The news was slow and often inaccurate but what did reach the anxious folks at home declared the war had bogged down with no end in sight. The Army of the Potomac was constantly harassed by the Confederate General Lee and his minions, not only in Virginia but into Pennsylvania as well. While the Union General Sherman’s destructive forces were laying waste to the hinterland like avenging angels, the Eastern generals were having no such luck. Sherman insisted he was saving lives by destroying the Confederate will and its means by which to fight and in certain areas it did seem to be working by the number of desertions the Southern armies were suffering. Unfortunately those that remained had no intention of backing down.
Asa’s cavalry unit was put to hard use as it continued to serve as the eyes and ears of the armies moving eastward. The last news his family and friends had received from him said he was in some place called Mossy Creek in Tennessee. Of course, Rebecca lamented, the letter was weeks old.
He wrote very little about what he and his comrades were doing and the outfit of battle-hardened and weary men pursued the enemy as ordered and wondered if they would ever have a soft bed again. Asa admitted, if only to himself, that he’d had enough of military life to last him.
He’d returned from his furlough without knowing if he’d fulfilled his recruiting mission satisfactorily but his head and heart were full of memories of Rebecca and his home. The news of Wesley’s death had unnerved him and left a bitter taste in his mouth. He vowed to survive and bring some sort of comfort to Rebecca and her family if it were the last thing he ever did.
As for his brother Thomas, he could only pray. Damn, he swore under his breath as he mounted up for the day’s duties. Why is it I’ve heard nothing from him about any of this?
It had been a strange and disturbing feeling to find so many of the family gone when he had arrived at home, but she was there and so was the land he’d grown up on and loved so well. He’d seen a great deal of this country he was defending now and most of it was very beautiful when not overlaid with dead and wounded men. The townspeople he had met were not that much different from those he knew at home. Folks were pretty much the same no matter where you went, he decided, but home was home.
As each day passed he became more and more certain that his little corner of Pennsylvania was where he wanted to be. Whatever had drawn the rest of them to Michigan can’t be that much better, he’d decided one sleepless night while twisting and turning on the well-worn pallet he’d spread on the hard ground. I suppose I should want to meet my father, but I’ve no memory of him at all. Tom and I grew up with Granny and Grandpa for parents and now they’re gone too. Well, she hasn’t yet but can’t be too much longer ’fore she is. Groaning, he punched the piece of folded flannel he was using for a pillow and stared at the moldy tent wall. Bugler might as well sound reveille, he thought, I’m not getting much sleep tonight. His thoughts went back to when he and Tom and the Kunkle boys had enlisted. We sure did feel proud to be ready and willing to do our duty. Now, David was crippled, Wes was dead and George and Jacob were either prisoners, sick, or both. News was hard to come by and he had all he could do to keep himself alive.
The word that had gone around after that Gettysburg battle hadn’t told him much and neither Tom nor any of the Kunkles had written anything to him about it either. All he knew was that it had been huge and likely worse than anything he’d seen so far. Just as well I haven’t heard much, I guess, he consoled himself. Place like that is too close to home. Somehow it never occurred to me the Rebs would manage to cause trouble in my own state. He startled as the rattle of gunfire in the distance could be heard, “Sounds like someone just shootin’ at a catamount, or maybe one of those damned snakes!” He grumbled and tipped his wide-brimmed hat down over his face hoping to get some sleep.
Chapter Six
The 9th Pennsylvania Cavalry
Army of the Cumberland
Louisville, Kentucky
May, 1864
When the time came Asa re-upped as planned and found his duties as a Veteran Volunteer were not much different from what he had been doing all along. Engaging the enemy almost constantly the 9th was successfully keeping the critical railroads open. Supplies or the lack thereof were still one of the most important necessities for either army and the rich valley of the Shenandoah was a prize worth fighting over.
