The Confederate

by Tony Roberts

  Case could now hear the hoofs of the pursuing men as they closed and he reached down and grasped the Spencer. A shot spat past and buried itself against a tree. It had been a pistol shot. Case found handling a carbine while galloping fell pelt impossible and so he pulled on the reins and swung the horse round to face the onrushing Yankee horsemen. They stopped suddenly too, realizing their quarry had turned and had teeth. Two plunged off the road to left and right, pistols raised high in the air, but the third came on, pistol blasting furiously.

  Two shots cracked past closely and Case deliberately aimed at the man’s chest and squeezed the trigger. He saw the impact on the crisp, clean uniform and the rider was flung off the saddle and crashed to the ground onto his back. Case slid off the horse and slapped the rump of the horse which began trotting off. “Keep your distance!” Case snapped to Rosie. “Keep clear! I’m going to hunt these two heroes.”

  “You’ll be killed!” Rosie cried, grabbing the reins in haste.

  Case ignored her and scampered into the roadside undergrowth to the left. He heard and saw one of the horsemen charging towards his position and so stepped out into his path and fired. The bullet, aimed upwards, entered the soldier’s upper chest and exited in a fountain of blood out of the houlder. He twisted in pain and lost balance, falling off the horse which rushed past Case. The soldier yelled in pain, rolling on the floor, trying to clamp the shattered part of his body.

  Case left him, judging he was too badly hurt to bother him, and cranked the lever. That left one horseman. The Eternal Mercenary slid back to the road and peered across it. A shadow moved a short distance off and he fired into it. The shadow moved and twigs and leaves were disturbed as the cavalryman, panicking, fled back towards safety. “Stay off my back!” Case yelled at him, “or I’ll kill you! I’ll kill anyone who comes after me!”

  He turned and ran towards the distant Rosie who’d halted the horse fifty yards down the road. He grabbed the reins and remounted, having to do it twice as his first attempt failed. “You okay?” Rosie asked nervously.

  “Yeah, I’m fine. Let’s get out of here.”

  As night fell they found themselves still being pursued, but at a longer distance, and they plunged gratefully into the thick tangled area known as The Wilderness. Case had no idea which way to go, except carry on west. The unenthusiastic pursuers came into the Wilderness but blundered round and got themselves lost. During the night Case and Rosie stopped and allowed the horse some badly needed rest and Rosie slept. Case kept guard but apart from long distant sounds of men calling to each other, nothing stirred close by.

  Daylight brought Case and Rosie a direction to go; the sun came up and through the trees he gauged which way he needed to make for. Rosie said he needed to go north of west so he led the horse on foot with Rosie in the saddle, keeping to the clearer areas. They stumbled upon the road leading to the river once again but it was clear and Case mounted up and rode gently along, watching intently in case a patrol happened by. Nobody came and Case guessed they had all been pulled in to search further east.

  The Wilderness thinned and open fields soon appeared so Case left the road and rode north of it towards the river. Late that afternoon they reached it and waded down into the cold waters and crossed. Once on the other side Case made quickly for woodlands that grew there and plunged into them. Any pursuit was now far behind them and he laughed, having outstripped the reservists and garrison troops with ease.

  He now asked Rosie about directions, because this area he knew nothing about. “Stay in this direction and you’ll go near Kelly’s Ford. We’re on the right path. After that there’s nothing before the hills.”

  Night came again and they were still in thick woodland. They ate the last of the food Rosie had thoughtfully packed at Fredericksburg, cheese and bread that was now stale. They drank water and Case got some sleep which he badly needed. His eyes were less sore the following morning as they closed the distance to the hills, now visible as they passed out of the woods. They stopped and waited as a distant Federal patrol rode along a road some way ahead, but once they were out of sight they resumed and soon Rosie was smiling as familiar landmarks came to her.

