“What’s the name of that mountain up yonder? The one we’re going for in the morning.”
“Somebody said it was called Lookout Mountain. What difference does it make?”
“Well,” he said, not sounding at all worried, “if I die up there I’d kinda like to know where I died.”
“Ask God when you get to heaven,” Travis said sarcastically.
“Well, He’d be able to tell me. He marks the sparrow’s fall, you know.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“It means that God has things so organized that He knows when even a little sparrow is going to die.”
Silence. Some of the men were stirring about, digging out sow belly and hardtack. They hadn’t had much else in weeks. Food was scarce. Travis’s stomach rumbled. He thought about the hardtack in his own haversack—a six-inch square cracker, not an inch thick, and solid as a board. The damn things had been made in Boston and they had the initials “B.C.” stamped on each one. “Before Christ”, someone had remarked once, “that’s why they’re so goddamned stale. They were made before Jesus was!” They weren’t too bad, though, if they were soaked in cold water overnight and fried in grease the next morning.
He snapped back to the present and John Wright and what news he’d had of Kitty. He wanted desperately to ask but forced himself to be silent.
“I think we might just take that mountain,” John murmured. “I don’t think Bragg’s got that many Confederates up there. And we got the Army of the Potomac and the Army of the Tennessee units—and us! General Thomas’s soldiers are going to be out for blood, too, considering the way both Hooker’s and Sherman’s men been jeering ‘em for more than a month over the shellackin’ they took at Chickamauga, not lettin’ ‘em forget they had to have help to get ‘em out of there.”
“Damn it, Wright, what have you heard about Kitty?” Travis yelled, making some of the soldiers about turn and stare.
He was smiling. In the darkness, Travis couldn’t see his face, but he knew, without a doubt, he was smiling because he had done what he set out to do: proven that Travis cared about his daughter. “Andy got a letter from his mother, like I said. He’d written to her, told her he had changed over to fight for the Union and couldn’t write all those months he was a prisoner.”
“That’s right. Hell, you don’t haul a prisoner around with you and let him write letters all over the countryside telling everyone where he is.”
“Anyway, he told her that Kitty had been held a prisoner with him till she got away. She wrote him back, told him his father hadn’t come back.”
“You never told him about Orville Shaw?”
“No. You said Kitty told you that was Andy’s father your men killed. I never told him. The boy worships you, Travis, looks up to you. True, his pa was a no-good bastard that beat the boy and didn’t do right by none of his family, but he was still his pa and it might make him feel different toward you if he knowed it was you what ordered him shot. Some things is best left unsaid. Anyway, his ma wrote him about being burned out and about my place being burned, too. I’m not surprised at that. I figured they’d get around to it sooner or later, Then she went on to say that Kitty had come home, she’d heard, and the reason she heard about it was because what happened was the talk of the town and her cousin heard about it and wrote her.”
John’s voice had changed pitch, becoming strained, husky; continuing, it appeared, would be difficult. Clearing his throat and taking a deep breath, he plunged on, the words coming rapidly, as if he were anxious to have it out and all said now that he’d gotten started.
“Kitty went home and went to work in the hospital, but one night she was attacked on the street and carried off. Some men were shot and killed. One was taken with her. Somebody who saw them, riding out of town swears it was Luke Tate that had her.”
Travis’s heart was pounding with the flow of angry blood that ripped through his body. Tate! Tate had Kitty! He smacked his fist into the ground again and again, feeling the skin tearing, bleeding, and not caring. Tate had Kitty! Damn it, the son of a bitch had her, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it here in the mountains about to go into battle.
John touched his shoulder. “I know, boy, I’m hurtin’ just like you are. My girl’s been through hell and it don’t look like it’s ever gonna end. And right now, there’s nothing either one of us can do about it. Andy wrote his mother and asked her to get in touch with her cousin and find out everything she could, but that will take a while, the way letters travel so slow these days. It isn’t easy getting a letter out of the South to a Northern outfit, either. It has to go through the underground and that does take right smart time.”