Waking early one morning he proudly wrote to Rebecca that he had been promoted to sergeant since having last seen her and mentioned he was attempting to sew his triple-striped patches on to a new shirt he’d just been issued. Without too much success, he added with a grin. Maybe she could do it for him if he could just get home again?
“Ha!” He muttered to himself, fat chance of that. But, he thought, would seem like this fuss can’t go on too much longer, the Rebs have got to be running out of everything by now. He hesitated at the bottom of the page unsure of what to add or how to sign it. He desperately wanted to pour out his heart to her but was afraid that wouldn’t be proper. Deciding on “your faithful friend,” he hastily sealed the fold-over note, addressed it and hurried out to find the courier who would be carrying the mail. The bugler was sounding assembly as he made his way to the temporary corral his group had formed for their horses. As he saddled up he tried to block out thoughts of another day of not knowing what might lie ahead.
The regiment had been constantly on the move since Mossy Creek These past months of sleeping rough and spending hours in the saddle were taking their toll on his good nature. The experience had shaped him. The seventeen-year-old boy who had joined up three years ago was now a twenty-year-old man with memories of too many sights better not to have seen.
When he let his thoughts go to those few heart-warming hours of being with Rebecca in that fragrant and innocent kitchen, he cringed inwardly. Could he ever, he wondered, feel right about putting his dirtied hands on that lovely young woman?
“Damn,” he sputtered, as the horse shied beneath him, “pay attention to what you’re doing, you idiot!” The bugle sounded again, the battle flag raised and someone shouted “Move out!”
Progressing across the state the 9th engaged in one altercation after another until it seemed as if they had to fight for every cross road and bridge. Asa wondered if anyone was keeping track. He knew he would never remember the names of all those places. The days began to feel like one big battle. News of the skirmishes and battles elsewhere filtered back to the men. Word was they were heading to a rendezvous with the now famous General William Tecumseh Sherman. They’d heard of his taking of Atlanta in September and were familiar with his previously frowned upon as unmilitary tactics. Some of the “big brass” were not happy with the red-bearded hero of the Mexican War. His unusual orders to lay waste to the countryside and the manufacturing capability of the enemy caused them some concern until they realized this new commander’s intent was to render the Confederate Army incapable of replenishing itself in addition to eroding its will to fight. A man driven to choose between his beleaguered family and his duty to a dream he is pursuing is likely to abandon what he perceives to be a lost cause.
However, as Asa and his companions gathered around their campfires each evening a sense of anticipation interfered with their attempts to relax. All still bemoaned the fact that no one could foresee an end to the fighting any time soon, but the stories of Sherman’s march to the sea and the taking of Savannah did offer a bit of encouragement.
Some were concerned when news from home brought word about the upcoming Presidential election due shortly but disagreed as to their preferred outcome. They understood that McClelland had been chosen as the candidate for the opposing party. They supposed that easterners perhaps might favor him but most were still Lincoln men even it they didn’t always agree with some of his positions regarding the slave issue. Not many of them in Asa’s outfit had had much personal knowledge of the black folks but most agreed that it wasn’t right for one man to own another.
From what they were hearing the black regiments recently recruited were just as good as fighters as any of them. That had to count for something, they believed. Word also was spreading that the Rebs were actually kidnapping black people right off the streets of the northern cities they were invading and sending them south even when they weren’t from anywhere down there. That sure wasn’t right!
Chapter Seven
With the 141st Pennsylvania Infantry
Army of the Potomac
Somewhere outside of Washington, D.C.
Fall, 1864
Corporal Thomas Hickok chaffed at his post and spat into the dust that seemed to cover everything he could see. Nothing had been the same since he’d learned that his best friend Wesley Kunkle had died of the wounds he’d taken at Gettysburg. He dusted the stripe on his sleeve ruefully and brought himself to attention as several officers approached his post and returned his salute. Who they were or what they wanted was of no concern to the young soldier. They were dressed in blue and sported insignia that out-ranked his. Seemed like someone was either coming or going all day long and he was overdue to be relieved of his guard duty by several minutes. Checking their credentials, he pointed them in the proper direction and waved them through. He’d about had all he could stand of Army life by now. These days were filled with nothing but drill and more drill. He’d been here on picket duty at the Capitol for his entire life, he swore. Nothing much ever seemed to happen except for the “brass” that kept coming and going.
