‘I’m going to find us some coffee,’ he said, bending down and picking up Pinter’s rifle. Even in the midst of an army he would not go unarmed. He was making to leave when Martha called him back.
‘You’ll need to find a cup to drink it out of.’ She pulled the blanket away from her face and peered up at him, her nose wrinkled in disgust. ‘We’ll need a pot too, and our own beans, and something to eat if you’re planning on keeping us alive.’
‘I’ll find us something.’ Jack looked at her. Her face was pale and her poorly cut hair sticking up at every possible angle, and in the morning light he could see the wrinkles around her eyes. She was as far away from an elegant lady as he could ever imagine finding, yet he was pleased she was there.
‘Don’t stand there lollygagging. Go on now, get on with your chores.’ Martha had seen him staring, and she chided him for it.
‘Yes, ma’am.’ Jack gave her a salute, then did as he had been told and went to find them what they needed.
The encampment came right up to the edge of the town. The Confederate soldiers had built themselves more permanent shelters than the pathetic one Jack had made for himself and Martha, and small wooden huts stretched away in every direction. The first occupants were emerging as they prepared for another damp, cold day. Fires were being lit, and Jack could smell the first brews of coffee.
He kept moving, wanted to learn more of the place where he hoped to find Lyle. Walking also helped stave off the chill, for it was bitterly cold. He passed through lines of huts and cabins before reaching a long line of rifle pits. The soldiers had clearly been busy preparing the defences. He could only imagine that it would have been a brutal task to hack the entrenchments from the frozen ground.
The rifle pits nearest to Dover faced south, and had been strengthened with reinforcing walls of logs covered with thick yellow clay. Beyond the line of defences, the ground sloped downwards for what Jack judged to be close to one hundred feet before levelling out. The soldiers had not been content to simply dig the pits. They had cleared the ground that came up to the defences, creating a wide field of fire, a brutally difficult task in the conditions. Any trees that had been felled had been laid down with their crowns facing away from the line of rifle pits. From what he could make out, the Confederate soldiers had taken care to weave the tangled limbs and branches into an abatis that would seem impassable to men coming from the south.
‘Mind yourself there, goddammit.’ A burly corporal bustled past him carrying a large iron pot full of steaming water.
‘Goddammit, mind yourself.’ Jack saw an opportunity and snapped the rebuke at the corporal, who staggered to a halt as he realised that he had just made a dreadful error. ‘Is that how you address officers in your outfit?’
‘No, sir.’ The corporal made an awkward turn to face Jack.
‘That is a damn sloppy way to behave, soldier.’ Jack stood tall as he berated the man. ‘Now put that bloody pot down and stand to attention.’
‘Yes, sir.’ The corporal dumped the pot, some of the precious hot water slopping over the edge, and stood ramrod straight, his eyes staring into the space above Jack’s head.
‘What’s your name?’
‘Corporal Hightower, sir.’
‘Well, Corporal Hightower, when you next go about your business, you keep a careful eye on where you are going.’ Jack had to hide a smile as he bawled out the soldier. He was enjoying himself. ‘Is that clear?’
‘Yes, sir.’ Hightower’s eyes did not shift a single inch as he fired back the reply.
‘Now then.’ Jack changed his tone. ‘Have you and your boys got some coffee going?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Then I would be obliged if you would share a cup with me.’
For the first time, the corporal’s eyes lowered. The polite request had taken him off guard. ‘Of course, sir.’
Jack nodded his thanks. ‘Then you had better pick up that damn pot of yours and show me the way.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Hightower hurried to obey.
Jack followed him into the network of wooden huts. ‘I would guess you’ve been a soldier a fair time, Corporal. Am I right?’ He was hoping to start a conversation. He needed more than just coffee, and the corporal might be able to tell him something of what was going on.
Hightower glanced across, then gave a half-smile. ‘Yes, sir. I’ve served in the regulars since I was nineteen years old. That’s near enough ten years now, I suppose.’ He did his best to read Jack’s expression whilst still carrying the heavy pot. ‘How could you tell?’
