by Alison Hart
“He’s a prisoner,” I tell him. “Broke his ankle. Confederate surgeons took him to a hospital. I’ve brought his horse.”
The lieutenant jerks his thumb toward a tree on the other side of the hospital tent, where a dozen sentries stand guard around soldiers squatting beside a fire. “We’ve got Rebel prisoners to exchange. I’ll petition Colonel Brisbin on Captain Waite’s behalf. Care for his horse until he returns.”
“Yes sir—and thank you, sir.”
“You did well, Private Gabriel,” he says. “All the soldiers of the Fifth did well. I am proud to have been part of this regiment.” The moment he strides off, I realize who he is: Lieutenant Wagoner, the guard who called me a guttersnipe and tried to toss me out of Camp Nelson when I first arrived.
I lead the two horses to the outskirts of camp, where the company’s mounts are picketed in a field. I strip off Champion’s and Hero’s tack and rub them down. Corporal Vaughn brings me two nose bags of corn. As soon as Champion is cool, I strap on one of the bags and let him eat, which he does in great, gulping bites. I gather he’ll be just fine.
“Any word of Private Crutcher?” I ask Corporal Vaughn as I strap a nose bag on Hero. The corporal’s wire glasses are crooked, and melancholy is etched on his face.
“We buried him by the Holston River. Lieutenant Rhodes said a prayer.”
I nod sadly, remembering those graves we passed. “And Private Black?” I ask hesitantly, afraid to know the answer.
He shakes his head. “I checked all the wagons, hospital tents, and ambulances. He’s not with the dead or the wounded.”
“I couldn’t find him on Chestnut Ridge, neither,” I say, my voice cracking.
“I’ve been listing the wounded, dead, and missing,” Corporal Vaughn says, holding up a ledger. “It’s a horrible accounting. I’m glad you and your pa made it, Gabriel,” he adds. “And I’m sorry I didn’t stay behind to help.”
“You had orders to follow.”
“Yes. Orders.” He sighs and, turning slowly, shuffles off into the night, his shoulders bowed. I wonder how so young a man will bear such a heavy burden.
When Hero and Champion are settled, I search among the other horses, finally finding Sassy tethered alone. The officer who rode her left her saddled and dirty. Her ears prick when she sees me, and then flatten again. Where have you been? her eyes seem to ask.
I check her hoof, which has cooled, and feel a pinch of gratitude that she and most of our horses survived. I pull off the saddle and rub her down, too. But before I can finish, exhaustion and sorrow overwhelm me. Resting my head against Sassy’s sweat-crusted neck, I break into sobs, grieving over those lost in battle.
When my tears are spent and Sassy is fed, I find Pa in front of the fire by the hospital tent. He’s leaning against a tree trunk, his legs stretched toward the warmth. His cap is beside him, the hawk feather bent, and his head is freshly bandaged. Pain and weariness are reflected in his gaze. I sit beside him, pull up my knees, and wrap my arms around my dirty trouser legs.
Private Morton brings us plates of beans and salt pork. Silently, I dip my spoon into the beans. Though I’ve not eaten for a day and a night, I can barely swallow.
“Corporal Vaughn said that Private Crutcher was buried beside the Holston,” I say as we eat. “I saw him come off the battlefield. I knew he didn’t have long to live, but Pa, he did not want to be buried in enemy territory.”
“I believe Private Crutcher’s soul will rest easy. He would’ve been glad to know that Union soldiers dug his grave and said a prayer over him.”
“I hope so.” I sigh. “And there’s no sign of Private Black.” I tap the pocket inside my jacket. “He entrusted me with a letter to his sons.” My lower lip begins to quiver. “In case . . . in case he . . .”
Pa wraps one arm around my shoulder. “Go ahead and cry, son.” He nods at the soldiers clustered around the fire. They all bear the marks of battle—bandaged legs, arms in slings, bound ribs—and they’re staring blindly into the flames with bloodshot eyes. “You won’t be the first to shed tears, or the last.”
I lean against his chest, but this time the tears won’t fall. “I failed Private Black.”
