When Johnny Came Marching Home

by William Heffernan

  "You know I'm going to have to tell him what you told us," I said. "I don't expect he'll be very pleased about that."

  Chantal gave out a little huff. "He'll be madder'n a hornet. You ain't gotta tell him where I'm at, do ya?"

  "I'll tell him you said you were headed for Burlington."

  She gave a curt nod. "I'd be pleased if ya told my momma that I'll write ta her," she said.

  "I'll tell her."

  * * *

  I left Chantal in my father's care, tied Rusty's horse to my saddle horn, and headed up to Sherman's Hollow. The wind had picked up and I could feel a hint of winter in the air. Within weeks, certainly by Thanksgiving, the snow would be deep around us, signaling that it was time for us to get out and shoot our winter deer. I smiled at the thought, and at the idea of the coming holiday. Thanksgiving was only declared a national holiday two years ago, and already Vermonter's were using it to mark the true start of winter. "As if we had to," I said to my horse Jezebel, thinking that snow up to your hind end should be enough of a signal in itself.

  When I pulled into the LeRoche dooryard Mrs. LeRoche came rushing out her front door, wringing an apron with her hands. "Did ya find Chantal?" she asked. "Is she hurt?"

  "She's fine," I said. "She asked me to bring your horse back and to tell you she'll write to you."

  "Where is she?" Mrs. LeRoche was somewhere in her early-to-mid forties, although she looked a bit older. She had graying brown hair and doelike brown eyes that she had given to her daughter, and I could see that she had once been a handsome young woman. She smoothed out her apron over a well-worn calico dress and looked suddenly relieved.

  "She told me she was going to Burlington to look for a job," I said. "She also said she didn't want her father to know where she was."

  "I won't tell him," she snapped. "Damn that man and his temper."

  "She's going to take a room with Mrs. Edwards, until she can get herself into Burlington."

  "It's good she's getting off on her own," she sighed. "It's time. She an' her papa are like a cat an' a dog." She looked up at me. "But he loves her. He jus' don' know how ta handle her. I kep' tellin' him that nobody knows how ta handle a girl that age, but he din' believe me."

  "Chantal told my father and me that he gave Johnny Harris a thumping right around the time Johnny died. She said she overheard him telling you that."

  Mrs. LeRoche pressed her lips together. "She ought not be talkin' bad 'bout her papa. It's what the Bible says, an' she knows it."

  "Did he tell you that?" I asked.

  She stared me down. "Tha's somethin' you gonna have ta talk ta Rusty about. I don' know nothin' else 'bout it."

  "Is he out in his woodlot?"

  "He is."

  I untied the horse and handed down the rope.

  "Thank ya fer bringin' our horse back, an' fer tellin' me 'bout Chantal," she said. "I'll be ridin' inta town tomorra ta see her."

  She didn't say it, but I suspected she'd wait until Rusty had headed out to his woodlot before she went into town.

  * * *

  I followed the sound of axes until I found Rusty and his sons, along with two hired hands, felling a stand of tall pines. As I did on my last visit, I tied Jezebel well away from any falling timber and walked to where the men were working.

  Rusty saw me approaching and guided me off to one side.

  "You sure do a lotta movin' about fer a fella with one arm," he said, watching me to see how I'd taken his jibe.

  I bristled inwardly but otherwise let it pass. "I brought your horse back. Your daughter left it at our place."

  Now it was Rusty's turn to bristle. "Where's she at?" he demanded.

  "She said she intended to head on in to Burlington to look for work."

  "An' how's she supposed ta git there?" He paused to work his mind around his own question. "Prob'ly goin' with one a them lil' skunks what's always sneakin' up ta see her," he said. "Damn."

  "She's pretty upset about you beating on her," I said. "She even talked to my father about arresting you."

  "I hope he done set her straight on it," he rasped.

  "He did." Now I paused. "But I'm not sure I agree with him." Before he could respond I hurried on. "She also told us that she overheard you telling your wife that you went after Johnny Harris right around the time he turned up dead, that you claimed you gave him what for. Exactly what was that, Mr. LeRoche?"