‘The “yes, sir, no, sir” routine.’ Jack tried to sound friendlier than he felt to try and make the man feel at ease.
‘Yes, sir.’ Hightower chuckled as he replied. ‘Sometimes it’s the best way to deal with an officer.’ They walked on a few paces before he spoke again. ‘I’m right sorry to barge into you like that, sir. It weren’t right, officer or no officer.’
‘No harm done,’ Jack replied. ‘So if you fought in the regulars, shouldn’t you be up North?’
‘Maybe.’ Hightower shook his head. ‘It weren’t easy for those of us that left. But some things are more important.’
‘More important than your mates?’
‘Yes, sir.’ Hightower pressed his lips tight together as he thought on his decision. ‘There’s nothing more important than family. My brothers, they’re all down here. I knew they’d fight, my cousins too. Hell, even my father tried to enlist, and he’s an old man. I couldn’t fight against them.’ He stopped walking and looked across at Jack. ‘That wouldn’t be right, sir. I couldn’t do it.’
Jack looked the corporal in the eye. He had an idea what the man’s decision had cost him. It would have been no easy thing to leave behind men he had served alongside. For his part, Jack still missed his messmates from his time as a redcoat. They had become his family. Walking away from them had been one of the hardest things he had ever made himself do.
‘Well, I’m sure your regiment here is glad to have you.’
‘I hope so, sir.’ Hightower resumed walking. ‘We’ll find out soon enough if I know what I’m about. What with the Union army just up the road and all.’
‘They’ll want to take this place, that’s for sure.’ Jack drew on what scant knowledge he had.
‘They will that. From what I hear, they took Fort Henry easily enough. They’ve got those fancy ironclad ships of theirs and they’ll want to use them again, I reckon. Yes, they’ll try to trap us in here then grind us into the dirt until we give up.’
‘You think they want to trap us?’
‘Hell, sir, I don’t see what else they’d do.’ Hightower shook his head at the foolish question. ‘Way I see it, those Billy Yankees will try to corral us in here then pound us with those ships of theirs until we give in. And if I know that, then those generals of ours will surely know it. Way I hear it, they want us to skedaddle just as soon as we can.’
‘Then what’s the point of gathering the army here, if not to make a stand and fight the Union off?’ Jack didn’t understand and didn’t bother to try to hide it.
‘You tell me, sir, you being the officer and all.’ Hightower looked across at him. It was clear he was unsure of the man who had berated him yet who now chatted away like an old friend.
‘You’d be amazed at how little they tell us, Corporal. Although perhaps you’ve been in the army long enough to know just how little the damn generals tell anyone about their plans.’ Jack mounted a fair defence, playing the old-soldier card as effectively as he could.
‘They don’t like to share their plans, as that would mean they would need to have a goddam plan in the first place.’ Hightower glanced at Jack as he made the less than flattering comment. ‘If you’ll pardon me for saying so, sir.’
‘You have that right, Corporal.’ Jack gave as reassuring an answer as he could. In truth, he still did not understand the Confederate generals’ plan. They had gathered a large force around Dover and Fort Donelson. The ri
sk that the Union forces would encircle them was a real one, but to his mind surely that was what the Confederates would want. Only by making a stand could they defeat the Union army and force them to retreat back along their lines of communication. But if Hightower was correct, the Confederate commanders were more concerned with getting trapped than making a stand. If that was the case, he couldn’t for the life of him work out why they had gathered such a large force there in the first place.
‘Well, here we are, sir.’ Hightower announced their arrival at his hut. He dumped the pot of water on the ground, then turned to face Jack. ‘You still want that coffee?’
‘That would be grand, Corporal.’
The men who shared the hut with Hightower pushed themselves to their feet as they realised an officer was amongst them. Like most of the army Jack had seen, they were a scruffy bunch, their uniform – if it could be called that – little more than a collection of similarly coloured grey jackets matched with any other clothing the men had. Yet he saw that the muskets that had been stacked together looked well cared for, and their camp was as tidy as the men could manage given that they were forced to live in what was little more than a sea of half-frozen mud.