He sighed and looked around for his replacement, grinning when he saw the awkward figure making its way toward him on the run. “’Bout time you got here!” Thomas grumbled at the beardless boy who was hastily tucking his shirt into his trousers and trying to carry his rifle both at the same time. “Here, give me that,” the veteran chuckled, reaching for the long-barreled gun. “You’re likely to shoot yourself in the foot carrying that deadly weapon like that. You’re late you know, clean yourself up, mate! New recruits! Bah!” He chuckled again remembering himself three years ago trying to look military.
“Oh, God,” he moaned inwardly recalling how he and Wes had felt signing up to “preserve the Union,” The two sixteen-year-olds had been assigned to the same Infantry outfit and remained close friends. Last June changed all of that when they were ordered out to defend the near-by town of Gettysburg. As the ensuing battle began fortune separated them so Thomas had not seen the injuries that sent Wesley to the hospital. Everyday he expected to see his boyhood friend jogging toward him across the field as he had done so frequently whenever he had the chance to visit of an evening. Now Wesley was dead! He had to keep telling himself that, but it just couldn’t be true. Wesley was just across the parade ground or at the mess tent. He couldn’t be dead!
He’d finally managed a letter to Rebecca and her parents but no words were the right words and he had felt ashamed somehow and terribly inadequate. No matter how may times he might try to tell them how he felt it would never be good enough. Wes was dead and he wasn’t. The very idea of returning to Rush and facing her was too much to even think about.
To make matters worse, he’d just heard that Wes’ older brother George’s outfit had been in a bad one down around Petersburg. Something about the Weldon Railroad that was a crucial supply line. From what little he could find out George had been among those captured. “That’s twice,” Thomas shivered realizing that the prison closest to Petersburg was that hell hole called Andersonville they’d all heard of. “God help him,” the boy muttered and turned to the young soldier facing him.
Shifting the heavy rifle to his shoulder he demonstrated the proper procedure to the raw recruit and sighed. He’d grown old fighting this war it seemed. “Hours of boredom interrupted by moments of sheer terror” is how the old hands described the time they’d served. Sometimes he wondered if any of it had done any good. All this about slave versus free and preserving the Union was more than he could figure out. All most folks he knew wanted to do was to plow their land, get married and raise a family in peace. “Home,” he thought again. I don’t even know where home is these days. From what I hear from Uncle Justus, the folks that matter to me most have all gone west to some place named Michigan, I‘m not even sure I know where that is. They say my Pa is there so I guess that makes it important in a way but I don’t even remember what he looked like much less any thing he ever did.
The brief note he’d received from Asa at mail call this morning lay on his bunk like manna in the wilderness…food enough to chew but too scant to be satisfying. From what his brother had said they were in the same situation, just breaking their backs doing what had to be done…at least Asa was seeing some action. Thomas wondered what being part of Sherman’s “bummers” might be like… had to be more interesting than just standing here on guard duty. Thomas tried to picture the part of the country Asa had described and decided it must be something like the mountains they called home. This place in Virginia was nothing but hot sun beating down on you all day and then thunderstorms in the late afternoon which didn’t do a thing about the swelter. Boy, what he would give for a dip in the creek that ran by their farm. He grinned remembering the day Rebecca had caught them skinny dipping.
A shadow crept across his bunk and he shivered again. Mess call sounded and he pulled himself to his feet. Might as well see what sort of beans they were going to have tonight. One thing he did enjoy, he had to admit, was the music the men played and sang around the fires after dark. Strange how both armies sang the same songs. Thomas smiled. When the wind was just right they could hear each other and would sing together about home and happier times. The one he liked best was something called “When Johnny comes marching home again, the men will cheer and the boys will shout, the ladies they will all turn out…” Strange, he mused, both Yanks and Rebs are singing this song as we move from one place to another. You can be sure it will be like the song says, “we’ll all feel gay when Johnny comes marching home,” if a couple of those generals would decide that enough is enough.
