When Johnny Comes Marching Home

by Lillian M. Henry

  It’s getting on toward Christmas again and I can’t help but remember all the good times we used to have. Will you and your mother be making those puddings you would bring to the table on fire? We sure used to get excited over that. I do think my favorite thing about Christmas was those cookies you used to make. I think they had oatmeal and raisins in them. With some of Granny’s hot chocolate they would sure taste good about now.

  Please forgive me for letting so much time go by without writing. I hate to mention it but we did hear something about a fight around Petersburg in Virginia that I think George might have been caught up in. … sure hope he is all right. One of the fellows mentioned the other day that he heard the New Jersey 4th was somewhere in Virginia near Danville. That’s Jacob’s outfit isn’t it? …Odd how your brothers all enlisted at different times and ended up almost in the same place.

  Anyway, I sure do wish this was over and I could see you again. I wish I had the words to tell you how happy I was to be able to spend those few days at home with you. It will feel strange to be home again. Too much has happened. I’d send you a picture of me, but that fellow Brady with the camera doesn’t seem to be interested in us pony soldiers, just seems to like getting the generals to pose for him. You should see the one he took of Sherman up on that big horse of his…looks like he could conquer the world. The men like him,Sherman that is. He seems to care about how things are with us. I guess I’d better stop for now. I’m running out of paper and it’s getting too dark to see very well. I just wanted to let you know I am all right but thinking of you and home. I really can’t believe it will be too much longer. Johnny Reb is runnin’ out of everything he needs. The men we fought the other day are pretty ragged and look awfully thin. That awful yell they give as they come at you is enough to curdle the milk. Too bad us Yanks don’t seem to have come up with something like that to scare them with.

  I guess that’s about all I can think of to tell you. We have another long ride tomorrow. I’ll say good night now, Miss Becky, and hope to hear from you soon although I have no idea where we will be after this. Do give my best to your folks and let Uncle Justus know I’m thinking of him and his folks too. I don’t have any more paper to write another letter. Your humble servant, Asa Hickok

  Chapter Nine

  With the 9th Pennsylvania Cavalry

  Savannah, Georgia

  January 1865

  Asa managed to get his letter off before riding out that next morning and sat now with his squad chuckling over their New Year’s Day ration of beer and beans. A bit of salt pork thrown in had seasoned the bland meal just enough to get their attention. “Wonder what poor hog gave his all to provide us with this bit of grease?” One of the men remarked sardonically. They had reached Savannah a week earlier and Sherman had formally presented the city to President Lincoln as his Christmas present to him and the Country. Capturing that city was the death knell to the Rebel forces so far as Company E was concerned. Word was spreading that both Grant and Lee were seeking to negotiate some sort of peace agreement but the proper procedures for a meeting were proving difficult to arrange. Sherman announced he would progress northward through the Carolinas in a similar fashion as he had during his march to Atlanta and Savannah. From things the men had heard they knew that their commander was especially anxious to administer what he felt were its just desserts to South Carolina since he considered their treasonous actions to have been the cause of the entire conflagration.

  “It will teach them a well-deserved lesson,” he affirmed to anyone that questioned him. “The President is in complete agreement,” he proclaimed proudly. “Together with our General “Unconditional Surrender” Grant and the others fighting elsewhere I will bring this atrocity to an end.”

  Since the pork and beans hadn’t come from a can that night the men savored the aroma and the taste while speculating on how much more time would pass before they could think of going home. Word was already spreading that the newer recruits would be demobilized first when the war ended as the veterans were understood to be more dependable for the pacifying of captured territory until all that sort of thing could be sorted out. No one had any idea of what would happen when the fighting officially stopped. “Some of those Reb outfits are mighty determined,” one of the men muttered while washing down his mouthful with another gulp of the homebrew they’d concocted.

  “Serves ‘em right, what we’ve done,” his companion offered. “Best just burn the whole place to the ground, you ask me. Did you hear what some of those women were saying when we passed through their towns awhile back? Weren’t for them rantin’ and ravin’ on like that, this whole mess would have been done and over with a long time ago. Maybe ole’ Jeff Davis should have put the guns in their hands the way they carry on. Let them spend a few nights sleepin’ on the cold hard ground. ” Asa agreed to a certain extent but said nothing. No need to rile your mates by disagreeing. He’d been appalled at how some of the Union soldiers had taken such pleasure in just plain wanton destruction of shops and stores that had nothing to do with the war at all. Of course, a great many of the southern ladies had not behaved like ladies and the troops had been given permission to respond to their behavior in like manner if necessary to protect themselves from their abuse. As if that wasn’t enough, the appalling conditions they’d found in those Rebel prisons they’d liberated not so long ago were enough to drive any sane man to madness. He could only keep his mouth shut and offer his silent prayers of thanks to have been spared such an ordeal like what those hapless men had suffered.