“You didn’t fail anyone,” Pa says. “You looked as long as you dared. We can still hope he isn’t among the dead. So from this moment on, when we think of Private Black, we’ll picture him striding down the lane toward his home.”
I suck in a breath. “You mean deserting the army? He could be shot for that.”
“Not deserting. He was too honorable for that. No, I mean let’s think of him striding down that lane, heading home to those boys he loves so dear.”
Closing my eyes, I picture the scene. Private Black with a face-splitting grin as Joe and Ben fall into his arms.
Pa’s right. Seeing my friend that way chases away the notion of him lying on that battlefield.
“Pa, I don’t want to fight anymore,” I say quietly, my words for his ears only. “I don’t want to lose another friend like Private Black or Private Crutcher ever again. In truth . . .” I hesitate, afraid to tell him of my feelings.
But he squeezes my shoulder, urging me to go on.
“In truth, before we went into battle, I called myself a coward. Now I know it’s true. When we get back to Camp Nelson, I’m taking off my soldier’s uniform. I’m sorry, Pa, but I’ve decided I’ll muck stalls forever before marching again.”
I’m surprised when Pa laughs instead of scolds. “Why, that ain’t being a coward, Gabriel. Look around at these wounded men. Do you think any of them are staring into the fire thinkin’ excitedly about their next battle? Not on your life. Like me, their minds are on their wives and homes. Your ma’s face is all I see right now. So I believe you should call yourself a hero. Who risked his life and stayed behind to rescue Captain Waite and me when our own general turned coward?” He gestures toward the soldiers in the camp. “None of these men here did.”
“They’d already risked their lives on Chestnut Ridge,” I say. “’Sides, they had to follow General Burbridge’s orders.”
“Burbridge?” Pa snorts. “The men told me that when our brave general knew we were losing, he ran to save his own skin. I’ve come to believe your ma’s right, Gabriel. This war ain’t about victory or defeat or freedom for coloreds. It’s about death. The Rebels may believe they won, but as I charged up Chestnut Ridge, I shot soldiers clad in gray and watched them fall alongside our own. I’d say that tonight there are just as many Confederates as Union grieving for their dead and wounded.”
I frown, my head muddled about heroes and cowards, victories and defeats. Too much has happened since we marched from Camp Nelson. The only thing I do know for sure is that, as far as I can figure, the battle at Saltville did nothing to bring slaves closer to Jubilee.
On the other side of the fire, a lone soldier plays a tune on his harmonica, and I recognize “Amazing Grace.” He plays softly as one soldier starts to sing, then a few others chime in.
Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound
That saved a wretch like me . . .
Soon all the soldiers—colored and white—join in. Their voices fill the meadow and the night sky, and chills travel up my spine as the words swirl around me.
I once was lost but now am found,
Was blind, but now I see.
Just then, in the middle of all the singing, I realize something else. I sit up. “Pa, remember when you told me that the horses would bring me—bring us—to freedom?”
Pa looks at me curiously. The flames from the burning logs heats my face like a fever as I try to explain. “Well, I finally realized you’re right. Mister Giles wrote in his letter that we could come back to Woodville anytime. When you and the Fifth don’t need me anymore, I’m going back there with Ma and the new baby. I’ve been missin’ Short Bit, Jase, and Tandy—even Old Uncle—like all heck! And with me riding and Jackson training, Mister Giles’s Thoroughbreds will be unbeatable on the racetrack. I’ve already got
two hundred dollars in the bank, and with a few more wins, I might even be able to earn enough to buy Aristo.”
Pa stays very quiet so I can’t tell what he’s thinking.
“When this war’s over,” I rush on in my excitement, “the North and South will both need horses. After you’re mustered out of the army, we’ll buy our own farm—Ma, you, me, and Annabelle if she wants. A farm with sweet grass and a few mares so Aristo can sire a whole herd of fine Thoroughbreds! Maybe we’ll even head out west, where land is cheap.”
When I pause to take a breath, I swear I can see those horses in the firelight: strong steeds galloping free, their manes blowing, their nostrils flaring as they race across the pasture of flickering flames. This journey has been long and hard and full of death, but somehow it hasn’t brought me to an end. It’s led me—led all of us—to a beginning.