Chapter Eight
The 9th Pennsylvania Cavalry
With Sherman’s Troops
Marietta, Georgia
November 14, 1864
The Pennsylvania 9th finally rode into Marietta and reined up in awe at the sight of the encampment spread out before them. Dirty and scarred from the constant encounters with the opposing forces they’d met along the way Asa’s regiment sat slumped in their saddles agape at the thousands of men ready and waiting for the orders to move on.
Still fired up from their victory at Atlanta on September 2nd Sherman’s troops had made their way across country to Marietta wreaking havoc as they went. The energy emanating from the vast gathering was palpable. Asa feeling a trickle of sweat creep down his back tightened his grip on the reins as the horse sensing his unease danced a few steps in the gritty dust that covered everything.
“Looks like we’re to become part of Sherman’s “bummers,” one of Asa’s mates chuckled. “Good chance to snag us some souvenirs and put the fear of God into these “butternuts.”
The two armies rose the next morning to the strident sounds of the bugle and the drums. “Prepare to march” came the order of the day and after downing a hasty breakfast and tending to the horses Asa’s Company E was in the saddle and ready to ride.
They were surprised to soon realize that many of the “bummers” as the newspapers were calling Sherman’s men had begun to believe they were God’s avenging angels and punishing the sins of the South was their duty.
Sherman, claiming he would “make Georgia howl”, began his “march to the sea’ that he had promised following the taking of Atlanta. By wreaking a sixty-mile wide swath of complete destruction of everything contributing to the war effort, he believed he was shortening the war and saving lives. Perhaps he was, Asa thought, but as for himself, he had no stomach for the pillaging of homes and destruction of good farmland that occurred despite
orders to spare certain properties on occasion. He did his best to block out the frightened faces of children clinging to their mothers’ skirts and the defiant stares of the women. Some of the men exalted. “Serves the bastards right, but for them this terrible war would never have happened. Can’t they see they’re whipped?” he would hear them say when they rode off leaving weeping women and the terrified children behind.
As he and his fellow horsemen rode through the half-harvested fields setting fires and destroying the remaining crops he grit his teeth feeling demeaned and somehow diminished. Perhaps he was helping to save lives but he found no glory in the ruin that lay in the wake of the path of destruction their commander had ordered. As he watched the fires burn he grew hardened to the sight but imagined a cold flinty stone buried in his chest.
Keeping his memories of Rebecca tucked into his heart he hoped to blank out the rest as he rode forward and went about his work. It was obvious to him that the Rebs had made a huge mistake thinking they could break away from the rest of the country and go it on their own. He could understand some of Sherman’s decision to destroy, but waging war on women and children just didn‘t seem right.
Sitting one night as the sun set and a December chill settled over his shoulders, Asa pulled out a scrap of paper and his pencil stub and began to write to Rebecca:
Dearest Becky, I do hope you haven’t forgotten me. I know it’s been too long since I have written but we’ve been on the move almost constantly these past months and I have not done anything that you would be proud to hear about. Maybe you are getting news about the fires and the destruction of farms and factories that we are ordered to do. Just today my outfit managed to overcome the defenders at one of the railroad yards and we were told to torch it. It don‘t feel right to me but, our orders are to lay waste to anything the Rebs might have use for. Our General Sherman believes that we can destroy the enemy’s will to continue this fight if they see that they can no longer protect their homes and families from our advance. I suppose he’s right and that it likely will save lives, both theirs and ours, but I can’t say I like doing it…seems wrong somehow. I don’t think my Grandpa would approve, but then I don’t suppose he’d approve of anything we’ve had to do.
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