by Michael Ross
“Excuse me, sir, but I’m looking for Thomas Logwood. Mr. Morgan sent me, said I was to be allowed to join.”
“You have found him. You must be Will—Captain Morgan told me you’d be coming. Tells me you are quite a shot with that musket. Well, today you will mostly get measured for a uniform and watch what we do. See that stocky, brown-haired fellow there? He’ll get you signed in and started.”
Will jolted in surprise, recognizing Ben Drake from school, and just behind him, Jesse Davis. They looked quite different in their dashing uniforms, making Will suddenly feel apprehensive and a little inadequate. Ben turned in his direction and walked over with a sneer.
“Well, if it ain’t the hero of the Battle of the Schoolhouse! Looky here, Jesse, what we got—come to find out how real fightin’ is done!”
“He won’t last,” said Jesse. “He’ll find out this here is work, and go home to mama.”
“Mr. Morgan sent me. I’m proud to join,” said Will.
“That’s Captain Morgan to you!” Ben said. “The rules is simple—do as you’re told. Lexington Rifles got one basic idea: ‘Our laws, the commands of our captain.’ Captain Morgan is our commander and we follow him, no questions asked. And you may have that musket, you may think you know how to use it, but what you don’t know fills this here book.” He pulled out a copy of Hardee’s Rifle and Light Infantry Tactics and handed it to Will. “This ain’t just some social club. You gotta work, and you earn your spot.” Ben walked over to a portable writing desk set up on the green and pulled out some papers. “You sign up here, and you learn the manual of arms before you can do much. Jesse, measure him for a uniform, and then get him outta the way for today. Next week, you can have fun drillin’ him.” He turned and left Will to Jesse, as though he were beneath further notice.
Jesse measured, took notes, and handed them to Will. “You either get your own uniform made or you pay fifty cents at the end of the first month. Next week, you drill in regular clothes. Today, you’re just here to watch and see if you can keep up. There’s a performance in two weeks. If you practice and Captain Morgan thinks you’re good enough, he might let you be with us.” Jesse smirked. “Miss two practices in a month and you’re on report. Do that two months straight and you’re out. Harvest and plantin’ season no exception. We drill when it’s hot and when it’s cold, rain, snow, or heatwave. You can’t take it, go to mama ‘cause she ain’t here. That over there,” he said, pointing, “is the lieutenant, James West. And that feller,” pointing back in the direction Will came from, “is Tom Logwood, the corporal. You’ll get to know the sergeants and others in your company if you stick around. Now get off the field and watch how real men work!” Jesse walked off without a backward glance.
Will moved to stand under a tree and watched in some amazement as the seemingly motley group moved quickly into order at the loud command of the lieutenant.
“Assemble, company! Attention, company! Shoulder arms, company! Present arms, company!” The men and boys rapidly performed the series of rapid-fire commands as if they were but one person moving in unison. Some did not have uniforms, marking them as new recruits like Will. Others looked smart and polished, most likely sons of planters and merchants in town. After an hour of marching and arms drill, the Rifles dismissed. Tom Logwood came over to Will with a smile and offered a handshake.
“I have to have you take the oath,” said Tom. “Read it over. Ben, Jesse, you serve as witnesses.”
Will read and repeated the oath.
“I, Will Crump, promise to faithfully execute my duty to the Lexington Rifles and the commands of our captain, John Hunt Morgan. I will loyally follow God and the Rifles, regardless of personal cost, and defend our state and our city from all threats.”
“Sign the register, and welcome to the Rifles! You’re fortunate you already have a musket—some of the fellows have to use broomsticks till they can afford one. You will want to save up for a bayonet, though, so you can learn those drills and a saber if you’re going to be mounted. You’ll also want a pistol. Have a horse?”
“No. Mr. Morgan said he’d let me come to his place and learn to ride, but my family only has oxen.”
“Don’t worry. If Captain Morgan said you’d get a chance to ride, you’ll learn quickly enough. Now let me show you some of the basics.”
