by Tony Roberts
Case and Skivenham left and looked at each other outside in the fresh air of September.
“Well, that was one heck of a surprise,” Case said.
Skivenham agreed. He took Case to one side and out of earshot of any of the guards spoke. “Sergeant Lonnergan. You’ve become something of a legend amongst the men of the company. The men look up to you to lead them and give them strength in a fight. May I ask a favor of you? If I get into serious difficulty I’d appreciate it if you helped me. I’ll promise to do the same, to look after you if you need it.”
The two men shook hands.
When they got back to camp another surprise awaited Case. He heard a familiar voice holding court with a ring of men surrounding him. He broke into a run and veered round the corner of a recently made wooden house some of the soldiers had erected and pushed at the backs of the outermost men. He shoved his large frame through reluctant rows and halted as he broke into the space in the center.
“So there I was,” the red-haired speaker was saying, “lying in a Yankee bed hollerin’ for Johnny Cakes!” The listening men burst into gales of laughter. Obviously Case and Captain Skivenham had come along at the end of some long tale.
“Jimmy!” Case burst out, eyeing the seated Llewellyn. He was dressed in civilian clothing and there were two crutches lying by the chair he was sat in.
Llewellyn looked up. “Well, Sergeant Lonnergan! You still leading these men astray?” Case pulled the surprised Llewellyn up and gave him a bear hug. “Yikes! Watch it; I’m fragile these days!”
Laughing, Case deposited the grinning Llewellyn back into the wooden chair. “Last I saw you were lying there wounded at Gettysburg. What happened?”
Some of the men broke up and wandered off but the old platoon members remained to listen to the story again. Llewellyn told the story of how he’d been carried to the Union army field hospital and treated but his wound was severe and he lost a lot of blood. He had lost consciousness and had come round in a hospital in Washington where he was treated along with men from the ill-fated charge. After a few months he was allowed home, first having to swear allegiance to the Union. “Well,” he shrugged,” I figured I was no good to fight again,” he kicked the crutches with his good leg. “Lost the feeling in this one,” he pointed at the other leg. “Don’t mean I’m a damned Yankee, it’s just I won’t be picking up a gun in this war again.”
He did have some news that unsettled Billy, though. He’d come through Fredericksburg and it was looking sorry. Much of the townsfolk’s possessions had already been looted in 1862 and now the occupying garrison was there using many of the houses. Billy asked about Rosie and the Rising Sun but Llewellyn shook his head. “No time to stop, we were railroaded to Hanover Junction and then sent south to Richmond. Only just got through as well. They’re stopping even wounded paroled men like me now!”
Billy flapped his hands helplessly. “What if they take Rosie away to Washington? What if some Yankee marries her?”
“Now, now, Billy,” Case shook his head, “Rosie’ll turn them all down; she’s said she’ll marry you, hasn’t she?”
“Yeah but what if some ugly bluebelly tells her I’m dead? They’d do something like that! I gotta go get her out of there!”
“Billy Brady, you’ll do nothing of the sort!” Case snapped. “If you try I’ll have you arrested for desertion!” He glared at the red-faced private who eventually looked down and muttered to himself, clearly unhappy. He stamped off and Case turned to Llewellyn. “How many you think are in the town?”
Llewellyn shrugged. “Small garrison. Yankee got most of his men here. They’ll be reservists or men too raw for front line duty. Why?”
“No reason.” Case looked at the departing back of the young man. He was himself getting bored with the inactivity at this part of the defensive perimeter, and General Lee had just told him the 1st Virginia wouldn’t be moving from this sector any time soon. The siege of Richmond had stagnated and only at Petersburg was there any fighting, and this was cautious and slow as Grant crept westwards, hoping to cut the rail lines into the city.
Llewellyn soon had to leave and was helped into a wagon standing nearby, and the single horse plodded off, Llewellyn waving farewell at his former comrades. He’d had no news of Siddeley or the others who had been captured at Gettysburg, but Case hoped Joe had also made it.
