It was 1857 and Mason had heard of the growing unrest in the south west territories. Rumors abounded that there was a possible rebellion against the government starting in Utah. Troops were dispatched to quell the unrest and to replace the governor.
It should have been a simple mission, however the citizens heard that the Army was marching on their land and prepared for the worst.
The men and women that lived there, were afraid the Army had come to kill them. It was no surprise, given the persecution they received elsewhere in the country.
As such, the Army’s arrival was not well received, and the citizens spent nearly a year sabotaging the Army’s presence and engaging in small fights.
Horses would mysteriously be released and let to run. Cattle were spooked which resulted in stampedes. The men spent hours wrangling up lost animals and trying to figure out what might happen next. Buildings and train cars were set on fire! It was a showdown in annoyance, and thankfully no one was hurt.
The most dangerous surprises were at the blockades. Trees were placed over the road, preventing troops from using the roads for travel. The fords were destroyed so that the troops couldn’t use the river to cross either.
It was during one of these skirmishes that Mason was shot in the leg. An accidental rifle discharge ended his military career. He spent several months recovering and returned home to Pittsburgh. He thanked God every day for the surgeon that saved his leg. The healing was slow, and now he walked with a limp.
Back home he helped his father with the steel manufacturing, but he longed to be outdoors again. Surrounded by his brothers in arms. Sitting next to a campfire, enjoying a cup of coffee and chatting about the day.
The Army was his bride and he was reluctant to leave her. But there was no room for someone who was half a man. Half a man because he still had trouble walking long distances and the muscles in his leg would seize.
As an educated man, he would rather spend his days reading, instead of preparing for the hell he knew would be unleashed in the next few months. He lost a few good friends when Ft. Sumpter was attacked. He still hadn’t had a moment to grieve.
When the cry went up from Lincoln, Mason immediately visited his former commanding officer and volunteered his services. Since a lame man wouldn’t be able to march the long distances, it made perfect sense why he was given this assignment.
As much as he despised war and violence, he wanted to make sure that these men were as prepared as he could possibly make them, before they left to fight.
Harrisburg was one of the larger cities, located in central Pennsylvania. An agriculture center, it was perfect for the sheer volume of resources available, not to mention the many transportation options.
Volunteers could arrive on foot or wagon. The Army paid for ferries across the river to transport many of the volunteers, and the large railway infrastructure made moving men and ammunitions easier.
Yes, Harrisburg was perfect as the recruitment hub for volunteer units forming all throughout the north east.
It was Mason’s job to make sure that the men were ready within four weeks to join the main war efforts. From Harrisburg, the volunteers would then travel to wherever the Army needed them.
He looked over the men standing before them. Many weren’t even properly outfitted for the cold weather. Granted, the days were warming up, but the nights were downright cold.
Mason made a note to find a supply officer as soon as possible. That way he wouldn’t need to worry about such things. They had been in Harrisburg less than twenty-four hours and there was so much that he still needed to get these troops in order.
He had four officers to assist him, but there were plenty more that would be needed in the coming weeks. Currently there were at least two thousand men camping in the field donated to the cause. He estimated that by the time his service was complete, he would be responsible for training at least ten thousand.
He rode his horse around the men twice. It was on the second pass he caught the sight of two women walking up the road. He recognized them from the window the day before. He didn’t pay too much attention to the people they were passing, but two brothers stopped him to talk, and pointed to the window where the two ladies were watching.
Mason learned that one lady was engaged to the older brother and the other was being courted by the younger one. He waved his hand in greeting, simply to be polite.
He was surprised when one of the women raised her hand in return, before quickly lowering it and moved away from the window.
One of the women had light hair that hung in ringlets. Mason could see the sunlight reflect off the window, casting a golden light on the woman’s hair. The other appeared to have dark hair covered by a snood.
He didn’t get a good look at either of their features but recalled the distinct height difference as they stood in the window. He would say the smaller one was no taller than five feet, and that was over a foot shorter than his own height.
The women headed across the street, towards the main section of town. They must be going shopping, he thought then dismissed it from his mind.
Lifting his sword, he shouted the order to march and followed the men around the field. Several of the men didn’t know their left from their right. Mason sighed. Thank goodness the Sergeant was to arrive the following day with several more men to help train the volunteers.
“Company, halt!” Mason yelled. The men stopped, some of them plowing into the man in front. Mason trotted to the front of the group. “Tonight, I want you to continue practice marching in place.”
“Sir?” a voice called out of the crowd.
Mason raised his hand. “You do not speak unless you are spoken to or you are given permission. Do you understand?”
He could see the men nodding. Geesh. Some of these men couldn’t be more than sixteen. They had no idea what they were in for.
“You are on your own for supper tonight. Tomorrow we will continue training, and enlistment will open the day after that. Do you have any questions?” A hand raised up in the middle of the crowd. “What’s your name, boy?” Mason asked.
The young man shuffled from foot to foot. “James, sir.”
“James what?”
“James Pembroke.”