“So in the meantime, we do nothing.” Travis let his breath out. He felt dizzy, not realizing he’d held it so long.
“We try to keep from gettin’ killed so when the time comes we can help Kitty—we’ll be around. But we can pray…”
“Pray?” Travis laughed. “Old man, my prayers wouldn’t get above the tree tops. And I don’t remember ever having prayed in my whole life.”
“You don’t have to reach above the tree tops. God will come down here to listen. He moves around quite a bit, I’m told. And there’s always a first time. And if you’re a bit rusty or can’t get started, it’ll come to you. The Lord has a way of taking care of that, too.”
“Why didn’t Andy come to me about this?”
“I don’t think he figured you’d care. We talk a lot, Andy ‘n’ me. He says you two fought a lot and at times he thought you hated each other. Toward the end, just before Kitty left, he said he wasn’t so sure but he didn’t think you wanted to talk about it.”
“And what made you think I did?”
“Well, I may not have but one eye, Coltrane, but I see more’n most folks think I do.”
Tate has Kitty—the knowledge burned into Travis’s brain like a thousand branding irons. The son of a bitch had Kitty. Thinking of what he must be doing to her, God, he now wished he had gone on and killed her. Death wou1d have been better than what she was probably being forced to endure! At least he had been gentle. He might have teased her, made her want him, beg for it, but he’d never brutally raped her—and if he did get a bit rough, at the time, she had enjoyed it. He’d made it good to her. However else she might have tricked him, he didn’t think she was putting on an act when he was making love to her.
“Want to get some sleep,” John asked, “or try to find some hot coffee? Though I don’t imagine there’s any to be had with no fires going.”
“No. I can’t sleep and I’m not hungry. I do have one question, though.”
John had started to get up but sat back down. “What is it, son?” The voice was gentle, compassionate, as though he knew Travis shared his anguish and concern over Kitty’s fate.
“Why aren’t you surprised she didn’t marry that Reb?”
“Nathan?” He snorted. “Those two grew up together. Kitty was so damned pretty she could have her pick of the boys, but she wasn’t interested in boys or in growing up to just get married. We used to talk about that a lot when we was out huntin’ or fishin’, and she’d tell me how she didn’t see why a woman had to grow up and get married and have babies just because she happened to be born a woman, and I agreed with her. She felt like a woman should be able to do what she wanted to do with her life, and from the time she was knee-high to a billy goat, she’d toddle after Doc Musgrave, making rounds with him. She could doctor almost as good as he could. She wanted to go away to school, be a nurse, maybe even a doctor. She didn’t hold to sewin’ and tattin’ and doin’ what she called ‘women things’. She wanted to be her own person and I agreed with her all the way.”
John paused to stick a plug of tobacco in his mouth. “Nathan came from a proud, rich family and had his own notions about what a woman was supposed to be. I knew he and Kitty would lock horns sooner or later over her thinking the way she did, but I didn’t discourage him from courtin’ her. I
know my girl, and I knew when it came right down to it, she wouldn’t be pushed around—even if she did think she loved him. And it seems I was right. Andy’s momma wrote that Nathan brought her home from Richmond, but they didn’t get married. He went back to the war and she went to work in the hospital at Goldsboro, like I said.”
“And now she’s God-only-knows-where.”
“Kitty can take care of herself.” John sounded as though he believed it. “If it was any other woman, I’d say by now she was whipped, beaten—but not my girl.”
Travis nodded in silent agreement. Kitty would do her best to fight back, try to escape. She would never be beaten into submissiveness.
Not her. He looked in the direction of the dog tent he shared with Sam Bucher. Sam’s musket had been stuck in the ground with bayonet fixed, holding up the half-shelters. His friend wouldn’t be asleep, he knew. He was probably still mumbling and cursing over being ordered to fight on foot with the infantry, but this was the way it had to be. A charge up that mountain couldn’t be made easily on horseback, and besides, they’d had the misfortune of getting their mounts shot out from under them, and horses were scarce.