Case went to his small wooden shack and opened the rough made chest one of the platoon had put together a few weeks back for him, and searched through the small pile of clothing. Shaking his head he went to see Corporal Munz and talked with him for a while. Munz made a few observations and agreed to Case’s requests. He said he’d have everything collected within a week or so.
Case had one more person to speak to. Billy had to be told what Case had in mind and so that he wouldn’t panic or go off on a harebrained mission of his own. Case knew Billy; the young man was likely to go try to bring Rosie out of Fredericksburg no matter what he’d been threatened with, sooner or later. So Case had decided if anyone was to find the barmaid and bring her to a place of safety – if any place could be called such these days – then it was best he would do it. Alone.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
It was a dark and cold night when four men made their way down the steep slope to the James River, flowing darkly west to east. They struggled and cursed under their breaths, but silence was their aim, even though they knew to be so was impossible. They dragged with them a large heavy tree trunk, cut and lopped. This would be Case’s float as he crossed the river to the other side, and it would also serve to disguise his passage if any sharp-eyed sentry took time to look over the river as he passed from one side to the other.
Case knew he had to float some way downriver, round a bend and up to the next before reaching the north bank. The lines of the opposing armies snaked and writhed across the terrain and the meandering James River wound its way through them. Case stepped into mud and halted. “Okay, I’ve got to the bank,” he said softly.
The other three, Passmore, Billy and Furlong, all breathed in relief. The tree had been a swine, snaring into roots, creepers and knees. It was about eight feet long and as thick as a man’s torso. They had cut it down a few days back and smeared it in earth so the white sapwood couldn’t be seen. Case knelt and pulled up a thick globule of river mud and spread it over his face. It smelt but he cared little for that; he was more concerned about bullets.
“Hell, Sarge,” Passmore commented, “you look like an escaped slave!” The others chuckled.
Case grunted. “As long as they don’t see me, I don’t care if I look like Abe. Munz should be doing his bit shortly. I want to be off before that happens. Got my bag?”
Furlong passed a wrapped bundle, set in a bag of canvas, made from a torn tent. It wasn’t quite waterproof but it would do. Inside were clothes taken from Federal prisoners. Case had to pass muster when behind enemy lines. It had been hard finding a uniform big enough for him but eventually they had found something suitable. Case took off his jacket and hat and other Confederate accoutrements. “Look after these; I shall be back.”
“Take care, Sarge,” Billy said, “and bring her back safely!”
“I’ll take her to a safe place, not near here!” he replied. “Don’t go winning the war without me,” he added, his teeth white in the night. The three others grunted in amusement. He then dragged the tree trunk into the water, across the slimy mud, and slipped into the cold waters. “Ooh, ahh!” he hissed as the cold struck him. A memory of crossing the Rhine in a similar manner popped into his head. That was so long ago, the day he met Glam Tyrsbjorn. He smiled in memory. He hoped to hell there was no giant Yankee on the other side waiting for him. What was it he’d called Glam? Turnip dick. Yes, that was it. It probably wouldn’t be the best thing to call anyone that on the other bank.
The waters took him and his lump of tree along at a fairly sedate pace but he could see the treetops passing across the lighter sky from his position on the wate
rline. A few moments later gunshots broke out behind him and the sky lit up as igniting gunpowder broke through the darkness. Case grinned behind his mask of mud; Munz was laying down a nice diversion, and providing the perfect foundation to explain his disappearance. Come the morning roll-call he would be missed, but the action of the night would explain what happened to him. The Yankees would be blamed for taking him captive. Only his few men were in on the secret, and they would play their roles perfectly. At least he hoped so.
The current was stronger in the middle and the tree began swinging. Case went with the flow, turning him so he was now looking back the way he’d come. The flashes still lit up the woods and shots came to him a few seconds later, distorted by the distance and the muffled effects of the trees. Shouts were coming across the water opposite where he was, and he knew he was now alongside their lines.