  Before noon they were riding along a quiet country lane bordered by a plank fence that badly needed repainting towards a white wooden house with a verandah, and the blue tinged ridges of the mountains rose behind it. “We’re here,” Rosie said with relief.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  The end of the year came with the army still entrenched around the two cities. Case got back a month after he’d left, hailed by his men and welcomed as returning from the dead by the others, Captain Skivenham included. He explained he’d broken free from a prison-bound group and hidden in various places until he’d been able to sneak through close to Gordonsville; at least that part was true enough.

  He was still carrying fresh in his memory the softness of Rosie’s cousin, a plump, healthy outdoor type who had been widowed in 1863 and had seen Case as something of interest. Rosie had taken one room and Case one in another part of the house. The first night he’d stayed there her cousin had come to him and had thrown herself at him, exhausting herself all night. Case had slept well past mid-day and found Rosie’s cousin wanted to repeat the experience straight away. Case had held her off until after dark but after that she’d got her way and that was the pattern each night. Case found the woman helped in easing the pain of Liz, and by the end of the week Case was ready to return to the army, his mind much better, his stomach full and his outlook much calmer. He left the horse and went on foot. He hadn’t said goodbye as he believed Rosie’s cousin wouldn’t have let him go. She was still sleeping when he left.

  The first thing he’d done, in fact, after reaching the lines of his unit and finding his old quarters – which, true to the men’s promises, was untouched – was to change out of the Yankee-civilian type clothing he had and once more put on his sergeant’s uniform. All excepting of course the trousers which were still lying, as far as he knew, in some undergrowth on the banks of the James. He kept the thicker blue ones he’d put on after his swim.

  Captain Skivenham had wanted a full report but Case said he’d been knocked out in the ‘skirmish’ and had come round behind enemy lines and had been interrogated by a man he couldn’t recall, then put on a boat that was due to take them to Washington or thereabouts but he’d jumped ship during a commotion and found himself somewhere on one of the peninsulas. From there he’d wandered until he’d stolen a horse and rode round the front lines until he managed to find a way through. Skivenham let it go but he wasn’t entirely satisfied.

  Billy of course was bursting to know everything and Case handed him a letter Rosie had written after they’d got to her cousin’s. Case retold his story to his unit and they sat engrossed in the retelling, especially when Case produced the Spencer. “Got enough ammunition for a fight too,” he said, spreading the bullets he’d looted on the ground. “Useful in close quarters fighting, but not much longer distance. And you can’t use a bayonet.”

  Billy was overjoyed. Rosie told him she’d wait until after the war and then come to him. He kept the letter under his shirt. The rest of the unit were pleased to see Case but gloomy about the outcome of the conflict; things were bad. News from the west was that General Johnston was in charge after Hood had taken the Army of the Tennessee north towards Nashville and had been destroyed in two battles at Franklin and Nashville itself. When Hood had got back at the head of what was left he’d resigned. Now Sherman was advancing up into South Carolina, still burning and destroying and the South Carolinians in the army were thinking more of returning home than defending Petersburg and Richmond.

  Desertions were rife but the men here were still present, which Case was pleased at. Morale here at least, was reasonable. Winter came and passed and they were still dug in facing the enemy where they’d been in summer. Then, towards the end of March, things changed dramatically.

  Captain Skivenham came running along the
line of men, calling for all NCOs to report to him immediately. Case and Munz looked at each other before dropping what they were doing and went running to the captain. The others stood and waited, wondering what was up. “Yes, Captain?” Case saluted Skivenham. With him was Lieutenant Wyatt.

  The captain waited until Corporals Collins and Batley arrived, before speaking. “Men, get the boys packed and out of here. We’re pulling out to reinforce the line west of Petersburg.”

  “What?”

  Skivenham looked grim. “Yankee is threatening the last railroad to Petersburg and now there aren’t enough men to protect the line that long. General Lee has sent men south to help General Johnston in the Carolinas. We’re needed. Get the men ready to move.”

  Within an hour the unit was ready and with a last look at the wooden houses and shacks which had been home for the last seven months, the men marched off along the Petersburg road. The skies were gray and low and it added to the gloom the men felt. Other units joined them as they approached the city and then they were marching through, watched by silent people. One or two cheered them but the looks on their faces reflected the anxiety they felt. Case hoped the seven months of inactivity hadn’t blunted the edge of the men, as it was likely they’d be called into action fairly soon.