Get the battle over with quickly, he thought fiercely—and then what? There was no way of knowing where Tate had headed. The war was boiling all around, and he couldn’t take off to look for her anyway. And if he found her—what then? Send her back to North Carolina to treat wounded Rebs and wait for her Reb boyfriend to patch things up and get married? Hell, nothing made sense anymore. He pounded his boot into the ground.
He remembered something. Turning sharply, he said, “Since when did you want to sit around and chew the fat with me, Wright? I’ve had the feeling all along you’d shoot me in the back if you got a chance.”
“I don’t shoot men in the back, Coltrane, I’ll admit, at first I thought about it. I hated you for what you did to my little girl. Then I talked to Sam and Andy, and I started figuring out a few things for myself. I’ve also watched you fight. Takes a man with plenty of courage to fight the way you do, I have to respect that. I figured if anybody could help me find Kitty, it’d be you. When Tate took her before she wound up with you, I didn’t know about it—couldn’t do anything about it. I guess I went a little crazy when the war first broke out; anyway, I wasn’t thinkin’ too straight. But now I am straight and I do know about my girl being taken by those sons of bitches and as soon as we whip Johnny Reb tomorrow, I’m going to find her.” He paused, gave his words time to soak in, then added, “I kind of hope you’ll go with me, Coltrane.”
A Sergeant walked up just then, addressing them gruffly, “The General says for everybody to write his name on something and pin it to his shirt. If you get killed, we need to know who you are so we can send word to your family.”
Travis smiled sardonically. “What’s this ‘we’ stuff, Sarge? What makes you think ‘we’ won’t be sending a letter home about your guts being blown out?”
John Wright laughed and the Sergeant bellowed, “Just pin your goddamned name on your shirt, soldier. And make sure you’re keeping your cartridges dry and the nipple on your musket’s firing pin is dry and there ain’t no mud stopping up the barrel.”
“You’re talking to a cavalryman, Sergeant, and I’ve got a breech-loading repeating rifled carbine.”
“I don’t give a shit what you got, soldier. You just make sure it’s ready to fire when we start shootin’. Damned cavalry!” He stomped away into the night, cursing, “Think they’re so goddamned great and glorious. Hell, whoever saw a dead cavalryman, anyway.”
Travis and John laughed, and the tension was gone. They sat together through the night, beneath the tree, talking about Kitty, how they’d find her, how they would make it through this battle and the next and the whole damned war. John had a jug of “red-eye” and the more they drank, the better they felt about the whole world around them—waiting for it to end.
“You going to pin your name on?” Travis asked as the first pink hem of dawn began to appear over the trees.
“No. I don’t see where names matter so much right now, Coltrane. Me and you will be the only ones who go to look for Kitty. If we don’t, she won’t get found—and who else cares if I get killed?”
“I’m not pinning a name on either, John.”
They were called together for briefing. The officer in charge stood before them and repeated the words they had heard before. “Do not shoot till you are within effective musket range and fire deliberately, take care to aim low and don’t overshoot. If you wound a man, so much the better—they’ll have to be taken off the field, by unwounded soldiers and they make good targets. Pick off the officers, especially the ones on horses. Hold your ranks and don’t huddle together when the firing gets heavy. When you hear the order to charge, do so at once and move fast. You’re less apt to get killed moving steadily forward than if you hesitate or retreat; but if we have to fall back, do it gradually and in order. More men are killed during a disorganized retreat than at any other time.”
The officer looked around him; he was young and Travis thought he seemed nervous. Well, he had reason to be. They all did. Whether they drove Bragg off the mountain or not, one thing was for certain: a hell of a lot of men were going to die this day.
“Don’t be afraid of the artillery,” he went on, trying, Travis knew, to sound fierce and authoritative, making his voice gruff and stem. “Artillery is never as deadly as it seems. A rapid movement forward will reduce the battery’s effectiveness and hasten the end of its capacity to destroy. Do not—I repeat—do not pause or stop to plunder the dead or pick up the spoils. Battles have been lost by this temptation. And as cruel as it might sound, do not heed the pleas for assistance from your wounded comrades. The best way to protect your comrades is to drive the enemy from the field. Straggling under any guise will be severely punished and cowards will be shot!”