The river turned ninety degrees to the left in a sharp bend just past this point. The log drifted over towards the southern bank which was not what he wanted, so he began to use his legs, kicking against the current, pushing the log out back towards the middle of the river. Darkness down at this point was almost absolute and he had difficulty in gauging where he was in relation to the banks. The absence of any light on either bank didn’t help either, and he swung his eyes left to right, straining them for any visible landmark. Nothing. He was wet, cold and hoping to hell the current pushed him over to the other side before long. He wanted out of the river and began to push the log across the current. The river began to swing to the right and here Case knew the Union army commanded both banks. He was now floating down close to the battlefields of two years back when they had saved Richmond. Turkey Hill wasn’t far off and he began forcing the log over to the north bank. The current was pushing him that way as well and his kicking legs soon hit the sloping bed, and he stood, releasing the log. It floated off into the dark. Case wished it well; it had served its purpose.
Cascading water as he rose from the river, he slipped up the oozing bank and hauled on a convenient low branch, pulling himself up into the undergrowth. He sat down and untied his shoes from round his neck and put them on. He kept his bag tied around his back for the moment. He was still in marshy land and he might have to cross other watercourses before hitting terra firma. He cautiously pushed himself through the spindly trees standing around him and up a steep slope. Blundering round in the dark would make it noisy so he crept forward, breathing shallowly. He had no idea if any enemy patrols were near, but he wasn’t far from the front lines and it was a likely chance he’d bump into an unfriendly soul.
He got about thirty yards from the river and the ground leveled out. Using a stout tree as a rest, he sat against it, keeping it in between him and the slope. His bag he lay by his side and he shivered as the cold wind brought out goose pimples on his flesh. He’d try to get some sleep before the dawn. Only in daylight could he see where he was and where he had to go. Only then he’d see the lie of the land. He scraped off the worst of the mud from his face; he didn’t want to go round the countryside looking, as Passmore had said, like an escaped slave. He doubted he’d got it all off but at least most of it was gone. He’d wash in a stream tomorrow
At some point in the night he drifted off to sleep but he had no idea when. He awoke just as dawn was breaking and he got to his feet, stretching his aching muscles. The shirt and trousers he’d worn crossing the river were still damp but that’d have to do. He opened the bag and pulled out the Union army uniform he’d had his men collect. The jacket was slightly tight but fitted okay. The trousers were a relief; the old patched Confederate ones he now pulled off, wiped his face some more, then threw away. The drier blue ones he put on felt more comfortable. Finally he pushed a kepi onto his head and ran an expert eye over his arms, torso and legs. “Well, now I’m a Yankee.”
There were no weapons, save a knife he had on his belt. The belt was adorned with an ‘X’, denoting it to belong to the Tenth Corps, part of Butler’s Army of the James. Case made sure the jacket hung over the belt, so no nosey soldier would ask awkward questions. The light was good enough now for him to see he was deep in a thick wood and there was no sign of any clearing nearby. The river chuckled its way along behind him, so he pushed himself off the trunk he’d been leaning against and went deeper into the trees.
After twenty minutes or so of a steady if slow progress, he stumbled onto a mud track running left to right. Deciding the further away from the front as possible was the best route, he turned right and loped off, picking up the pace. Leaves were falling and the reds, browns and yellows made the area a cheerful and colorful place. The sun appeared, but the air was cool and Case found it comfortable. What he needed soon though was food and water. That was his first priority.
Water he soon found, reaching a watercourse that flowed to the river. The track crossed it on two rotting planks and Case drank his fill. He washed his face and rubbed the mud from his skin. Refreshed, he continued for a couple of miles before coming to a junction. The track split with one branch heading on while a new path went ahead and to the left. Case decided this new path was the one to take and strode off resolutely. Ahead the land rose and he soon recognized the place; Malvern Hill, where Lee had sent men on a useless and suicidal attack back in ’62. Case found himself emerging from the woods onto grassland at the foot of the hill. He had some idea of where to go but he’d need food, not having brought any. What rations they’d had were small and he’d decided crossing a muddy river without proper waterproofing would have ruined anything he’d taken.
