriptions I'd read I guessed him to be Stonewall Jackson. The third general stood in the shadows and I couldn't even guess at his identity.

I drew a deep breath, and then told Abel and Johnny what I was seeing through the glass.

"Damn," Johnny said. "We had us a howitzer and a canister of grapeshot we could pretty much end this damned war right here."

"Yes, indeedy do," Abel said.

I laughed softly and nudged Abel in the ribs. "I can't believe what I'm hearing. First you guys say thank you Lord that I haven't got any dynamite. Now you want a howitzer so you can blow Robert E. Lee to kingdom come."

Abel and Johnny both started laughing.

"Seems like a good idea ta me," Abel said.

Chapter Twelve

Jerusalem's Landing, Vermont, 1865

I was back in the Harris's barn by seven the next morning, searching for the bag of clothing Suggs had claimed he was looking for the previous night, as well as anything else I might have overlooked during my initial search. Suggs's story just didn't make sense. If he had needed another wool shirt, or a jacket to cut the chill up on Lucie's woodlot, certainly he could have borrowed one from another logger, or even Lucie himself, then come into town on Sunday when Reverend Harris was most likely to be at home, and collect his missing bag. Foregoing that, Suggs could have purchased a new wool shirt at the Johnsons' store. The more I thought about it the more it annoyed me. His story, patently a lie, was one he'd thought I was gullible enough to swallow. I was new to the job my father had handed me, and certainly feeling my way, but the idea that Bobby Suggs considered me stupid to boot . . . I paused in my musings, forcing my anger aside. Suggs
was
looking for something, and he had come late at night because he wanted to do it secretly. Had he hidden something in the barn? Something he had used to kill Johnny?

"Find anything?"

It was my father. He had stopped just inside the barn entrance.

"Not a thing. I've even looked up in the rafters, and behind the troughs and feed boxes."

"You have breakfast?"

"No."

"I did. I had a big slice of apple pie. But don't ya worry, I left ya the last piece. It's a touch small," he said with a smile.

"It's good pie."

"Oh, yes. Ya need ta find ya a woman who kin cook like that."

"You already told me that."

"I just wanted ta make sure ya heard me." He paused. "So whaddaya think that sumbitch was lookin' fer? A weapon he used to kill Johnny and left behind?"

"It could be that simple, I suppose. What bothers me is why he came up here to Vermont in the first place."

"Said he came here lookin' fer work. He could be tellin' true on that one. From what I read in the newspapers there ain't a lotta jobs aroun' now that the war's over."

"Well, Vermont is a long way from Pennsylvania, a long way to come for a job chopping down trees."

"Probably was lookin' fer somethin' better, but this was all he could get," my father said. "Was him an' Johnny big-time friends durin' the war?"

"They became friends toward the end . . . I'm not sure
friends
is the right word. Johnny spent a lot of time with Suggs before they were captured." I wanted to tell my father exactly what had happened as the war reached its final stage for Johnny and Abel and me, the vicious depravity that enveloped both sides, a depravity that had crippled me and cost Abel his life and that seemed to swallow Johnny whole. But to do so would rob my father of what he had. The memory of three boys who had grown up in our small Vermont village, one his own son, the others children of men and women he had known most of his life.

"Could be Johnny had somethin' Suggs wanted an' wouldn't give it up, an' he's still looking fer it," my father suggested.

I tried to get my thoughts around that. "What could Johnny have had? Both he and Suggs were in a Confederate prison for almost a year. When Johnny was freed he was in such poor health the army discharged him and sent him home. I have no idea what happened with Suggs."

"Ain't likely the Rebs let Johnny keep anythin' a value in that prison."

"All right for me to come in?"

My father and I turned and found Doc standing in the doorway.

"Come ahead," my father called. "We ain't doin' no good. Maybe you'll bring us some luck."

"How'd that turn out last night?" Doc asked as he came over to us. "I saw from my window that you found some fellow in here. Saw you let him ride off, so I figured it wasn't anything serious."