“Do you see them, Pa?” I whisper. “Our horses on our farm? Or am I dreamin’?”
“You ain’t dreamin’.” Pa’s arm tightens around my shoulder as he gazes into the fire, a smile slowly creasing his face. “I see them, Gabriel. I see those horses, too.”
Afterword
Gabriel and his family and Captain Waite are fictional characters, but the story of the Fifth United States Colored Cavalry and the battle of Saltville and the Saltville Massacre is real. The following characters in the story are based on real soldiers who fought at the battle.
UNION:
General Stephen G. Burbridge: Relieved of command several months after the defeat at Saltville.
Colonel Charles Hanson: Wounded in action; Confederate surgeons saved him from being murdered by Rebel guerrillas.
General Hobson: Commanded a brigade of Kentucky mounted infantry and cavalry at the battle of Saltville.
The 4th Brigade:
Colonel Robert Ratliff: Originally commander of the 12th Ohio; also placed in command of the 11th Michigan and the Fifth Colored Cavalry for the battle of Saltville.
The Fifth Regiment:
Colonel James Brisbin: Wrote a letter after the battle proclaiming the courage of the soldiers of the Fifth.
Colonel James F. Wade: Promoted based on his performance at the battle of Saltville.
Company B:
Private Joseph Black: Listed as missing in action after the battle of Saltville.
Private George Lewis: Wounded in the left side during the battle of Saltville. Listed as murdered by the enemy.
Private Andrew Crutcher: Missing in action after the battle of Saltville; later identified as killed in action.
Corporal George Vaughn: Promoted to quarter sergeant after the battle of Saltville.
CONFEDERATE:
Champ Ferguson: Rebel guerrilla; one of several men who were believed to have murdered wounded soldiers of the Fifth. Hanged (for other war crimes) on October 20, 1865.
General John C. Breckenridge: Arrived in Saltville with a force of cavalry after the Union army departed.
The History Behind
GABRIEL’S JOURNEY
BLACK SOLDIERS IN THE CIVIL WAR
By the end of the Civil War, 178,975 soldiers had served in the United States Army as members of the U.S. Colored Troops. Another 9,695 African American men served in the U.S. Navy. There were 135 infantry regiments, 7 cavalry regiments, 12 regiments of heavy artillery and 10 batteries of light artillery. Black soldiers fought in thirty-nine major battles. Some of them served as officers, surgeons, and chaplains. More than a dozen black soldiers received the Medal of Honor after the war. Sergeant William H. Carney was the first African American to be awarded this medal. He was honored for carrying the Union flag to safety despite being shot in the head, arm, leg and chest.
Sergeant William H. Carney It was not easy for most blacks to become soldiers. Thousands of slaves risked punishment and death when they ran away to enlist. Some were shot by Confederate soldiers. Others were hunted and caught by their angry masters. Kentucky slave Elijah Marrs wrote: “. . . we were in the recruiting office in the city of Lexington. . . . By twelve o’clock the owner of every man of us was in the city hunting his slaves . . .”
Racism in the Union Army
When the Civil War began in April 1861, many African Americans wanted to join the fight. But the U.S. War Department did not allow blacks to enlist. Even though many white Northerners were against slavery, they did not feel that blacks were skilled or brave enough to become soldiers. Others worried about giving weapons to blacks. And most Northerners believed that the war was being fought to restore the Union, not to free the slaves.
The first African Americans to serve in the army were slaves who ran away from plantations or from Confederate troops to seek refuge in Union army camps. They were considered to be “contrabands,” or “property of the enemy.” These men were used as cooks, drivers, and laborers. Union troops soon realized the value of these workers. During the summer of 1861, the United States Congress passed the first Confiscation Act. This allowed Northern armies to seize any slaves helping the Confederate cause.
Union officers with “contrabands” On January 1, 1863, the Emancipation Proclamation freed slaves in most of the states fighting against the Union. Border states such as Kentucky and Maryland were not affected if they declared loyalty to the Union. At the same time, the Union army was given the power to recruit slaves for labor, not for military fighting.