“Mr. Pembroke, what is your question?”
“When will we get the blue uniforms?”
Mason slid his scabbard back in its sheath. “They are being made. The Army only had a finite number. As soon as they are done, you will get one.”
“Boots too?” another asked.
“Yes. Boots too. Company!” The men snapped to attention. “Dismissed.”
The men scrambled from formation and headed back to the community area that had been set up. Mason didn’t know how many men were sleeping in each tent, he just knew quarters were tight. Thank goodness, he was sleeping in the brick agriculture building. One of the rooms had been converted to an office as well as his sleeping quarters.
Mason guided Vintage, his quarter horse back towards the stables. A young boy, no more than ten ran up to take the reins.
“I’ll take care of him for you, Colonel,” the boy said.
“What’s your name, son?”
“Call me Pup.”
“Pup?” Mason dismounted the horse and handed the reins to the boy. “That doesn’t sound like a real name.”
“My older brother, Henry, gave it to me. Said I wasn’t no bigger than a pup when I was born.”
“How old are you, son?”
“Just turned eleven.”
Mason had a younger brother. He couldn’t imagine bringing Jacob while he volunteered. Even though the idea of new clothes, two or three meals a day was appealing. War had a dark side. A very dark side.
Mason didn’t want to see anyone perish. He knew it was bound to happen during war, but not to a child. Not on his watch.
“Did you come here with your brother?”
Pup nodded. “Henry is going to volunteer. I’m too young, but I wa
nt to help.”
“Where are your parents?”
Pup looked down at his feet. Mason noticed his shoes had holes in them. “They’re dead. Henry and me, we walked all the way from Beaver Springs.”
Mason looked harder at the boy. His jacket was much too thin to keep the winds away. His shirt sleeves peeked from beneath the arms of his jacket. They were frayed and dirty.
The boy had blond hair. At least Mason thought it might be blond. It looked as though it had dust from the road covering it. His small round face was streaked with dirt. His pants were at least three inches too short.
“When was the last time you ate?”
The boy traced the dirt with the toe of his boot. “We met a nice lady who gave us a real chicken dinner. Biscuits with gravy and everything.”
“When was that?”
“It was two days ago.”
“You’ve not eaten in two days?”
“No sir. I’m hoping that I can get a job at the stable to earn some money.”
“I’ll talk to the Cavalryman. In the meantime, take care of my horse and then find your way to the enlisted mess for some dinner. Tell them Colonel Stout gave you an order.”
“Thank you, Colonel! I’ll make sure to feed and water your horse.”
“And brush him down,” Mason called as he started to head for what was now his barracks and office.
He heard Pup call to the horse and lead him into the stables.
“Take good care of my horse, Pup.”
By the time Mason made it back to his quarters his leg was throbbing. He sat down on the bed and tried to remove his boot. His leg was so swollen the leather of his tall boot was starting to cut into him.
Mason groaned. He had no intention of sending a letter to General Hoffman saying that it was a mistake for Mason to accept the assignment. He could do the job, he just needed to find a way to cope with the day to day pain.
He toed the boot off his swollen leg and heard the whoosh sound as the suction released from his stocking. Stretching his leg out he wiggled his toes. Then using his stocking foot, he shimmied the second boot off, standing them next to his bed.
He stretched his arm, rotating his shoulder. There wasn’t much pain, apart from when the weather started to shift. According to his shoulder it should be dry and warm the next few days.
He took a quick glance at his watch. He had about two hours before supper. Plenty of time to review his correspondence for the day and rest his leg.
He hobbled over to his desk in the middle of the room and pulled out the chair, sliding into it with a wince. The doctor said he may have some nerve damage, but Mason felt as though he was seventy, instead of twenty-five.
He remembered his grandfather complaining of pain from wounds that he received as part of the Continental Army. Mason thought his grandfather was just old and grouchy. Now he regretted not having more empathy for his grandfather.
He had just pulled his correspondence towards himself when he heard a knock on the door. “Enter,” he called.
“Colonel, a Mr. Miller stopped by to discuss the procurement of supplies.”
“Did he make an appointment?” Mason turned his attention back to the letters at hand. He didn’t want to entertain every single person that thought they could sell supplies to the army. There was a very specific purchase arrangement.
“Yes sir. I made him one for tomorrow, but he mentioned that you told him to stop by today.”
“I did?” Mason searched his tired memory. “Miller. He has a brother too?”
“I don’t know, Sir.”
“Is he outside?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Give me a minute and show him in.”
“Yes, sir.” The man saluted and pivoted, before heading from the room.
Mason took the opportunity to hobble over to his footlocker and pull out a pair of shoes he could simply slip his feet into. He had just returned to his desk, when the lieutenant showed his guest in.
“Colonel Stout, this is Mr. Christian Miller.”
“Thank you, Sergeant. Dismissed. Mr. Miller,” Mason said. “I do remember our talk yesterday.” He shook the man’s hand and signaled for him to sit down.