  Rusty squared on me, fists clenched and ready before he stopped himself. "So my own little girl's tryin' ta buy me a trip ta the gallows, is she?"

  "I need you to tell me about the fight you had with Johnny Harris," I said, keeping my hand close to my sidearm.

  Rusty let out a snort. "Yeah, I went after the sumbitch. Caught him saddlin' his horse up in his barn and grabbed him by the back of the neck an' the britches. Planned on givin' him the beatin' of his life." He looked down at my hand hanging next to my Navy Colt. "Well, the lil' sumbitch did the same thing you's thinkin' 'bout doin'. He pulled out a sidearm an' stuck it in my face an' tol' me he'd send me straight ta hell iffen I din' get outta his barn right quick."

  "And when was this?" I asked, wondering what had made Johnny nervous enough to carry a sidearm. LeRoche? Suggs?

  "We got inta it right afore he turned up dead." Rusty kicked the ground in front of him. "Tha's whatcha wanted ta hear, ain't it? But I'm tellin' ya one thing more: I din' kill that boy. Thought about it, but never done it."

  "Do you have a small cant hook?" I asked. "Not the big ones they use at the lumber mill, but the smaller kind?"

  "I got one." Rusty narrowed his eyes.

  "I'd like to take it with me," I said.

  "What fer?"

  "I want to have it checked for blood."

  He chuckled. "I'll get it fer ya." He walked over to a supply wagon and pulled a small cant hook from the rear.

  He walked back to me, holding it along his side, and I suddenly realized that all he would have to do is thrust it forward and drive it into my chest and I'd be dead, killed the same way I thought Johnny had been killed.

  "Better if ya git up on yer horse an' I'll hand it up to ya," he said.

  "Thank you. I'll return it to you as quick as I can."

  "Ya do that," Rusty said. "An' ya hear where my daughter's got off ta, ya let me know that too."

  * * *

  Fredericksburg, Virginia, 1862

  Christmas was only two weeks away and it was hard not to think of home, to think of Rebecca and my father, and the beauty of the snow-covered hills and mountains that came to us each winter in Vermont.

  "We should all be sitting in front of a fire, sipping a hot mug of cider," I said.

  "Or out shootin' a turkey or a deer fer Christmas dinner," Abel said.

  "Ya remember the blind up behind my house?" Johnny asked.

  "Hell yes," Abel answered. "We took a lotta bucks off that ridge."

  "We sure did," I said. I looked at Johnny. "You remember the time you kept me from falling off that steep drop?"

  "Sure do. Figure ya still owe me fer that one." Johnny laughed. "Hell, if I hadn't grabbed hold of ya, ya prob'ly woulda broke both yer legs an' crippled yerself up an' missed this here war."

  "Never thought of it that way," I said. "If it hadn't been for you, I'd probably be sitting at home, holding hands with Rebecca. I guess I do owe you."

  Abel slapped his thigh. "Ya gonna shoot him now, or wait till later?"

  "I'll wait," I said. "Maybe some Reb will do it for me."

  * * *

  We were gathered just below Marye's Heights, about five hundred yards from a long stone wall the Rebs were using as a fortification. A heavy fog shrouded the open field before us, and our backs were to the Rappahannock River, which we had crossed late last night on one of the three pontoon bridges our engineers had built. If we had to withdraw under fire, those same bridges would become choke points that could lead to a slaughter.

  The armies of Generals Longstreet and Jackson were spread out before u
s, with Robert E. Lee in overall command of 73,000 of the Rebels' best troops—seasoned, aggressive men, the type of army President Lincoln expected us to be. For our part we had General Burnside in command of three "Grand Divisions" totaling 114,000 men, with General Edwin "Bull" Sumner on the right flank, General Joseph Hooker in the center, and General William Franklin facing Stonewall Jackson's army on the left.

  As we awaited orders to attack, General Sumner opened a withering artillery attack on Fredericksburg to clear it of any Reb units and snipers. More then 5,000 shells were fired into the city and its western ridges from 220 artillery pieces set up on the eastern side of the Rappahannock. Sumner then ordered 10,000 men into the city to clear it of all remaining enemy troops and to burn whatever stores they found, while 10,000 more guarded them from any frontal assault by Longstreet's army. My unit was part of that guard element, and as I watched our men loot and burn the city it reminded me of histories I had read of ancient Vandals sacking European towns and villages.