Demand for soldiers caused this policy to change. The war had been dragging on, and the number of white volunteers and recruits was growing smaller. The Northern troops needed reinforcements, so the army gradually looked to African Americans to fill the ranks. In May 1863, the U.S. War Department set up the Bureau of Colored Troops. Its job was recruiting black soldiers. Special posters promised money and freedom to “colored” men who joined the army.
Civil War recruitment poster In spite of the desperate need for soldiers, though, most white Northerners did not want to fight side by side with black men. From the beginning, African American soldiers were placed in their own separate units. Nearly all troops were led by white officers. By the end of the war, there were only about eighty black officers among the nearly 190,000 who served.
Pay for black soldiers was not equal to pay for whites. In 1863, the standard monthly salary for a white enlisted soldier was thirteen dollars, plus a three-dollar clothing allowance. Black soldiers were paid only ten dollars a month, and three dollars was deducted from their salary for clothing. In August 1864, Congress passed a law making soldiers’ pay equal for all men who were free when the war began. It wasn’t until March 1865 that Congress finally passed a law giving all black soldiers pay equal to that earned by whites.
African American soldiers were often assigned “fatigue duty.” This meant that they worked eight to ten hours a day digging ditches, handing out rations, unloading supplies, repairing bridges, and burying the dead. Finally, in June 1864, the War Department issued an order forbidding camp commanders to assign more fatigue duty to black soldiers than to whites. But the new order was hard to enforce.
Camp Nelson, Kentucky
Camp Nelson was a Union military camp located south of Lexington, Kentucky. Covering over 800 acres, the grounds held more than 300 buildings, including the Soldiers Home, a prison, a hospital, a blacksmith shop, a bakery, corrals, and a laundry. Set up as a supply depot for Union troops fighting in Tennessee, the facility also provided and trained horses and mule teams.
In the Conscriptive Act of February 1864, President Lincoln authorized the use of black troops for the war effort. Kentucky African Americans, free and slave, poured into Camp Nelson to enlist. On July 25 alone, 322 black recruits joined up. The government paid freedmen like Gabriel’s father an enlistment fee. Slaves who became soldiers were given their freedom, and some of their former masters were paid three hundred dollars.
Camp Nelson soon became the third-largest recruiting and training center for black soldiers in the country. From November 1864 to April 1865, almost 5,400 Kentucky slaves and freemen enlisted there
.
For many of the black recruits, Camp Nelson was their first experience with freedom. These men—and the women and families who came with them—had a powerful desire to attend school. On July 19, Reverend John G. Fee established the Camp Nelson School for Colored Soldiers. “I find them manifesting an almost universal desire to learn; and that they do make rapid progress,” Reverend Fee wrote of his scholars.
During late summer and fall of 1864, when Gabriel and Annabelle were at Camp Nelson, school attendance was high. In one day, an average of 60 soldiers, 30 boys, and 40 young women and girls went to class. After six weeks of working in the camp, Reverend Fee wrote that he had “a very excellent school room—a good supply of slates books &c.” He also had thirteen eager volunteers like Annabelle to help him teach.
Colored school at Camp Nelson
Horses During the Civil War
During the Civil War, both the Confederate and Union armies depended heavily upon horses. One of Camp Nelson’s biggest responsibilities was supplying horses and mules for the Union troops fighting in Tennessee. The animals were needed to pull wagons, cannons, and ambulances to and from battlegrounds. The horses also carried cavalry soldiers and officers into battle.
About 1.5 million horses and mules died during the Civil War. (Approximately 700,000 soldiers died.) One Union officer reported that Rebel sharpshooters had killed or wounded 500 horses in one day. But not all the animals died in battle. Many of them died from disease, poor food (or no food), poor care, and overwork. Major William Jennens, a Union cavalryman, wrote: “From the 16th of May to the 19th horses were without feed. . . . During this time we traveled thirty-five miles; the last five we traveled at a gallop causing horses to give out by the dozens.”