‘Coffee for the officer.’ The snapped instruction had one of Hightower’s men scurrying to the fire and the coffee pot. ‘It’s as weak as piss, sir, but we’re nearly out of beans.’
‘I’m sure it will be just fine.’ Jack meant it. He sorely needed a hot drink. The cold had permeated deep into his bones and his gut felt like it was full of ice.
‘Here you go, sir.’ Hightower handed over a tin mug full of steaming black liquid, then made a play of looking at the weapon Jack carried. ‘That’s a fancy rifle you got there, sir.’
‘You want to take a look?’ Jack sipped his coffee, then held out the rifle.
‘If you don’t mind.’ Hightower took it reverentially. ‘I thought as much. It’s one of those Henry repeaters. I ain’t ever seen one this close before. One of the officers in my regular unit bought hisself one just before I quit, but down here they’re as rare as gold in horseshit.’ He ran his hands over the weapon, then raised it and pulled it into his shoulder before sighting down the barrel. He held the pose for a long moment before he lowered the rifle and offered it back to Jack. ‘It’s a fine weapon, sir. Why, you can load her on a Sunday and shoot her all week long. With a few hundred of these, we could whip those Yankees all by ourselves.’
Jack took the rifle back. ‘Perhaps. But you’d have to find ammunition for the bloody thing.’ He made the comment ruefully. He had used much of the ammunition he had taken from Pinter and knew he would need more. ‘Any idea where I could find myself some?’
Hightower pulled a face. ‘You can try the armourers, but I can’t imagine they’ll have the right ones for that beauty of yours. I ain’t seen one anywhere since I came down south.’
Jack grunted at the bad news. It appeared that he would have to husband his ammunition carefully. When it was gone, that would likely be it. Then the desirable rifle would be no more use than a simple cudgel.
‘Now tell me, Corporal,’ he changed the subject, ‘do you know where I might find the 65th Virginia?’ He asked the question not really expecting much in the way of an answer.
‘Of course I do!’ Hightower greeted the question with a guffaw. ‘Hell, sir, you’re looking at them!’
Jack had to hide his surprise at the answer. He had expected it would take days to locate the regiment in which Martha’s husband served, if it was even there at all. It appeared that for once, fate was smiling down on him. One of them, at least, had just found what they were looking for.
‘I know where he is.’ Jack sang out the news the moment he reached the meagre shelter he had shared with Martha.
Martha had not been idle whilst he had been away. She had found enough wood to get a fire started, coercing the damp kindling into flame by using one of Jack’s revolver cartridges, just as he had shown her. She had folded up the blankets he had stolen, and was busy sorting through their sparse collection of spare clothes to find them both something slightly drier to put on than the damp, mud-streaked things they were wearing.
‘Lyle?’ Martha looked up at him sharply. There was no hiding the concern in her expression.
‘No. I found John.’
‘John?’ For a moment, Martha looked confused, as if unable to understand whom he was referring to. ‘You mean my John?’
‘Who else would I bloody mean?’ Jack smiled. ‘I found his regiment.’ He turned and pointed away towards the lines of soldiers’ huts. ‘It’s just across there.’ He paused, uncertainty pushing its way past the happiness at his easy success. ‘You’ve done it.’
Martha said nothing. She folded one of his shirts, then unfolded it and started again.
‘You can go over there right now. The journey’s over. For you, anyway,’ Jack spoke slowly.
Martha looked up at him and held his gaze. ‘I should go.’
‘Yes, you should.’ Jack searched her eyes. He knew her well enough to read her uncertainty. It surprised him. It was rare to see her so hesitant. ‘I’ll come with you if you like.’
‘Yes.’ Martha rose to her feet. ‘If you don’t mind, I sure would appreciate that.’ She looked at the neatly folded shirt in her hand as if seeing it for the first time, then tossed it onto the blankets she had stacked on the ground. ‘We can’t just leave our things like this, though. Someone will take them. There’s a lot of thieves around.’ For a second there was a flash of something in her eyes. Then it was hidden.