For the next hour, Tom showed Will how to do most of the movements from the manual of arms, drilled him on them, and taught him to march, stand at attention, parade rest, and other commands. It was nearing dusk when he good-naturedly waved Will home, saying he’d see him next week.
✳ ✳ ✳
It was nearly dark when Will finished trudging home from the university grounds. He was tired, a bit grimy, and not looking forward to homework. He hung his rifle on the pegs and then went to feed the oxen and complete his other evening chores. Coming back in, he found his mother and Albinia bustling about preparing the evening meal, with Lydia doing a little dance in the corner.
“Hello, Will.” His mother gave him a quick smile and returned to stirring the soup in the kettle on the cast-iron stove. “How was your first day with the Rifles?”
“All right, I guess. I’ve got a lot to learn, and I found out that Ben Drake and Jesse Davis are in the group, so that won’t make it easier. Funny they never said anything about it at school. But I met a fella, Tom Logwood, who showed me a lot of the drill. I think we might get to be friends. But I’ve got a favor to ask—I’m supposed to come up with my own uniform. Binia, could you sew one for me?” Will dug out the paper where Jesse had scrawled the uniform measurements and handed it to her.
Albinia swiped at an errant strand of hair, set the measurements on the table, and continued slicing carrots for the soup. “I can sew it, but where are we going to get the material?”
“I asked about that—Hobson carries it in his store. I reckon I could do some odd jobs for him, maybe work off the cost that way. Jesse measured me,” he said. She glanced at the measurements and stuffed them in an apron pocket.
Sara looked worried. “But, Will, how will you find time to do that? You’ve got the new drills on Wednesdays, practicing, all your farm chores, and schoolwork besides. And if you’re really starting at university next week, the work will be more than the little school you’re in now. Your father won’t stand for school getting in the way of farm work, you know that.”
“Just get up earlier, I guess,” said Will.
“That’s the spirit,” said Robert, coming in the door. “No reason to be afraid of hard work. You’re a smart boy, Will. Your mama’s right, I need you here on the farm, but I ‘spect you can work hard enough to manage. Least if you want to be in that university and doin’ drills with them rifle boys. Morgan seems a fine man, and I’ve got nothin’ against you tryin’ to better yourself. When you see opportunity, you got to pray and then grab it by the throat, ‘fore it runs off!”
Will looked imploringly at his mother, knowing she would be unable to resist his father’s enthusiasm.
She set the bowls on the table and resignedly started dishing out the soup.
“All right. If your father says you can, you can. But mark my words: you’ll end up sick or in trouble because of this. Why get involved in all this rifle stuff—what for? Do you really care all that much about what goes on in Washington?”
“I care about our neighbors. I care that each state consented to join a union of states, and should have the right to determine its own affairs. Besides, the Rifles is mostly just a way of payin’ back Mr. Morgan for the opportunity to study, to learn law. Someday I’d like to be a lawyer, maybe even a judge. I want to help people in trouble. University is a way to do that. And I figure I could do worse than to learn from Mr. Morgan.”
✳ ✳ ✳
In church the following Sunday, Will shifted on the hard pew, uncomfortable in his starched collar. He stared up at the vaulted ceiling, attempting to focus on the words of the minister, Robert Breckinridge.
“Look yonder!
What is it that I see? Is it not my agonizing Lord upon the cross? Hark, Hark! Do you not hear? O Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me, yet not my will but Thine be done!”
The minister’s close-set eyebrows and long bushy salt-and-pepper beard gave him a severe appearance, as if he were an Old Testament prophet. He affected the rising and lowering tones of his idol, George Whitefield, who in the previous century had enthralled thousands with his theatrical sermons. Will secretly thought Breckinridge aimed at keeping anyone from going to sleep.
“Do you not see the Savior, hanging there for you upon the cross? Who can but be moved at His passion? That He died for all, yes, even the slave and the sinner, the evildoer and the righteous? Slaves, though subordinate beings, can yet claim salvation through the passion and generous love of our Lord! And for this magnanimous love, slaves owe Jesus a debt of gratitude, of obedience. In the epistle to the Colossians, the Bible tells you, ‘Slaves, obey in all things your masters according to the flesh; not with eye service, as men pleasers; but in singleness of heart, fearing God.’”