My father took off his hat and waved away a fly that was buzzing around his face. "Yeah, it was that Suggs fella that came up here a week or so back ta visit Johnny. Said he was lookin' fer a satchel with some clothes in it that he'd left here. Jubal thinks it's a cock-'n'-bull story, an' I'm kinda leanin' toward that idea myself."

"I never met this Suggs, but I saw him with Johnny one time. He looked a bit rough around the edges."

"Did you notice them arguing?" I asked. "Walter Johnson said he saw Suggs getting a bit hot under the collar while he and Johnny were outside his store, but that Johnny just laughed at him and walked away."

Doc shook his head. "Nothin' like that. I only saw him that one time, and I didn't know who Suggs was until Edgar Billingsley told me he had stopped by his farm asking where Johnny lived. That one time I saw him, Suggs seemed to be following Johnny around, but Johnny didn't seem to be paying him much mind."

"And that was right around the time Johnny was killed," I said.

Doc nodded. "About a week before."

 

* * *

 

Centreville, Virginia, 1862

General John Pope stormed back and forth in front of his tent, raging at his subordinate officers, while Lieutenant Lewis and I stood off to one side. The lieutenant had brought me to the general's tent to report what I had seen at Brawner's farmhouse. The gathering of Lee and Jackson and the others seemed to hold little interest for Pope. What he ranted about now was the advanced state of the new rail line and bridge construction over Bull Run.

"The fact that I wasn't told about this immediately after our last battle is tantamount to treason!" he shouted. "We had troops in the area under Fitz John Porter's command, and yet they found no reason to report back that this bridge had been completed. It is obviously Lee's intention to connect this new rail line with the Manassas Gap Railroad, which if successful will give him a steady supply of munitions for his advance on Washington."

I watched Pope bark at his men who all stiffened under his tirade. One general, Brigadier Alpheus Williams, stood glaring at Pope, who as a major general outranked him. Finally Williams seemed unable to stand Pope's words any longer and stepped forward.

"If you recall, General Pope, the men in the vicinity of that bridge construction were under heavy bombardment by enemy artillery at the time. With grapeshot flying about, decimating their ranks by the hundreds, I doubt that any had time to note the level of bridge construction that had been achieved."

Pope stopped in his tracks and turned slowly to face General Williams. Pope was a thick-bodied man with a heavy black beard and piercing eyes that seemed as black as his hair. Williams, by contrast, was shorter and less physically intimidating, his light-brown hair and matching beard bearing a somewhat foppish mustache that extended a good four inches from his cheeks. Yet Williams stood his ground as if ready to do battle with his superior officer.

"If
you
recall, General Williams, troops under my command were able to blow Stone Bridge on the Warrenton Pike."

"I do recall that, sir," Williams said. "I believe it prevented Rebel troops from pursuing your
retreat
here to Centreville." He had spoken the word retreat with a note of contempt.

A major came up to Pope before the snapping and growling could continue and handed him a communiqué. Pope read it and leveled his gaze at the others. "It appears that Jackson's army is attempting a flanking move to interpose his troops between our forces and Washington."

He walked over to a map set on a table in front of his tent. He jabbed a finger into the center of it. "If we move quickly we can engage him here at Chantilly and stop him." He stared across the map at Williams. "We will finish this discussion later. Now you must get your troops ready to march."

Lieutenant Lewis grabbed my arm and steered me away from Pope's command post.

"Is it always like that?" I asked as we hurried away. "Do they always snarl at each other?"

"It is with Pope," Lewis said. "His officers hate him, but don't you go and let the men know that, Foster. It wouldn't be good for morale."

 

* * *

 

The rain began shortly after we formed up to march, a heavy, beating downpour that quickly drenched our tunics and turned the road to mud. My unit had been assigned to General Edwin Sumner's brigade, which was being sent to reconnoiter the movement of Stonewall Jackson's troops. Our squad would be the point unit and move forward until we encountered Jackson's lines, then send back intelligence to the brigade.

"Why the hell ain't they usin' cavalry for this like they always do?" Johnny asked as he huddled in his wet clothes.

"The lieutenant said the cavalry is too exhausted," I explained. "Their horses are near broken-down. So we're taking their place."