by Jeff Shaara
Finley spoke up now, the hard growl.
“Who’s sayin’ that? You point him out to me.”
There was no response, and Bauer knew when to keep quiet, saw Willis slide up close. Bauer was suddenly happy Willis was an officer, knew he didn’t have Bauer’s hesitation about joining into any kind of heat.
“Shut the hell up. Not having that kind of talk in this army, not in my platoon. You boys think they’re holding you out of a fight? Well, that’s only gonna get you stuck right up front next time. The boys who were marching up front have been carrying the load, and they’ve lost a heap of good men doing it. You in all kinds of hurry to join ’em? Fine. I’m telling you right now, the brass knows you’ve been in the rear, and so you’re all fresh and rested up. You know what that means? That means when we run into the damn rebels again, they’re gonna stick us right where the fire is.”
“Suits me fine, Lieutenant.”
The voice came from Kelly, others joining in, a chorus of agreement. Willis caught Bauer’s eye, the smile long gone, replaced with a grim scowl.
“I said, shut up. They’re not marching us for some kind of parade. I heard the captain, the colonel. They know we’re fresh. That’s all I know, and all you need to hear. You’re so damned eager to jump into it with the secesh … well, you’re gonna get your chance. Nobody’s told me those Mississippi boys have surrendered. But when you see those sons of bitches standin’ out there pointing their muskets at you, and that bugle tells you to charge … you damn well better be followin’ close behind me. All this damn Irish blood, all this damn talk I’m hearing. When the time comes … it better be more than talk.”
They halted the march in front of a grand plantation house, the usual cluster of Negroes welcoming them with joyous words most of the soldiers couldn’t understand, many of the slaves accepting the soldiers’ presence as reason enough to join Mr. Lincoln’s war, no matter that they were only adding to the size of the column. But with the Negroes came the fruits of whatever the plantations could offer. The Irishmen who groused so loudly about being left out of the fight had one more reason to grouse now. Bauer held little enthusiasm for the scene Willis had painted, marching out into an open field to rush headlong into a stout formation of enemy bayonets, and he knew it was the one advantage of being positioned in the rear of the great march, at least so far. But there was one great disadvantage, and the men saw it now in every plantation and farmhouse they passed. Whatever prizes might have been there, whatever stores of meat and cider and any other spoils of war, they had already been sorted through by the soldiers who came first. The soldiers had been encouraged to scavenge for food, Grant’s order that they live off the land, and Bauer was relieved to see that most of the larger houses were intact. And many still had slaves, a mostly raucous audience, but as more troops passed, more of the Negroes took advantage, their enthusiasm for the blue-coated presence reason enough for them to find the inspiration, or the courage, to leave behind what might be the only homes they had ever known. If the men marching now behind the column had any idea where they were going, it didn’t seem to matter. This army was offering them an opportunity none of them had ever experienced, to go somewhere else.
The bugle had sounded, the usual rest, ten minutes or more after an hour’s steady march. The troops settled down into the grass along the roadside, the broken-down entrance to another grand plantation house. The house was set back off the road a hundred yards, and guards were moving out that way, the usual caution against a potential rebel sniper. It was routine now, and the men ignored that, hadn’t seen a rebel since the prisoners at the Big Black.
The men already resting were doing what they always did, nursing sore feet, some searching through backpacks for something to eat. Bauer followed Sergeant Finley off the road, shuffled slowly through deep grass, saw an uprooted fence post, stepped carefully, searched every spot before putting down his foot. He scanned the ground around him, couldn’t shake the image of the rattlesnake. There were snakes in Wisconsin, certainly, and Bauer had seen his share as a child. But no one had prepared him for the sheer quantity of the creatures that seemed everywhere throughout the South, and especially not the size. That thing was taller than me, he thought, weighed as much. Taller than the kid, Red. Probably swallow that skinny kid whole. He shuddered. Okay, stop that. You’ll be seeing that damned thing in your dreams from now on. He leaned down, picked up one end of the fence post, hesitated, took a breath, prepared for the worst, tossed it up in a single violent motion, trying to catch a glimpse of what might be underneath. There was a sudden clutching grab under his backside, and his brain reacted with a piercing stab of panic, feeling the bite of all snakes everywhere. He leapt, a hard, shrieking scream, and a roar of laughter engulfed him from behind. He turned, the panic still there, saw Kelly close behind him, more laughter from the others, louder, increasing, men dropping down, rolling on the ground, teary-eyed glee. A dozen more joined in, and Bauer tried to stop the shaking, saw Kelly’s hands pounding on his own knees, a single word pushed through the laughter, hands rising up in the air.