  They were grouped under General Pickett once more and sent west of Petersburg in the pouring rain that burst out of the leaden sky. The flat land was slippery underfoot and the woods and grassland began to take on the appearance of a swampland which added to the general air of dejection. Case spoke to Captain Skivenham who told him they were on their way to an important crossroads where five roads converged which was called, appropriately enough, Five Forks. “It’s on the road to the railroad and our rear,” Skivenham said, studying a map he had. “If this falls so does Petersburg – and Richmond.” He looked up at Case and grimaced. “It’s down to us to hold the line.” He wiped the rainwater off his map and stuck it back in his pack.

  The rain still fell as they arrived and dispiritedly set about putting up their tents and sending out pickets. Units of cavalry arrived and thundered past, sending huge clods of wet earth flying up into the air. Word went round that Sheridan was coming with his cavalry and more men were on their way to support him. Sheridan’s name drew muttered curses from many Virginians; many had homes in the Shenandoah and Sheridan’s destructive campaign there had left plenty of houses destroyed.

  The next morning the rain stopped and a weak sun appeared, a welcome change from the downpour of the last two days. The men ate a frugal breakfast and began checking their weaponry. Colonel Skinner rode up, his famous sword in hand, and called the men to attention. Case wiped his hands on his thighs and grabbed his Spencer carbine. He followed Billy to the line and pushed past him and Furlong to stand in front of them.

  “Men of the First Virginia,” Colonel Skinner boomed out, “today we go to battle against the cavalry of General Sheridan, the very same who torched the Shenandoah. You know you will receive little quarter from people who burn homes and make women and children homeless. So don’t give any quarter yourselves. Show them the wrath of Virginian men.”

  A howl grew from the standing men and guns were waved in the air. Case glanced at Billy behind him. “Thank your luck that Rosie wasn’t in the Shenandoah.”

  Billy growled. “Any of those Yankees touches her I’ll cut their heads off.”

  At ten the infantry moved out across the sodden fields and grasslands, splashing through pools and wading through watercourses swollen by the rain. In the distance to the south gunfire broke out and more Southern cavalry rode in that direction. Ahead of them ran a brook that had burst its banks and now spread out to a width of over fifty feet. On the other side were the enemy soldiers. The ground on both sides of the flooded brook was covered in dense undergrowth and Colonel Skinner waved the men across.

  Bullets began flying around them and a few fell, some to lay where they hit the ground, others moving feebly and crying in pain. Case gripped his Spencer and waved his unit on through the ankle deep water. “Come on, let’s get to grips with the enemy, we haven’t had a good fight in months!”

  Munz took up the high-pitched eerie Rebel Yell and the men around followed, so that in no time the entire line was screaming to the sound of screaming Confederates. On the other side of the water, hidden in the trees, dismounted cavalrymen from New York braced themselves, guts churning at the unsettling sound. They were all armed with the repeater carbine.

  As the Confederates reached the brook proper, the depth plunged to waist height, and the men waded through with guns at chest level. Bullets tore into the crossing men and a score toppled into the water, staining it red. Case stepped into deep water and cursed. They were sitting ducks as long as they remained in the water. He plowed on, hoping nobody took a shot at him. The water was churned into a maelstrom by hundreds of Rebels forcing their way across, and once they got to the far side took cover behind trees and logs and began shooting back at the New Yorkers.

  Case pulled Billy to safe cover behind a large log and checked across the line to make sure all his men had made it. All nine were with him and Case took a look over the log. A bullet, meant for him, missed him by two inches. He ducked back sharply. “Shit! Some Yankee tried to put one in my head!”

  “I see him,” Furlong commented, peering under the dead tree. To the right behind that forked tree. He popped up in the middle when he fired at you.”