  Rebecca’s brother George came to mind. The disturbing news about his capture by the Rebels during their attack on the Weldon Railroad, not too far from where Asa was now, had struck him to the heart. It was said that an entire company of Vermonters had been taken prisoner as well as a number of Pennsylvanians. George was said to be among them. Poor fellow had been captured earlier at Bull Run and paroled and now he was a prisoner again. Asa feared for his friend’s sanity and his life, having now seen for himself what some of those prisons were like. He hastily put his dish of beans aside as his stomach turned just thinking about the inhuman conditions he and his outfit had discovered.

  The winter days wore on with no end in sight. Reports trickled in of attempts to come to some agreement that would end the fighting. Sherman’s offers of terms were quite generous his men felt but the “butternuts” in their faded yellow pants were having none of it so far. The news of Lincoln’s proposed Constitutional amendment to abolish slavery was a frequent source of conversation. Asa had no problem with that. It seemed only right to him. He’d seen up close, more than a few times, places where blacks of both sexes and all ages were bought and sold. He’d found himself balling his fists and gritting his teeth just trying to get his mind around the idea of one man or woman being owned by another and to see the children being separated from their parents was an abomination. He hoped that the end of the war would bring a stop to such atrocities.

  January and February passed with more incursions with the retreating rebel forces. Asa saw no indication that the common soldier on either side was ready to give up the fight. The interminable rainy days causing the muddy roads and fields they had to slog thorough made life even more miserable but the men cheered the news of Lincoln’s inauguration on the fourth of March but were concerned that his plea that the war could end with “malice toward none” might be difficult to achieve. They realized the animosity caused not only by the enmities of the battlefields but the harassment by the civilian southerners the Yankee soldiers were encountering was digging its way deeper into their tired brains and bodies. Such embedded emotions would be difficult if not impossible to uproot. By mid-March the 9th was in North Carolina and headed for Raleigh.

  Late on March 25th reports of a battle between Grant’s and Lee’s forces at Petersburg in Virginia brought cheers and celebrations when the men learned that Grant had been victorious. If Lee was retreating and ready to q
uit then only the Confederate General Johnston remained.

  “If ‘ol’ Sherm’ would cut us loose we could wind this up in no time,” was the sentiment that spread through the troops now encamped in Raleigh.

  On April 2nd Richmond fell and the Confederate government retreated to Columbia, South Carolina. “Johnny Reb has packed his kit and skedaddled” was the word. “The Stars and Stripes fly over the city and they ain’t comin’ down.”

  On the 9th at Appomattox Courthouse Lee surrendered his Army to Grant claiming he saw no reason to continue the slaughter. Grant was generous in his victory and allowed the Rebel officers to retain their side arms and swords… however as the other Southern generals also acknowledged that they were running out of everything they required to conduct a war including manpower the dominos began to fall…the impoverished ranks of southern soldiers were melting away rapidly. Sherman’s tactics were paying off.

  On the 14th, word came that Fort Sumter had been retaken by the Union but the Country learned to its horror the next morning that President Lincoln had taken his wife to the theatre to celebrate; half-way through the performance he had been shot from behind and lay dying. Shock and outrage brought rioting to the streets and the president died before the dawn of the 15th. Vice President Andrew Johnson of Tennessee was now president. What that might mean was anyone’s guess.

  Asa’s regiment mustered at roll call that morning and watched with disbelief as the flag was lowered to half-mast and the requisite salute of gunfire echoed from the surrounding hills.

  Three days later the 9th Regiment was called upon to escort General Sherman to a meeting with the Confederate General Johnston who sent word he was prepared to surrender. With furled and shrouded flags the men and horses progressed solemnly to the agreed upon location near Durham and the long, fratricidal war was more or less officially over.

  Both generals knew there were still scattered units that refused to quit and were just fading away into the shadows but over all Johnny Reb hugged his hurt and hopelessness to his breast while Billy Yank brushed the dried blood and dust from his blue coat and prepared to reap the adulation of a thankful nation reunited, if not in soul at least in name.

  Part Four

  Marching Home

  1865-1868

  Chapter One

  141st Pennsylvania Infantry

  The Army of the Potomac

  Washington, D.C.

  April 19, 1865

  With the country in deep mourning, preparations for the deceased President’s funeral had been hastily made while the outlying areas were being combed for the fugitive by law officers and angry civilians. The assailant had been identified as a young actor known to be a Confederate sympathizer. The headlines that morning announced that he’d been discovered hiding in a near-by barn and shot dead.

  Thomas’ company H had been on stand-by to assist in the search if needed and now relaxed but felt frustrated by the lack of activity. The longed-for day of war’s end was lost in some sort of fog as those in charge of future events floundered like swimmers caught in a rip tide.

  The newspapers on April 19th had trumpeted with black headlines that the glorious victory won by the Federal forces had been “Tarnished by ‘Cowardly Deceit.” Nevertheless, the Union was once again intact and the historic funeral would go on as planned. The culprit had been apprehended, but unfortunately was dead; however, the public was to be assured that his accomplices would be located swiftly and suffer the full measure of the law.