He paused again and took a deep breath, pushing his chest forward a bit. “Do your duty in a manner that befits the heroic example that your regiment has already set in earlier fields of combat.”
Somewhere the snare drums began the long roll. The color bearers moved forward. In the early morning mist, intense activity could be seen all around. Surgeons were preparing their kits and litter bearers and ambulances were grimly waiting. Some of the soldiers were down on their knees praying; others read from their testaments. And some, like Travis, bit off a chew of tobacco, jaws working furiously. Everywhere, suspense was bearing down with a crushing force—and the silence was overwhelming as they waited after the drum roll ceased.
Travis looked at the red-haired boy huddled beside him. Andy had grown up quite a bit since they had been together. He could fight like a man and would never be the kind to turn and run from a battle. They had grown close and he never failed to feel a spirit of big-brother protectiveness when danger prevailed. “You all right, boy?” he whispered, noting that he had pinned his name on his shirt while Sam, John, and Travis himself had all neglected to do so.
“Yeah. I’m fine.” He spoke quietly. Too quietly.
“Are you worried, Andy? This is just another battle, you know. You’ve been through them before. You’ll do fine.”
“It ain’t just another battle.” His tone was clipped, short, almost defiant, and the three of them, Travis, Sam, and John, all turned to stare at the boy. “It ain’t just another battle to me. If I get killed in this one, it ain’t all over. None of it.”
“Boy, you ain’t makin’ no sense,” John said worriedly.
“Yeah, I am. The parson come by my tent last night and prayed with me. I’m saved.”
“Saved?” Sam Bucher spit out a wad of tobacco and wiped his lips with the back of his hand. “What do you mean, you’re saved? You ain’t saved from fightin’ today, boy. You’re goin’ into battle just like us. If you sit here and don’t fight ‘cause some preacher thinks he got you out of it, General Grant will have you shot quicker’n Johnny Reb skins boots off a dead Yank.”
Andy�
��s sigh was impatient. “Sam, you don’t understand what I’m saying. I’m not talking about the parson savin’ me from going into the battle. I am going and I intend to fight, but I’m saved, Sam! My soul is saved. I’m a born-again child of God, and if some Reb ball tears into me today, I’ll still be alive, don’t you see?”
He looked at each of the men in turn, his gaze imploring them to understand his words. “The parson says my sins are washed away; if my time comes to die, I’ll die in peace. He says if I get killed today, I’ll dine with the Lord tonight.”
Sam slapped his knee, roaring with laughter. “Well, ask the good preacher if he’s hungry and would like to go along and eat, too. I already seen him ridin’ in the opposite direction, heading out of here like the devil himself was after his immortal soul!”
Travis managed to hold back his own laughter and kept a straight face as he said, “Leave him alone, Sam. If the boy feels better going into battle now that the preacher says he’s saved his soul, then don’t make light of it.”
Sam and John exchanged incredulous looks. Andy smiled appreciatively. Travis knew that the boy had only pledged his allegiance to the North because of the way he had attached himself to him and looked up to him. And he felt a responsibility for him. True, he didn’t understand a lot about God and heaven and hell, but he wasn’t about to make light of those who did. And just the expression on Andy’s face mirrored some kind of inner peace that he himself could not identify with.
And then they heard the rattle of musketry in front. The Confederate pickets had been alerted that an attack was about to come. Everyone stretched to immediate alertness. A signal gun fired, then the artillery guns began to explode in all their fury. Someone screamed, “Charge!” And the battle was on.
They moved forward, aware that comrades were already falling right and left. Travis paused, took aim, and fired. A soldier in gray toppled screaming from his perch high in a pine tree. A feeling of exultation filled him as he surged forward with the others, anxious to get to the enemy now.
Love and War: The Coltrane Saga, Book 1 Page 47
