by Crowe (epub)
“Johnny. Johnny Crowe.”
“Name’s Emmit,” he said, extending his free hand. Johnny shook it. “Emmit Pearson. That’s Willie,” Emmit pointed to the man at the front of the tent, who nodded at Johnny. “Next to ‘im’s Catfish.”
“Catfish?” Johnny asked.
“That’s right,” said Catfish.
“Why do they call you Catfish?”
Catfish looked at Johnny, confused, and blinked. “Why do they call you Johnny?”
“Well… that’s my name.”
“And Catfish is mine.”
“Willie and Catfish are from the Carolinas. North and South.”
“South and North, actually,” corrected Willie. He was a handsome man, a few years older than Johnny, with curly blonde hair, a muscular build, and a smile that reminded Johnny of folks running for office come election time. “You ought to be able to remember that by now, Emmit.”
“I can’t keep you two straight.” shrugged Emmit.
“It ain’t hard,” said Catfish. He was an older man. At least as old as the Reverend, thought Johnny. What would that make him? Around forty years old? Maybe forty-five? However, where the Reverend was meticulous in the neatness of his appearance, Catfish looked to be anything but concerned with how he looked. His hair must have once been black as coal, but gray had touched his temples and his bushy eyebrows. “North Carolina is clearly the better of the two ---”
“Not this again,” groaned Emmit. Even though Catfish was the oldest of the group and Emmit the youngest, the two Carolinians deferred to him. “All these two do is sit around arguin’ over which of the Carolinas is better.”
“There ain’t no arguin’ it!” Catfish hollered. Shouts came from the surrounding tents, telling them to keep it down.
Johnny smiled. For the first time in days he felt right at home.
With Emmit’s help, Johnny acclimated himself to life around camp. Whether it was because they were so close in age or because Johnny was the newest addition to the camp and he had been here the longest, Emmit took Johnny under his wing from the start and the two fast became friends. A few of the soldiers commented on how much the young men looked alike, both were tall, lean, and lanky and they were about the same height. Those who didn’t know any better might have mistaken them for brothers, which wouldn’t have been unusual at all, since there were quite a few sets of brothers of all ages bunking together throughout the camp.
Those who knew their stories understood that, despite their features, the two couldn’t have been more different. Where Johnny had lived alone for so long up on Devil’s Knob, Emmit came from a big family back in Tennessee, the only boy of seven children. Being the oldest of the lot, Emmit was used to looking out for others and dispensing nuggets of wisdom and advice, regardless of whether they were asked for or not. Johnny tried his best to soak up everything that Emmit taught him about being a soldier. Colonel Morris was the highest ranking officer in camp, but when it came to the person that the soldiers looked up to the most, everyone turned to Emmit. After all, he had been here longer than anyone else and without him, it was a good bet that the camp would never have lasted as long as it had.
Emmit had left his young wife, Sally, back home in Tennessee when he joined the army. The two had wanted to start a family, but Sally had a heart condition that made that impossible. “Doctor said the strain would be too much for ‘er,” Emmit had told Johnny. “Said she’s too weak for that sort of thing, carryin’ and deliverin’ a baby.” When the call for soldiers went out, Emmit moved Sally back in with her parents and set out for Richmond to join the Confederate army.
Like Johnny, Emmit had seen the General and was told that there was no standing unit from Tennessee present at that time. Emmit told the General that was fine, he would just wait for a group from Tennessee to arrive. The General had urged Emmit to go back to Tennessee, but when he saw that the young man was not going to be deterred, the General told Emmit about a place outside the city where he might be able to camp and wait for the volunteers to arrive. Emmit left the Spotswood and trekked to the edge of the city where he built a small fire and intended to do just that.