He came across a road and it climbed the hill, so he took that and trudged across the flat top of the hill, noting a building in the distance. A wheat field stood downhill to the left but he wanted to go to the right. Taking a right fork in the road he descended from Malvern Hill and crossed a boggy stream. Here he saw his first living soul since he crossed the river. A priest was walking ahead of him and so Case picked up speed and caught him up just as they came abreast of a side track which the priest was about to take.
“Father,” Case pulled off his kepi and tried to look furtive, “can you direct me to where I can pick some fruit? I’m hungry and have got a long way to go.”
The priest, a kindly-faced aged man with white side whiskers, studied the blue uniformed man in front of him. “Why are you not with your unit, my son?”
Case crushed his kepi in his hands in obvious distress. He knew enough of the various Christian religions to pass as belonging to most denominations. He decided on taking a Catholic approach. He looked left and right. “Uh, bless me, Father, for I have sinned… I’m going home. I’ve had enough of this war.”
The priest saw the light. “Ah! You know that could land you in trouble, my son? Still, I can assist your need for food. I shall give you enough provisions to last you a day or two. But I must warn you that ahead on this road is Glendale and there the army has an outpost. You will have to avoid that. Where are you heading?”
“Baltimore, Father.”
“Then you’ve got far to go. Avoid the railroads; the army has them all under supervision. I cannot help you beyond giving you food, you understand? Do you have any other sins to confess, my son?”
Case pondered on telling him he’d killed Jesus, but thought better of it. Instead he pretended to look embarrassed. “Ah, an occasional woman, Father…”
The priest sighed. “I understand. Go with God, my son, you are absolved. Say two Hail Mary’s and three Our Father’s. And stay away from the women.”
“Thank you, Father.” Case felt safe with the kindly priest; any who had received a confession could never reveal it to anyone, so he was certain that this priest would never tell anyone he’d seen a deserting Union soldier.
Case went on his way north with a full stomach and a bag with cheese, bread and fruit. The battlefield of Frayser’s Farm lay ahead and beyond that, Glendale. He skirted the Union outpost and carried on northwards. Now he was leaving familiar territory and entering an area he knew littl
e of. He kept on until dark when he left the road and slept in a grove of trees close by.
The next day he reached the Chickahominy River. On the bridge stood two bored looking guards. “Damn!” Case cursed to himself softly, “my luck had to run out sometime.” He looked round but there were no other options other than to cross the bridge. The riverbanks were a tangle of undergrowth and the bridge had a clear view for hundreds of yards both upstream and down. Case drew in a deep breath, then walked out onto the road again and strode confidently towards the nearest guard, fidgeting at the near end of the bridge. The second guard was at the other end, and a guard hut stood on that side. Case hoped there were no other guards inside.
“Hi,” Case greeted the sandy-haired man as he approached. He smiled widely. The guard frowned and his rifle slid into his hands as a precaution. Single soldiers were suspicious and deserters were well known to use these places to try to return home. Orders had gone out to arrest any suspicious characters.
“Who are you and where are you bound, friend?” the guard demanded, the bayonet on his rifle pointing towards Case.
Case closed to a distance of ten feet, still grinning. “I’m off to Baltimore. My name is Lonnergan. What’s yours?”
“Never mind that,” the guard snapped, now very suspicious. His thin moustache tautened as his lips set in a thin line. “Where are your orders? You got a pass?”
“Of course,” Case replied easily. He tensed himself, stepping forward, his hand sliding to his belt under his jacket. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the second guard, about fifty feet away, turning to see what the commotion was all about. As the guard next to Case looked down to see what he was to produce from his belt, Case’s other hand scythed through the air and struck the man’s neck with brutal force. A man who had fought thousands of enemies over nineteen centuries had gotten familiar with where to strike a man. He knew pretty well most of the vulnerable and weak spots on the human body, and the neck and throat were two places he tended to go for in close combat. The guard’s eyes rolled up into his head and he fell sideways in slow motion.