Will often read the Bible on his own and wondered at this singling out of the slaves—did not all men owe obedience to Christ if they claimed Him as Savior?
“We must love our fellow man, as Christ loved on the cross! Yes, even our slaves, for in the letter to the Ephesians, the apostle Paul tells us, ‘Knowing that whatsoever good thing any man doeth, the same shall he receive of the Lord, whether he be bond or free. And, ye masters, do the same things unto them, forbearing threatening: knowing that your Master also is in heaven; neither is there respect of persons with him.’”
Will saw that the congregation shifted uncomfortably at this, a few frowns displayed.
“Slavery has existed down through the ages, and yet it is to be hoped that one day it will cease. Some have gone so far as to say that our nation should be split, that our differences are so large as to be unresolvable, the great divide between North and South cannot be bridged. Some states talk of secession. In the North, in Massachusetts, some cities refuse to obey the law to return slaves to their place of origin, to their rightful masters. They say they are sanctuaries for the slaves. This is obviously against our Lord, who says in Romans 13 that all must obey the governing authorities. Some even threaten to take up arms in rebellion. Yet for what would we fight, on one side and on the other? What are the interests at stake, so immense and so opposite, that justify either party to embark upon a war that in its prosecution is bound to wreak terrible destruction to all? What are its probable effects, and how much of what each side wishes to fight for is really attainable? These are questions which every enlightened man, every free citizen, is bound to ask himself. The answer to them involves our lives and fortunes and liberties, nay, even more than these, our duty as citizens, as patriots, and as Christians.”
In spite of himself, Will dozed. He missed the rest of the sermon, awakening with a start as his father stood for the closing hymn. After the service dismissed, Will wandered out into the churchyard, toward the stable, hoping to catch a glimpse of some of the fine horses. His riding lessons at the Morgan farm were progressing, and he had developed a keen interest in horses. A group of girls chatted, dressed in their Sunday finery, including Jenny, wearing an aquamarine dress with a high waist and white lace blouse. She glanced over, saw him, and started making her way toward him just as he reached a particularly fine Missouri Fox trotter, hitched to a doctor’s black buggy. Will was absorbed in the horse, a dark bay with a white oval between the eyes, one white rear sock, mane, and tail so dark as to be almost black. He was admiring the legs and lines of the horse as Jenny approached.
“Good afternoon, Will. Haven’t seen you much lately. Like the horse?”
“Oh hello, Jenny. You’re looking fine today! Guess I’ve been pretty scarce, going to university, drilling with the Rifles, working at the store, keepin’ up at the farm.” Turning to the horse, Will said, “Isn’t he a beauty? I’ll probably never have a horse, but I’ll bet this fella can really go!”
“Do you know how to drive one?”
“Well, I can drive our oxen, and I used to drive the mule. Don’t figger it’s that different.”
“Perhaps not, but you might want a couple of driving lessons before my uncle would let you try him.”
“Your uncle? You mean…?”
“Yes, he belongs to my uncle, my mother’s brother, Dr. Simpson. I think I could persuade him to let you try him out if you want to learn. Especially if you took me along,” she said, smiling. “In fact, here he comes now!”
Will was excited. “You mean it?” Already he imagined himself breezing down the lane out into the country, the horse effortlessly moving at a fast trot. Then he suddenly realized what Jenny was saying.
“Are you sure you’d want to go? Might be kinda fast….”
Will had been thinking only of the horse, the freedom to move quickly through the summer’s day. He liked Jenny, but he did not want to raise any expectations. Yet what he would not give to drive that horse….
“Well, if you’d rather not,” said Jenny, looking disappointed.
“Oh no! That’d be great! I just didn’t want you to be scared.”