That had been in November of 1861. In the ensuing months, additional men arrived in Richmond, looking to serve in the new army. They were asked to return to their homes and come back at a later time or to join up with units in forming within their home states. Most did just that, but those with no way to get back home made their way to the growing camp outside of the city. When they came, Emmit was there to greet them and make them feel welcome at the camp that had become a second home to them. Having been the first to arrive, the men looked to Emmit as their leader and it was his tenuous hold over the camp that kept things from falling apart altogether.
By the time the calendar rolled over to 1862, the citizens of Richmond had begun to complain about what they saw as vagrants camped outside of their city. What started as requests to do something about the problem quickly escalated to demands.
Though he was saddened by how the citizens thought of those men who were willing to serve and protect them, men he thought of as his own, General Lee also understood that if someone didn’t step in and lay some ground rules that thing might soon get out of hand. Men who came looking for a fight and couldn’t find one were liable to start fighting amongst themselves; this patchwork group of men from all over the south even more so, being that they were as different as could be from one another and weren’t united under a common state flag. Without someone in charge to order the men to do the unpleasant jobs, the camp had grown unsanitary and when the wind blew in just right, the stench of it swept over the city. Something had to be done.
The order went out to Colonel Morris, a fresh graduate from Virginia Military Institute, to take command of the camp and form it into the Honor Guard of Richmond. The Colonel’s first tasks were to turn the ragtag bunch of tents into an organized military encampment and to begin drilling the men. The effect was what Lee had foreseen. Where once there had been an eyesore and a nuisance became a source of pride. Now when the soldiers made their rounds throughout the city, folk tipped their hats to them and told them to keep up the good work.
With the Honor Guard in place, no foreign army had ever invaded the city of Richmond. Of course, none had ever tried, either.
With Emmit’s help, Johnny fell into the routine that Colonel Morris had instituted for the soldiers. He still hadn’t gotten used to the bugle blasting through the camp every morning, wasn’t sure he ever would get used to being awakened like that, but the rest of the routine suited him fine. There was breakfast in the morning, followed by morning drills in the muddy field to the south of the camp. After the first drills of the day, the soldiers set about the tasks of maintaining the state of the camp; things like cleaning and maintaining their weapons and equipment, gathering provisions and firewood, filling in the trenches the soldiers used as a communal toilet and digging new trenches, and the like. There was lunch around noon, then afternoon drills, before the soldiers had free time in the evening.
To Johnny, camp life was exciting and full of wonder. For one, he got three meals a day, every day. That was a luxury he had never experienced before, even when Grandpa had been alive. There was chapel service in the evening for those who were so inclined, as well as music, either made by the soldiers or from performers who made their way out to the camp in order to entertain the troops. Sometimes Johnny was sent on one of the scouting missions through Richmond or spent his nights on guard duty, but these were minor infractions on his free time and being worn out the following day was a small price to pay for the sense of belonging, and even outright fun, that he was having being a Confederate soldier.
I can’t believe they’re gonna pay me for this, Johnny thought to himself one night, listening to a group of church ladies singing hymns for the gathered soldiers. If I’d knowed that this was what army l
ife was like, I’d have signed up long before now.
It was one of those soggy, late-April mornings where a blanket of fog hung over the camp, making it difficult to see more than two or three tents away. The campfires looked a sight. Wood that had been laid aside to cure did little more than smolder on the damp coals. The grass was heavy with dew. Water pooled in the shallow holes and trenches dug around camp and filled the muddy ruts and footpaths.
In short, the soldiers were miserable.
The bugle blared, sounding heavy and muffled by the fog. It was met with mixed curses, most of them making it clear what would happen if the bugler didn’t stop that racket. Johnny dressed, his uniform, if it could be called such, had arrived two days earlier. For the first time since Grandpa had died, Johnny had an outfit that fit his slender frame. He had his boots as well, and Johnny didn’t mind in the least that they weren’t brand new. The way he saw it, someone had taken the liberty of already breaking them in for him.
While he would never be as big as some of the other guys, Johnny had packed on a little weight in the month or so since he had joined the army. He no longer had the lean and harried look that he wore into camp those few weeks ago. As far as he was concerned, Johnny had never had it so good.