  "My God, look at them boys," Johnny said, pointing to a group not far from us, some fifty men gathered outside a large store. "Look at their pockets. They's stuffed with money and God knows what else that they's taken. Why in hell are we jus' standin' here?"

  "Cause them's our orders," Abel said.

  Johnny turned to me, a pleading expression on his face.

  "Abel's right," I said. I raised my chin toward the ridges to the west. "Longstreet's army is up there. He decides to send them down and defend the city, somebody better be here to stop him."

  As we watched, our men lit torches and began moving down the street, smashing windows and setting one store after another afire. People fled into the streets, men and women, young and old, and some were shot down as they ran, while others headed for the river in hopes of finding an escape.

  "There ain't gonna be nothin' left ta defend," Johnny said.

  I watched our troops as they continued to loot and burn the city, ashamed of what I was witnessing, feeling impotent, knowing there was nothing I could do to stop it.

  * * *

  The main battle began at eight thirty the next morning. Despite a heavy fog that covered attacking and defending forces alike, General William Franklin sent two divisions into a gap in Stonewall Jackson's defenses. When the fog lifted at ten o'clock, Jackson's artillery opened up, pinning the Union troops. A two-hour artillery duel ensued, and in the end Franklin's assault was stalled.

  My men and I lay huddled in a ditch listening to the seemingly endless roar of exploding shells to our left. At eleven o'clock the order came to begin our own assault on Marye's Heights where some 10,000 Rebel troops were entrenched behind a long, winding stone wall. Our assault came one brigade at a time, for a total of sixteen individual charges. My unit was somewhere in the middle, and as we advanced up the steep hill we found ourselves stepping on and over hundreds of our own troops who had gone before us.

  Halfway up the hill the Rebel fire became withering, cutting down one line of our men after another. I shouted for my men to take cover behind our own dead and wounded, and we lay there firing up at the defenders behind the stone wall that sat more than a hundred yards above us.

  I crawled down the line, checking my own men, telling them to make their shots count and to keep track of their ammunition. When I reached Abel he stared at me, his eyes glazed with fear.

  "This here boy I'm layin' behind was alive when I dropped down," he said. "I give him some water, an' two more minie balls that were meant fer me near took his head off."

  "Stay down. They have to order a retreat soon," I said. "This is insanity."

  Johnny crawled up beside us. "Why the hell ain't they hittin' that ridge with artillery?"

  I turned back behind us, and raised my chin toward the other side of the river where the Union artillery was positioned. The entire area in front of it was covered by fog. "They can't see where to shoot," I said. "If they simply opened up they'd be just as likely to hit us."

  Johnny spit out ahead of him. "This war is jus' one big pile a shit," he said. "An' the generals we got are jus' wadin' through it with their heads up each other's hind ends."

  "Amen to that," Abel said.

  Behind us I could hear another brigade moving up the hill and I shouted out to my men: "When they reach us, join up with them and move on toward the wall!"

  My men waited until the initial wave of the new assault passed them, then rose and followed up the hill. We had gone no more than twenty yards before we were pinned down again behind our own dead and wounded.

  We remained there until three thirty when General Griffin's brigade renewed the attack. This was followed by General Humphrey's brigade at four p.m., both of which were repulsed by the Rebels. The final assault by General Getty's brigade came at dusk, but it too stalled before reaching the stone-wall defenses. In all, sixteen assaults had taken place and all had failed, before General Burnside finally called it off.

  Night came with our troops still pinned down on the hill leading to the Heights, no one able to move or to help our own wounded because of continuing enemy fire. We lay there and listened to our dying men call out for help, but each time one of our numbers tried to move forward, he too became one of the dead or dying.

  Abel crawled up beside me. "I can't stand listenin' ta these boys callin' out fer help," he said.