“Thank you for seeing me. I know yesterday was a bit chaotic.”
Mason gave a little laugh. “That’s an understatement. Took the rest of the day and most of the night to settle everyone.”
“I know that the people of Harrisburg were very happy to hear you were coming here to train.”
“I know that the Army appreciates them setting up the tents and donating the ground.” Mason moved the papers around on his desk. “How can I help you, Mr. Miller?”
“I would like to help the Army procure supplies.”
“We already have a regiment for that. In fact, I’m expecting several of the unlisted officers to arrive tomorrow. They will work to procure what is needed for the men.”
“But I know the people here better than anyone. I can help forge those relationships and secure the best prices.”
“For what types of items?” Mason was skeptical. He wanted to see if Christian Miller, without assistance, knew what types of supplies the army might need.
“Everything. I know the Quartermasters Division doesn’t procure ammunition. I do, however, know the families that have the factories that make lead bars. Lead bars are going to be difficult to come by.” Mason signaled for him to continue. “You’ll need food. It takes several weeks for crops to start, but I know the Quakers who own the farms.”
“Quakers won’t supply the Army with food. They don’t believe in fighting.”
“Correct. They don’t believe in fighting or warfare. But they do believe in the cause. Every man has the right to be free. They will support the men that fight for that cause, so they don’t have to.”
“Harrumph.”
“Plus, you’ll want to get the best price on pork, or chickens.”
“And what do you desire out of this relationship?”
“I’d like the difference between the sale price and the Army price.”
“Explain.”
“If I can get you chickens at say twenty-cents each. The Army is willing to pay thirty cents a chicken. I pocket the difference. So, I would make ten-cents per chicken.”
“Are you planning on enlisting?”
Mason watched as his guest sat back in the chair. Mason watched Christian’s jaw relax then tightened.
“I’m a businessperson, not a solider.”
“You can be both. I need a supply officer. Someone who makes sure the Army gets the best price for its goods. The Army has a set price for items that they are willing to pay. If you procure something for less than that price, the Army will still pay the established price. What happens to the difference is up to the supply officer.”
“What are you saying?”
“You enlist, become my supply officer and then you can broker the relationships with the people of Harrisburg and the surrounding areas.”
“Enlist?” Christian pulled at his collar. “I’d need to talk it over with my brother.”
“Your brother?”
“Yes. He is my business partner in this.”
Mason steepled his fingers and tapped his chin. “Then you both enlist. At the rank of Second Lieutenant. Pay is one hundred and five dollars a month.”
“May I think about it?”
“Of course.”
“How long do I have?”
“The sign up starts tomorrow morning at eight o’clock sharp. If I see your name on the muster sheet, then we have a deal. If I don’t, then I’ll wait until I’m sent a supply officer from Philadelphia.”
“I’ll talk to my brother this evening and you’ll know in the morning.”
“And I’m going to give you your first assignment.”
“Assignment?”
“Yes. I need a pair of pants, a shirt and a jacket for a boy that is yea tall.” Mason held his hand in the air. “If you can find sho
es in a size six that is a bonus.”
“The Army is paying for children’s clothes?”
“No. I am. I need these. You’ll come directly to me and I will pay the bill,” Mason said, waving his hand to dismiss Christian. “That is all. You are dismissed.”
“I’m not one of your soldiers,” the man replied.
“No, you aren’t,” Mason said with a smile. “Yet.”
Chapter 4
The mercantile was crowded, so Peyton and Catherine decided to go to the Fuller house and have a small tea break before returning later in the afternoon.
As they sipped tea and ate the small cakes that Kisse brought into the sitting room, Peyton couldn’t help thinking about Justin and the mystery woman.
“I wonder who she is?” Peyton asked Catherine.
“I wouldn’t give another thought to him,” Catherine said. “It appeared they were very intimate. Imagine, kissing her in broad daylight!”
“There has to be a reasonable explanation for it.” Peyton sipped her tea. “Perhaps she is a cousin.”
“Perhaps.” Catherine seemed very distracted.
“Is everything alright?”
Catherine was saved from responding when Peyton’s mother walked through the door.
“I just heard the most terrible news,” she said coming into the room.
“What?” Peyton leaned forward.
Mrs. Fuller picked up a cup from the sideboard and sat down on the settee. As she poured a cup of tea, she continued. “The Wilbur farm was robbed last night.”
“Robbed?” Peyton raised her hand to her cheek in horror. “What happened?”
“Several men went to the farm and demanded food. Of course, Mrs. Wilbur obliged, but then they stole what little bit of money was in the house, along with bread and cheese.”
Catherine paused. “They went there, asked for a meal and then stole coins and food?”
Mrs. Fuller nodded. “Who knows what kind of people the army is bringing here! That wasn’t the worst. They beat poor Mr. Wilbur.” She took a sip of her tea. “It just makes me frantic thinking about all these men in town.”
“That is truly horrific,” Peyton said. “But Momma, you don’t know that it was these men.”
His Civil War Bride Page 3