“Snake!”
Kelly collapsed into complete hysteria, and Bauer realized the joke was most definitely on him. He glanced back to the dead, bare ground beneath the fence post, nothing but a few grubs, and he let out a breath, lowered himself down, sat on the post, began to laugh with the men around him. Kelly was down to his knees now, tears on his face, uncontrollable, and Bauer saw Finley, the sergeant holding his stomach, bending over. The laughter spread, word passing, men describing Bauer’s reaction with exaggerated gestures, nonsensical words. Willis was there now, curious, scanning the odd spreading hysteria, and looked at Bauer, who couldn’t hold back his own tears, so much laughter too contagious to avoid. Willis moved up close to him, and Bauer tried to stand, felt Willis’s hand on his shoulder, keeping him down.
“What the hell did you do?”
The words wouldn’t come, Bauer trying to gain control, and Willis waited, couldn’t help a soft chuckle of his own. After another moment, Bauer pointed at the dead place on the ground, where the old fence post had lain.
“Thought there might be a snake.”
Kelly had his composure now, and said, “Sorry, sir. He wanted a snake. I gave him one. He jumped about four feet in the air.”
Kelly was laughing again, but the joke was passing, the men quieting, sleeves wiping faces, red eyes, and Bauer felt a hard slap on his back, Finley, who said to Willis, “Wasn’t nothing to it, sir. Boys just let out a little steam. Your Dutch friend’s good for something after all. We’ll be up and ready when the bugle blows.”
Willis stared at Bauer for a long moment, then shook his head.
“Yes, Sergeant, he does his share every now and again. But we’re sitting here for a bit. We’re sending some scouting parties out looking for rations. They want us to join in. Several farmhouses down that far road there.” Willis looked back toward the rear of the column, pointed. “Wagon coming up. Take three of the boys. I’ll go with you. We’ll move with the wagon, try to find something worth carrying to camp. The colonel will let us know when the column’s up and moving. For now, the rest of the men can hold here. Not sure what’s going on, but the colonel thinks we may need some extra rations tomorrow. Whenever I hear that, Sergeant, I pay attention. Let’s see if we can fill that wagon.” Willis looked down at Bauer. “Pick him. We could use a source of amusement.”
Finley chuckled.
“Yes, sir. Just let us know if you sees any more of those dang snakes.”
The wagon came at them on the narrow road, a quartet of soldiers perched high on a mound of cloth sacks. Behind trailed a dozen Negroes, mostly quiet, as though they belonged there. The driver of Willis’s wagon eased to the side, making room, the other wagon obviously too weighed down for much maneuvering.
From the other wagon, a sergeant called out, “Well, hello there, boys! Fine day for stealin’ us a secesh feast. Uh, Lieutenant. Sorry. No disrespect, sir.”
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br /> “None taken. That’s what we’re out here for. What did you find?”
“Meal, sir. Corn, most likely, and some molasses. We’ll be making some slapjacks tonight, for certain. But there’s a whole heap more back there. We only made it to the second house. The first one been burned to ashes already. I guess somebody up front didn’t like what they saw. But there’s a couple more farther down the road. These darkies told us about a big one. Some local bigwig.”
Willis waved the wagon’s driver on past, a sergeant offering a hatless bow, then a casual salute. Willis waited for the wagon to get clear, the Negroes filing past, smiles now, yellow, toothy grins. Willis tapped his own driver on the shoulder.
“Let’s go. A mile, they say. I want to get this done before dark. Don’t need to be out here in secesh country after dark with nobody looking after my ass but these four fools.”
Bauer felt the insult, knew better, that if there was any trouble at all, Willis was likely the best shot in the company. Bauer also knew: He wasn’t too bad himself.