  The hastily installed new president, Andrew Johnson of Tennessee, attempting to stem the anger over the murder of the man who had guided the shattered country throughout the long years of war and its understandable desire now to inflict even more punishment upon their defeated brethren, decided a “Grand March” of the victorious armies should be staged as quickly as possible. He was in hopes that such a display would be a boon to the shocked country’s spirits.

  Most of the available troops were simply anxious to be discharged and allowed to go home, but on May 24th and 25th, resplendent in full uniform and shouldering their polished weapons, the victorious veterans paraded in front of the dignitaries and populace of Washington for two entire days. Thomas and his company were among them but Asa’s, which was still somewhere in the hinterland, was not.

  To the great relief of the tired men the process of demobilization was hastily initiated and just three days later on May 28th, Thomas and his company were mustered out. Having logged almost four years of service they managed to joke about having grown from pimply-faced boys to bearded men during that time.

  Finding room on the crowded trains departing for everywhere was difficult but Thomas in his well-worn uniform finally squeezed himself aboard one heading in the right direction, found a seat and promptly fell asleep. Each time the train pulled into a station and stopped he shook himself awake and stumbled out onto what he hoped was the one he wanted. The grit of the ash and tang of the coal fires were like ambrosia to his senses. Pangs of homesickness that he’d dampened down for these past years threatened to unman him and he would hastily return to his seat, turn his face to the window and pull his cap as far over his face as he could.

  When the conductor finally bellowed “Harrisburg” and then not too much later “Wilkes Barre,” he jumped to his feet and began to pace the narrow aisle. Finally taking up a position on the swaying platform between the cars he fidgeted from one foot to the other wishing he had a smoke. As the dirty buildings of the coal-mining town came into view it looked like the gateway to heaven. Collecting his few pieces of baggage, Thomas poised at the top of the steps ready to plant his feet on home soil as soon as the train rolled to a stop.

  Bidding goodbye to the handful of men he’d spent so much time with proved more difficult than he’d expected. Some, of course, were met by members of their families but he doubted any one from Rush had made the journey to the station. To his surprise and great relief he spotted the mail coach from home waiting by the open door of the baggage car. As the sacks of letters and packages came off he hurried forward to lend a hand and ask for a ride.

  “Well, young Hickok,” the driver shouted dropping the bag he was hoisting into the wagon and greeting Thomas with a hearty pounding on his shoulders. “You’re looking safe and sound which folks will be pleased to see. None the worse for wear, I hope?” He motioned to Thomas to stow his haversack in back with the mail and climb aboard.

  The musty old coach smelled like fresh mountain air to Thomas and he settled onto the rough board seat trying to hold back the tears of relief. He wondered about the welcome he could expect now that most of his part of the family were gone and none of the Kunkle boys would be coming home so far as he knew. Last he’d heard about George was that he’d been rescued from that prison and was in the hospital at Camp Parole in Annapolis. Despite his excitement about seeing Rebecca he still was anxious about how she would feel. He also wasn’t sure where he really belonged. He knew that Uncle Justus and his family were running the farm for Granny but how he was going to fit in to that arrangement was another concern. As the coach grew closer and turned down on to his road he felt his chest tighten and stomach churn. All he’d thought about for three years was coming home and now he wasn’t sure whether this place was home or not. Everything had happened so quickly he doubted that the telegram he’d sent about his discharge had reached anyone yet.

  Nothing noticeable seemed to have changed. Uncle Justus was sure to be in the fields or at the smithy and Aunt Mary at some sort of household chore or maybe shopping. Whether Orin, George and Win were at school or helping their father was hard to tell but as he approached the head of the lane leading to the house he saw no one there and bit back his disappointment.

  Thomas let out his pent-up breath in a long sigh as the mail carrier brought the old coach to a rattling stop. The older man gave him a sympathetic look while riffling through his stack of mail intended for the Rush p
ost office. Holding out a small folded-over paper, he said with a grin, “Here’s why no one’s here to greet you, son. Your telegram is just now getting here, but not to worry, you can be sure the folks are going to be mighty glad to see you. No doubt your Auntie is over at the Kunkle’s if she’s not out back in her garden. If was you, I’d check around.”

  Thomas jumped to the ground, retrieved his haversack and thanked the man profusely. “Take me a while to get used to it again, I guess… hard not to see anyone around after livin’ on top of a hundred men every day. It’s been a long time.”

  Hefting his belongings to his shoulder the downcast young man made his way up the path to the house. Without warning the front door flew open and with a shriek fit to raise the dead a woman who had to be Aunt Mary came running toward him with hair loose and skirts hiked up to her knees. “Thomas! Oh my merciful God, it’s you!” He caught her as she stumbled and the two collapsed into each others’ arms overcome by tears and laugher. “We’ve had rumors that the war had ended but then the news of the President’s murder and all that … oh Thomas, none of us knew what was truly happening. Are you really home to stay? Is this awfulness actually over for good? Come, come in you must be exhausted. Were you on the train? How did you get here?”