  "You better stand it," I snapped, my anger bursting forth. "If you don't we'll be listening to you. You rise up too far and you'll make a perfect silhouette against the night sky behind you. They've got sharpshooters up there who can pick your fat ass off easy as pie."

  Abel stared at me, confused by the harshness of my words. "It's jus' hard, Jubal. It's jus' hard."

  I reached out and grabbed his arm and shook it. "I know it is. But damnit, I don't want to be writing Rebecca, telling her that her brother isn't coming home. You keep your head down. If there was a chance in hell that we could help those boys I'd go out there with you. But there isn't. There isn't any chance at all."

  I lay there throughout the night, listening to the wounded call out in pain, begging for someone, for anyone to help them. At regular intervals our officers ordered us not to sleep, warning that enemy marauders were moving among the dead and wounded, bayoneting and clubbing anyone they found. I only saw one instance of it. I was lying behind a man whose head had been blown from his body when some thirty yards out I saw a figure rise up, his bayonet poised to strike. I fired a single shot at the center of his chest and I heard him grunt as his body flew back.

  The next morning we were still pinned down, as Burnside considered yet another assault. There was no food and we were low on water, and I called out to my men, ordering them to take canteens from the dead and pass them down the line. Finally, by afternoon, Burnside became convinced that the battle was lost and he asked Lee for a truce to attend to his dead and wounded.

  We learned later that Lee had graciously agreed and that night our army retreated across the river with our casualties. Burnside's folly had cost us 12,000 men­—killed, wounded, and captured—while Reb casualties totaled 5,300, most of them from the early assault on General Jackson's position. Our sixteen assaults against Longstreet's forces on Maryre's Heights had cost between 6,000 and 8,000 Union casualties, while killing or wounding no more than a few hundred Rebs.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Jerusalem's Landing, Vermont, 1865

  Doc took some scrapings from the end of Rusty LeRoche's cant hook and placed them under his microscope. Then he placed the pointed blade beneath the lens, turning it carefully as he studied every portion of it.

  "There are some faint traces of blood," he said. "But I can't tell if it's human or animal blood. And I don't have the equipment here to do anything more with them. I'll have to take the specimens in to the university and have proper tests run." Doc set the specimens aside. "You think Rusty might have done it?" he asked.

  I shrugged. "I'd pretty much written him off, and then his daughter came to see us, wan
ting us to arrest him for beating on her. Then she started in about the boys he'd beaten for coming to see her, and claimed she had even overheard Rusty telling his wife that he had a run-in with Johnny and 'gave him what for.'"

  "All this according to Chantal," Doc said.

  "She admitted the conversation between Rusty and her mother was very low and hard to hear."

  "Not very good evidence," Doc said.

  "No, it's not. I confronted Rusty and he admitted having a set-to with Johnny in his barn, but insisted he didn't kill him. Said Johnny pulled a Colt on him before he could do anything and told him to get out. What bothers me is that the first time I spoke to Rusty he told me he hadn't gone to Johnny's house, that he was waiting for him to come back up to Sherman Hollow."

  "So Rusty lied to you," Doc said. "Does that surprise you when you're asking questions about a murder? It tells me that Rusty's every bit as sly as I always thought he was. But being smart enough not to put your head closer to a noose doesn't make you a killer."

  "So you don't think Rusty is the type to do Johnny in?"

  "I didn't say that," Doc replied. "I wouldn't put a killing past Rusty at all. Especially if he was real angry. Man's got a temper like a bull in rut. Tell you what does bother me. Him saying that Johnny was carrying a sidearm. That doesn't sound right." He glanced down at my weapon. "Most folks don't go walking around with guns in Jerusalem's Landing. Not unless they're headed out to the woods."

  "Or unless they think someone's coming after them," I added.

  "Yes, a man might keep a gun close to hand if he thought that." He stared at me for a long moment. "You, for example. I think it's good for you to carry one, especially if you're getting close to Johnny's killer. Anyone else, beside Rusty, you think Johnny might have been concerned about?"

  "Bobby Suggs, maybe. Or it could have been somebody we haven't even come across yet. Johnny hurt a lot of people since he came back. And from what I've been told, he planned on hurting more before he was finished."