The wagon lurched forward, the mule nodding its head with each step as it drew the wagon through softer sand. They were moving uphill now, harder ground, and Bauer saw what must have been the first of the farmhouses, a blackened mound punctuated by skeletal remains of timber. Smoke still rose from the wreckage, the breeze carrying the stink of burnt wood and anything else the house contained.
Beside him, Finley said, “Bet some stupid secesh farmer took a shot at one of our boys. Won’t do it again.”
Willis seemed edgy now and said, “Could be. Don’t get lazy. If there’s one, could be more. Anybody who’s not one of us, you can bet he hates us worse than the devil. Remember that.”
They rolled past the second house now, a modest home, nearly untouched. There were no slave quarters, at least not that Bauer could see, and he thought on that, said, “Wonder where the darkies came from? The folks in these homes don’t seem to have much. Not rich, anyway. Just … farms.”
The driver said nothing, pointed ahead, and Willis said, “There’s your answer. If any place had darkies, that would be it.”
To one side of the road, the wooded ground spread open to a vast yard of lush grass, the borders lined with waist-high bushes, neatly manicured. The house was set back at least two hundred yards from the road, tall columns across a wide veranda. From where the wagon halted, a pathway turned off, the entryway, a well-groomed cart path passing beneath an arch of iron lattice. The driver waited for Willis to give the order.
“Go on,” Willis said. “Turn in. Muskets loaded?”
Bauer had seen the others loading back at the main road, had done the same. He glanced at the percussion cap, old habit, the last part of the lesson, the final part of the process. The men in the wagon beside him responded with clipped answers, all eyes on the grand house. Bauer saw Willis draw his pistol, and he tapped the driver again.
“Slowly. If anybody’s in there, they’ll know we’re not being neighborly. If they’re gone, they probably buried everything of value somewhere around back. But we’re not here for grandmama’s silver, you got that? If you can’t eat it, leave it be.”
Bauer studied the grounds, saw a row of small cabins stretching far behind the house, complete contrast to the clean white of the mansion, the cabins a rustic heap of dark wood. He could smell smoke, different than the destruction of the farmhouse. It smelled like roasting meat, and Kelly said, “Somebody’s back there, sir. Smokehouse maybe.”
“Slave quarters. Seen plenty of this before. Stop here.”
The driver obeyed, and Willis jumped down, then motioned silently for the others to follow. Bauer slipped off the rear of the wagon, checked the musket one more time, felt the bayonet scabbard at his waist. Willis moved toward the front door of the house and motioned for the others to spread out to each side of him.
Bauer saw movement from beyond one side of the house, jerked the musket up, aimed, and saw now an old black man.
Kelly had done the same. “Well now, sir,” he said. “Somebody’s home.”
They all stopped, muskets coming down, and Bauer saw deep creases in a haggard face, the man bowing, smiling as he moved through the yard.
“Ah … heah … Missuh Lincom’s boys.” The old man was smiling through a minimum of teeth, clasped his hands in front of him, nodded profusely. “See alls of ya.”
Bauer couldn’t help a smile, the man’s pure joy contagious, and Bauer returned the smile, tried to sift through the man’s thick accent, not really sure what he meant.
Willis said, “Howdy, old man. Anyone else around? You got a … master or something? Anybody with a musket?”
The man kept nodding, still the smile, said again, “Missuh Lincom’s boys. Prizin for you.” He pointed back toward the corner of the house. “Heah, sum good enjiyin’. Prizin for Missuh Lincom.”
Kelly said, “Not sure he understands you, sir. Don’t know what he’s saying.”
The old man pointed with more energy, started to move that way, motioning for them to follow.
“He wants us to see something,” Bauer said. “I bet he knows where everything is. Sure smells good.”
The old man nodded, a hint of comprehension, and pointed back behind him again.
“Yassuh. Yassuh. Wids me. Yassuh. Gots enjiyin’. Yassuh. Big prizins.”
The old man started to move away, waving the men with him, and Finley said, “Think we oughta go with him, sir. He’s got a burr in his pants about something.”
Willis still held the pistol. “Slowly,” he said. “Keep your eyes open.”
The old man waved harder, faster, impatience growing.