As they got in line outside the mess tent, Johnny smelled the bacon frying, a rare commodity at the camp, and the strong, black stuff that passed for coffee brewing inside. Johnny had never had coffee up on Devil’s Knob. That first cup had been bitter and burned the back of his throat, but the more that he drank the more Johnny became hooked.
“Better grab some of them biscuits,” said Emmit while they filled their plates. “Never know if today’s gonna be the day we get called out. Might not get another meal if we’re on the march.”
“You been sayin’ that since I got to this camp,” said Willie, looking back over his shoulder, “and we ain’t been called out yet.”
“I been thinkin’,” interrupted Catfish. “What do ya think would be worse, getting’ shot and killed in a fight or gettin’ laid up somewhere and starvin’ to death?”
“Don’t reckon it’d matter much,” replied Emmit. “You’d be dead either way. I’ll tell ya this, though… if somethin’ ‘appened to me, the grief might just be too much for my Sally. If it weren’t, and if she found out I was dead just ‘cause I didn’t grab a couple extra biscuits, I reckon she’d kill me ‘erself.”
While Catfish and Willie chuckled, Johnny stuffed a handful of the hard biscuits into his pockets. He didn’t want to think of what Anna Lee might say if he ended up starved to death because he hadn’t listened to Emmit and been prepared.
“There ya go.” nodded Emmit. “There ya go.”
His plate and pockets full, Johnny turned to find a table, not wanting to have to eat on the wet ground this morning. Colonel Morris and his officers had a table to themselves. The younger officers were having a conversation between mouthfuls of food. The Colonel ate in silence and looked as serious as ever. It occurred to Johnny that he had never seen the young Colonel crack a smile.
Jensen strode over to the Colonel’s table and saluted. Any other time the aide would have joined in with the other officers, but not this morning. Something in the way he moved and the look on his face caught Johnny’s attention.
“You see that?” Johnny asked Emmit.
“Yeah,” replied Emmit, “I see ‘im.”
Jensen stood at attention while the Colonel looked in grave silence at his aide, put down his fork, and wiped his mouth with a cloth napkin. Jensen reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a letter, and handed it to the Colonel.
Johnny spared a look around. Everyone was watching the scene at the officers’ table.
Colonel Morris opened the letter and mouthed the words when he read it. Johnny tried to read the Colonel’s lips, to no avail. The Colonel finished reading and continued to stare down at the paper, digesting what it said. He then looked up at Jensen and asked a question that Johnny could not hear. Jensen nodded.
“Somethin’s goin’ on,” whispered Catfish.
“Shh!” hushed Willie.
Colonel Morris reached into his pocket and produced a small stub of a pencil. The Colonel flipped the letter over and stuck the business end of the pencil into his mouth, thinking about what to write. A moment later he scratched a reply onto the paper, folded it, and handed it back to his aide. Jensen saluted, then turned and made his way toward the city.
“Wonder what...” Catfish started. Before he could finish the thought, Colonel Morris stood, spoke a word to the officers at the table, and headed for his tent. The young officers looked at one another, their eyes wide. They stood as one, shoveled what they could of their unfinished breakfasts into their mouths, then took off at a run.
The last officer at the table noticed that the soldiers were still staring at him. They held their plates in their hands, leaving their breakfasts untouched.
“Outside!” the officer barked. “In formation. Right now!”
Emmit leaned forward and in a low voice told Johnny, “Better grab some more of them biscuits.”
The officers had grabbed one of the tables and carried it out to the training field. The soldiers stood at attention in formation, wondering what was going on and what would happen next. Johnny stood next to Emmit and felt pride at being a part of this group of soldiers. He had learned so much in such a short period of time and felt that there wasn’t anything he couldn’t do. Johnny smiled. I wish Grandpa could see me now.