‘Leave them. If they get pinched, then so be it.’ Jack walked past her, switching his rifle to his left hand, and picked up his knapsack, which he slung over his shoulder. It contained the only things he owned of value. If someone took the blankets and filthy clothes he would not be concerned. With Martha going to her husband, he would be able to shift for himself. His life was about to get a whole lot easier.
‘Come on then. Look alive-o.’ He geed her into motion. ‘Anyone would think you don’t want to go. I know I’m fabulous company, but this is what you came here for.’
Martha bent down and picked up the saddlebag with her things in it. ‘You think I should go right now?’
‘Yes,’ Jack answered instantly. But he regretted his glib remark. Martha had been no simple travelling companion. He was being cruel, severing the tie with callous thoughtlessness. ‘Look, you haven’t seen the last of me. I don’t think anyone here is going anywhere any time soon, least of all me. But you came all this way to find your husband, and there he is. You should go and see him.’ He reached out and gripped her arm with his free hand. ‘I’ll be here if you need me. We’ve been through a lot, you and I. I won’t forget all you did for me. I’ll always be in your debt, so if you ever need me, well, just whistle and I’ll be there.’
Martha reached across and held his hand for several long moments before pulling away. She nodded once, then hefted her saddlebag into her arms and started to walk.
‘Hey, you boys the 65th Virginia?’ Jack called out to a group of soldiers seated around a fire. It was barely alight, but the men were lingering beside it, savouring the last of its dying warmth.
‘Yes, sir.’ One of the men lumbered to his feet and swept his hat from his head.
‘You know a John Joseph?’ Jack had half forgotten Martha’s married name.
‘John Joseph? Sure I do.’ The man turned and pointed at a group of huts close by. ‘He’s in K Company. Those boys are over there.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘He in some sort of trouble?’
‘Not at all.’ Jack took Martha by the elbow and began to lead her away. ‘I’ve got a present for him.’ He gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile. He was rewarded with an expression carved from granite.
It did not take long to cover the ground to the huts the soldier had indicated. Jack was struggling to understand Martha’s reluctance. They had both set off to find someone. When he had spotted Lyle, nothing else had mattered
. All had been forgotten the moment he gave chase, Martha included. Now they had found the man she sought, and for a reason he could not understand, she was as reluctant as a bullock being led to the butcher’s.
Martha stopped suddenly, staring ahead. Jack understood immediately. The man she was looking at was of middling height, with a good roll of fat around his belly. He was nearly bald, and wore what hair he had left long. It was paired with a thick moustache and a curly beard that smothered the whole of his lower face. He was nothing like the man Jack had pictured.
Martha moved forward slowly, as if wary of what was about to happen.
‘John!’ When she called out to him, her voice wavered.
The man turned. He looked at her for several long seconds, his face creased into an expression of annoyance. And then he truly saw her.
‘Martha?’ His cry turned heads. Dozens of his mates stared at him, then at Martha.
He walked quickly towards his wife and folded her into his arms, embracing her tightly, unconcerned at being the centre of attention. He held her for a long time. Eventually he pushed her away from him, gripping her around the arms as he got a proper look at her. There was no hiding the smile on his face.
‘What the hell have you done to your hair? And what in all of God’s heaven are you doing here?’
‘Pa died. Some men came to the cabin and killed him.’ Martha was holding herself stiffly. Her expression was carved from granite, any pleasure at the meeting hidden away. ‘So I came to find you.’
‘You shouldn’t have come. This is no place for a woman.’ John’s broad smile started to melt away. ‘What were you thinking?’
‘I was thinking that I wanted to be with my husband.’
‘And how the hell did you get here?’ John scowled as he ignored her answer. The pleasure and surprise at seeing his wife was fading as questions crowded into his mind. His hands tightened on her arms. ‘It can’t have been safe.’
Martha glanced over her shoulder. ‘Jack brought me.’
THE REBEL KILLER Page 22