“Heah! Heah! You be enjiyin Ole Missy.”
Willis stepped forward.
“All right, old man. We’ll see what’s doing.” He turned, looked at Bauer and the others. “Spread out. Sergeant, take these two and go through the house. I’m guessing it’s empty, but make sure. Check inside any big piece of furniture. Could be somebody hiding out. There’ll be a cellar. Don’t go wandering down into the dark until we all get in there. If there’s rations to be had, that’s where it’ll be. We’ll see what this old coot wants, then join you in there. You see anybody in there, holler like hell. I don’t like surprises.”
Willis pointed the pistol at the old man, just a brief threat, a piece of caution. For the first time Bauer saw uncertainty on the old man’s wrinkled face, a hint of fear. Willis lowered the pistol again, the message delivered.
“It’s all right. I’m just being careful.” Willis glanced back at Bauer and Kelly. “I’d bet a month’s pay this old boy’s not playing any games with us. I’ve heard they can’t hide what they’re thinking. He’s all grins. Just … stay alert.”
The three men kept their distance, and the old man seemed utterly delighted at the small parade that followed him, made quick steps on rickety legs. Bauer eased up closer to Willis and said in a low voice, “Kinda odd, Sammie. There gotta be a thousand soldiers by this place already today. What’s he got they ain’t taken from him yet?”
Willis growled, his voice a hard whisper.
“We don’t know if anybody’s been here at all. We’re pretty far off the road. Maybe some cavalry, but they had better things to do. And, dammit, call me sir. You thick?”
Bauer fell back a step, knew an apology wasn’t called for, not now. Old habits, he thought. But by God he’s still my friend. Friend, sir.
They moved out around the right side of the grand home, and Bauer saw a single broken window, the curtain intact, a single piece of evidence that someone had made their inspection of anything worth having. He kept in step behind Willis, an eye toward the window, could hear boot steps in the house, Finley, the others. Nice place, he thought. Wonder who lives here? Gone now, for sure. Too many of us. Somebody’ll put a torch to this one, I bet. Hope it’s not us. Just hate that. Burn a nice damn house, just … because. He knew Willis didn’t share that kind of compassion for anyone in this part of the country, but
Bauer had seen too much of what seemed to be useless destruction, raucous parties of soldiers, sometimes drunk, attacking the homes of people who might have nothing at all to do with the war. He still kept that to himself, knew that many of these men felt that if any of these civilians didn’t want this war, maybe it would stop. But … children? Willis was still moving, keeping pace with the old man, and Bauer quickened his step, saw Kelly doing the same. They were close to the slave quarters now, a long row of cabins set back into tall trees, many more than he could see from the road. He said aloud, “Bunch of ’em. Guess that’s the ones we saw. Or maybe there’s a pile of ’em still here.”
Willis didn’t look back. “You’re as dumb as a boat anchor. You think they wouldn’t be pouring out here to cheer us like damn heroes? This old boy’s got the place to himself.”
Bauer felt some relief in that. “Maybe we don’t have to burn the place, then, huh?”
Willis turned to him.
“We have orders, Private. Find rations. So we’re gonna find rations, then get back to the main road. Who said anything about burning the place? What the hell’s the matter with you?”
Bauer knew the orders, passed down months before about the destruction of civilian property. But somehow, orders or not, fires seemed to start by themselves. Bauer thought of Louisiana, the march downriver, the amazing stupidity of a landowner stomping out to confront an entire column of blue-coated soldiers, with curses and threats. The results were predictable, and once the man’s larders had been emptied, the torches came out. But throughout the march into Mississippi, the property owners were mostly gone, had certainly hidden away those things the army might prize. But if the Negroes were still on the land, the soldiers knew there would be food, something even the most loyal of slaves eventually gave up. It was one more reason why the Negroes joined the march. The troops left them very little to eat.
The old man kept moving, past the first of the slave shacks, then stopped with a giddy laugh. Willis held them up, Bauer halting, the musket ready, watched the old man kneel low, rubbing his hand through a thick bed of straw. Bauer saw the rope now, a thick, short strand, and the old man stood, holding the rope, made a bow toward them, and pulled.