Colonel Morris stepped onto the table, hitched up his belt, and looked out over the men. His men. He had trained them and now it was time to see how good of a job he had done.
“I have received word from General Lee this morning, thanking us for successfully defending the city of Richmond. The Confederacy thanks you.”
The men broke out in hooting and hollering. Goosebumps rose on Johnny’s arms.
“The General,” Colonel Morris continued, quieting the crowd, “the General believes that the most immediate threat to the city now lies to the east and that our services are needed to meet that threat.” The men stood in silence, absorbing their commander’s words. “The Honor Guard has been ordered this morning to break camp and march to the southeast. We are to reinforce General Johnston’s positions in and around the city of Williamsburg. We will engage the enemy between the arms of the York and the James Rivers and drive him all the way back to Washington. We move out at oh-eight-hundred. That is all.”
The Colonel stepped down from the table. The officers issued orders while men scrambled to pack and tear down their tents. Johnny walked beside Emmit, soldiers rushing past them. By the time they reached the tent, Catfish and Willie had already packed and were leaving to join the others, arguing about cotton production. Inside the tent, Emmit placed a few personal items into his pack, a letter from Sally and the family Bible he had brought with him, along with his issued goods. He tossed the rest of his belongings into a pile on the floor.
“Gotta pack light,” Emmit said as he worked.
Johnny hadn’t realized how little he had until he saw how much assorted stuff Emmit was discarding. All that Johnny had to pack was what he had been issued a couple days before.
Johnny slung his pack over his shoulder and made to join the others. Emmit looked up from his packing and watched Johnny cross the tent.
“You gotta pack light,” he repeated.
“All I have is what they gave me,” Johnny replied. “I ain’t got nothin’ else.”
Emmit considered a moment, then stood and walked over to Johnny. Emmit grabbed Johnny by the shoulders and spun him around. Emmit opened Johnny’s pack, it still on his back, and started rooting around. Into the pile went Johnny’s blanket and cartridge box.
“I was talkin’ to a couple of the fellas earlier. It’s a long march to Williamsburg. You gotta pa
ck light or you ain’t gonna make it.” Emmit closed Johnny’s pack and adjusted it on his back. “There, ain’t that lighter now?”
Johnny had to admit that it was.
The corps never made it to Williamsburg.
The soldiers had been on the march for a number of days. It was impossible for Johnny to know how many for certain, more than a week but less than a month. The journey toward Williamsburg had taken on a dreamlike quality, a series of long marches followed by short nights where the men collapsed from exhaustion in spite of the uncomfortable conditions. It was sometime in early to mid May when they first heard the sounds of battle in the distance.
The fighting was little more than scattered skirmishes, mostly musket fire, not the big cannons and artillery. All the same, it was enough to lift the troops from their stupor and caused them to quicken their steps. Johnny couldn’t decide which was worse, the monotony of marching for days on end with no enemy in sight or the tension of marching for only a few anxious hours with the sounds of battle drawing ever closer.
Just before noon, Colonel Morris ordered the men to halt. The soldiers hung their heads or rummaged around for their canteens, trying to soak up as much of the reprieve from the marching as they could. Johnny replaced his canteen and looked down the road, hoping to see some end to their trek in sight. Instead, what he saw was the reason that the Colonel had stopped his men.
A line of soldiers pressed toward them from the east, still in formation, but moving with an uncharacteristic speed for a unit on the march. The rest of the men saw the line of troops closing on them, Colonel Morris watching the approach through his field glasses. The soldiers grabbed for their weapons and placed them at the ready. The Colonel handed his binoculars to one of the young officers, then took Jensen and rode out to meet the oncoming line of soldiers without a word to his own men.
The soldiers of the Honor Guard watched from afar while a single mounted man rode out to meet the Colonel and his aide. The mounted man saluted, confirming that these were Confederate soldiers. Relief flooded over the men, but before it could register with them a new question arose: why were these soldiers moving away from the battle?