  “Right. You two take turns in keeping his head down. I’m going after him!” Case cocked the hammer on the Spencer and edged to the right of the tree. Sound of battle came all round; men were firing, diving for cover and shouting. Bullets struck trees or spat past angrily in the confusion of the undergrowth, as likely to strike friend as foe. Taking a deep breath Case hunched low and ran out from cover, the muzzle of his gun pointing at the growth of trees ahead. His feet skidded on the slippery ground, a mixture of wet earth and last autumn’s fallen leaves that hadn’t fully rotted away, and he staggered a few steps before regaining his balance.

  A Federal soldier fired from the middle of the grove and saw Case out of the corner of his eye and shouted a warning. Two blue-clad men sprang out ahead of Case who fired as he ran, the bullet taking the left hand one clean through the stomach. The second cranked his carbine and snarled as he aimed at Case. His moment passed though as Billy’s Minié bullet exploded through his neck, showering blood out the other side. As the man fell lifelessly to one side, Case ran round the trees, cranking his own Spencer. The third man, the one who’d nearly hit the Eternal Mercenary, twisted from his sharpshooter’s position and tried to level his gun, but he was too late. Case’s shot plowed into the man’s jacket, ripping it inwards and shattering a rib. The man jerked backwards and slowly slid down to the wet earth, his eyes wide.

  Two more Union troopers came running, enraged at the killing of the three men. Fully expecting Case to be helpless with no loaded gun, they made the mistake of closing the distance before kneeling to shoot. Case cranked the lever, cocked the hammer and brought the Spencer to his eye. Too late the two men realized their error. “Oh God!” one yelled, “he’s got one of our carbines!”

  That was the last thing he said as Case blew the center of his forehead apart. He flew backwards, his head a mask of gore. The other man cocked his carbine and fired at a run, the bullet cracking the air inches above Case. “Too bad, friend,” Case said grimly and aimed at the cranking Yankee. His shot, unhurried and from a standing position, impacted on the luckless man’s chest. The cavalryman grabbed at his wound and sank backwards, his face screwed up in agony.

  The others from Case’s unit came running up and surveyed the scene of carnage. “Hell, Sarge,” Gatscombe exclaimed, “if we all had these we’d drive these Yankees into the sea!”

  “Unfortunately we haven’t,” Case said, pulling out more bullets and inserting them. “Go secure this area and report where the Yankees are. Seems like they’re still around, not too far away.”
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  Even as he said that a group of Union troopers came bursting out of a clump of bushes to the left and seemed shocked to find the ten Confederates there. Passmore swung his rifle and the butt took the leading Northerner on the jaw, lifting him up off his feet. Immediately the others rushed to dismember the sweating Confederate, but his nine comrades sprang to his aid and in a short space of time the clearing was full of individual battles. Case had no bayonet so he used the Spencer as a club, flailing it left and right. Two Union soldiers backed away, intimidated by Case’s size, manner and war cries. They’d never heard Odin! being roared before, and it was likely they’d never again. They turned and fled, seeing the struggle going against them. Passmore stood in amazement and turned full circle. No enemy soldiers were left standing. Four Yankees lay in varying states of injury and Case motioned to Gatscombe and Wendell to see to their wounds. “Munz, go check the clearing perimeter, I don’t want any more surprises. Furlong, check where the enemy are but don’t go wandering off too far. Sound like the fighting’s off to our right.”

  Case made sure his men were okay before going to see if the enemy soldiers were alive or not. Wendell pointed at one lying on his side. “He’s in a bad way but the other three can walk.”

  “Okay, we’ll get a stretcher party to come for him. The other three you and Gatscombe escort to the rear. We’ll await further orders here.”

  Wendell nodded and went off with the three prisoners and Gatscombe. Munz came back and declared the clearing free of Federal troops. A few bodies of both sides lay in the undergrowth surrounding the area but it appeared the Yankees had been pushed back. Furlong returned with Lieutenant Wyatt. Wyatt, a thin, severe-looking man, looked coldly at the scene, then informed Case to move his men forward to the new front line, towards a rise in the near distance. The attack had stalled but they had driven the enemy back a fair distance and were going to dig in for the night where they were.