“I don’t scare easily, Will Crump,” she said, gazing at him steadily. She turned and introduced him to her uncle.
“Uncle Tim, this is Will Crump. He seems to have an eye for fine horses.”
“Well, it’d be hard to find a finer one,” said Dr. Simpson, a tall man in a brown derby hat with black mutton-chop whiskers showing a touch of gray and silver-rimmed spectacles. Intelligent brown eyes seemed to take Will’s measure and liked what they saw. “Ever driven a trotter?”
“No, sir, just our mule and some oxen. But Mr. Morgan’s been teaching me to ride, and I’d sure love to learn!”
“Well, I’ve some calls to make out the Versailles road. You headed in that direction?”
“Yes, sir!” Will replied enthusiastically.
“If you don’t mind waiting at the stops, you and my favorite niece could come along. You could learn, if you like.” Dr. Simpson smiled generously.
“Thank you, sir! Let me just go and tell my parents.”
When Will returned, they all climbed into the buggy, Dr. Simpson helping Jenny into the rear seat, Will seated beside the doctor, who drove. Dr. Simpson spoke animatedly as they drove through town, showing Will how to maneuver the horse through the city traffic. Once out in the country, he let Will take the reins, offering advice and correction.
In bed that evening, Will thought back on the events of the day and thanked God for one of the most enjoyable days of his life.
SISTERS
May 1859
Julia stared around impatiently, sitting on a bench in front of the Lexington stage depot, waiting for someone from her family to show up. She had sent a message with a neighbor for someone to pick her up. She was tired, having started at four in the morning from her uncle’s house. Now she was hot and sweaty, and dirty. She felt unfit to be seen, the wind from her stage trip having pulled her hair into a rebellious flyaway frizzle. She dreaded bumping into someone she knew while sitting and waiting. She pretended to be poised and comfortable. At least she could bring news that her aunt’s health was better. Julia stood, resolving to find a mirror at the dry goods store in order to fix her hair, when she heard an unfamiliar voice address her by name.
“Miss Crump?”
She turned to find Hiram Johannsen, the tall blond bumbling farmer from the barn dance standing behind her, hat in hand. With an effort and an embarrassed flush, she endeavored to smile politely and respond.
“Why, Mr. Johannsen, what a surprise seeing you here!”
“I was on my way to Louisville and had some time. My father owns several steam boats, so I come to Lexington often to supervise freight delivery from the river.” He smiled. “I remembered you from the dance.”
Julia took in this information and silently reevaluated him. Perhaps he was not as m
uch the bumbler as he seemed. Maybe he was not a poor farmer, either.
“Why, yes, Mr. Johannsen. I remember our dance also.” She looked at him with new eyes. He was handsome in a giant, oafish sort of way. He smiled not just with his face, but with his blue eyes as well. She noticed his well-cut suit. It fit him marvelously, in spite of his stocky, well-muscled frame. He looked as if he could just pick up a wagon and carry it, rather than riding in it. She would have to inquire about his family.
“Would you like to go over to the café, Miss Crump, for some tea?” Hiram asked politely
Julia was debating the wisdom of this, when a wagon with oxen turned the corner, with Will driving. “Perhaps another time, Mr. Johannsen. I look a fright after my trip. My brother is coming now, and I really must go home after such a long time away. My father is Robert Crump, and we live on a farm on the road to Versailles. If you come to Lexington often, perhaps we’ll see one another again some time.”
The wagon rumbled to a halt by the depot, and Julia saw Will looking at her with questioning eyes. He hopped down, and Julia made introductions. After he and Julia were safely away, he turned to her.
“So where did you meet him?” asked Will.
“At Uncle’s barn dance,” said Julia, flustered.
“Pa’s going to want to know about him if he’s spending time around you,” opined Will.
“Well, I don’t know whether he will or not. And I don’t know much about him.”
“Other than that he could substitute for one of these oxen,” snickered Will.
“Now you mind your own business, Will Crump!” said Julia defensively. “He seems nice enough. It’s just his accent that makes him seem awkward, I think.”
