A Deeper Sense of Loyalty (25 page)

“If you ask me, you've already earned those shoulder straps, Lieutenant. It's a hell of a thing, a man getting all shot up. I haven't seen the elephant yet myself. I've been stuck in the Quartermaster Corp in Washington since I joined up. And I know it sounds crazy, cause I sure don't wanna get shot, but I got so tired of issuing supplies after almost two years that I just up and put in for a transfer. I'm good with horses so they put me in the cavalry. But I hope I don't wish I hadn't done it cause I sure don't wanna get shot.”

“Well,” said James almost laughing. “I will do my best to look out for you and I give you permission to ride directly behind me when we go into battle.”

Milroy knew that James was teasing him and he mockingly replied, “I appreciate that, sir. Now I know I don't have anything to worry about.”

“Are you married, Corporal?”

“Yes, sir. I have a wife back in Ohio and two young boys to help keep the farm going. How about you, sir?”

“I have a wife in Pennsylvania and a newborn son.”

“I heard that you come from Georgia, sir. I guess that makes this war harder on you than most.”

“I guess I'll soon be finding out.”

“I'm sorry, sir. Sometimes my brain stops before my mouth does.”

“It's all right, Corporal. I understand the curiosity that I arouse.”

The two rode in silence from that point until they reached Virginia. “Reb country, Lieutenant,” said Milroy.

“Yes. It will be dark soon. We'll stop in those woods up ahead and make camp. I figure we have another forty miles to ride. I'd rather do it in the daylight.”

“I'm with you, sir.”

After a suitable site had been found, the two picketed their horses, made a small fire, and dined on salt pork, beans, and coffee. Then they smothered the fire and made themselves as comfortable as possible. The moon came up almost full, and once their eyes adjusted they could see around the campsite pretty well. There were Yankee armies in Virginia as well as other states further south but the Confederates were nowhere near being run to ground. The enemy could be anywhere; consequently, they would have to take turns sleeping and standing guard. Neither man seemed ready to turn in so they sipped the last of their coffee and talked.

“God, how I hate the cold,” said Milroy. “You would think I'd be used to it, coming from Ohio. We get some real hard winters sometimes. But I hate it just the same. What's Georgia like?”

“Not much snow as a rule. The average temperature in the winter is about forty-five degrees. It's mighty hot in the summer though. I'd imagine it's a little cooler in Ohio.”

“I guess it probably is. No matter though. I don't care how hot it gets—I can take it. I just hate the cold.”

“At least the wind isn't blowing,” said James.

“Yeah, that is a point. Nothing makes the cold worse than a hard wind.” There was a lull in the conversation then the corporal said, “You ever shoot anybody, Lieutenant?”

“No, I never have. I have been in a few scrapes when I had to threaten someone with a gun, but I never had to shoot.”

“But
you've
been shot.”

“Yes. I was hit twice in the battle I told you about and I still have to consider myself lucky. It could have been much worse.”

“What's it feel like . . . getting shot?”

“I guess I would say that it burns considerable.”

“Yeah, I'll bet. They don't call it hot lead for nothin.”

“It's an ugly feeling and it's scary, too,” said James. “It doesn't take a lot of bleeding to make you think you've lost it all.”

“Terrible thing, men shootin each other.”

“I couldn't agree more,” James replied. “It's even more terrible realizing that so many men are more than willing to do it.”

“I wonder if I can,” said the corporal. “Maybe it's one of those things that when the time comes your mind just tells you to do what you gotta do. Something like a natural defense mechanism.”

“I guess that's what it is,” James agreed.

“Still,” said Milroy. “A God fearin man is bound to have trouble with it. My farm is near a small town and my wife and I know everyone who lives there. They are all neighbors and friends; we all get along so well. When the war broke out, all the able bodied men in the community stepped right up and joined the army. We believed that we were doing it to protect one another. That's how much we care. To tell the truth, I'd have given anything to stay home on the farm with my wife and boys. But how could I have done that? How could I let people that I care about risk their lives while I stayed safe at home in Ohio?”

James knew that it was purely unintentional; still, Milroy had pushed a dagger into his heart. In the eyes of his Southern countrymen,
he
would be judged as guilty of abandonment. Even though they could not say that he hadn't risked his life; it certainly wouldn't have been for the right cause in their eyes. But like the corporal, James had his reasons for what he was doing. He hoped that in the eyes of God they were the right reasons. Beyond that, all he could do was to pray that the war would bring about the destruction of slavery. If it didn't, he was sure that he would never be able to live with himself.

Milroy took the first watch and then woke James around one a.m. The early morning was very still and covered with frost. The only thing that really bothered James was his feet. The high leather cavalry boots did little to keep them warm. As quietly as possible, he stamped them up and down and forced himself to think of something else.

Before long he was pondering the question Milroy had raised about whether or not he could shoot another man. James thought it strange that he had never considered that problem himself. He just assumed that men at war would shoot at each other when they had to. Thinking about it now, however, he realized that he had no desire to do it. In the past year or so, the possibility had presented itself more than once. But would he really have shot Sheriff Wilkes that time in Dry Branch, or the brute, Virgil Trask in Greenville, South Carolina? He didn't know. He
did
remember telling Sheriff Wilkes that if he
had
the nerve, he would take Wilkes out and shoot him.

James carried a gun now and he had carried one then. James considered: If a man carries a gun, he must think he has it within himself to use it. A man carrying a gun who is unwilling to use it is just asking to get himself killed. Maybe Milroy had it pegged; when the time comes, you do what you have to do. Surely, thought James, it was a bit late to worry about it.

At seven o'clock, the sun was up and it was time to wake his companion. They broke out some hardtack, boiled some coffee to dip it in, and then saddled their horses. James led the way through the woods out to the road. They had no sooner reached it when a shot rang out, then a second, then a handful. At about two hundred yards distance James could see four horsemen coming straight at them, firing pistols as they came. They had been spotted by a Reb patrol. “Back into the woods!” James shouted, wheeling his horse around. Milroy followed him into the trees to a spot where a couple large rocks and some decaying tree tops offered protection. Grabbing their carbines as they dismounted, each man found a vantage point from which he could fire at the charging Rebels. When the riders were within fifty yards, James yelled, “Fire!” and the Yankee rifles spit lead. Two of the attackers hit the ground and lay still. So much for wondering if they could shoot the enemy, James thought. The remaining two soldiers dismounted and kept up the attack while trying to use their frightened horses as shields. James was afforded a clear shot and downed his second man. The last Rebel, realizing that he was all alone, climbed into the saddle and lingered long enough to fire a few more shots. But he stayed too long as James, firing his six shot revolver now, hit him in the chest and he fell dead. During the final fury, James hadn't realized that Milroy had stopped shooting.

He called out to the corporal but there was no reply. Dreading what he might find, he hurried over to the spot where his new friend from Ohio had taken cover. That good man and good neighbor lay on his back, empty eyes staring at heaven. He had been shot through the neck and most likely died without time for one last thought of his wife and boys. For several minutes James was completely undone by what had happened. He felt as though his insides were frozen and it was difficult to breathe. Then he forced himself to kneel down by the body; not caring that someone might be close enough to hear him he screamed, “Damn it all, Corporal! Why the hell didn't you stay on your farm?” Then he wept without shame until the pain and the shock subsided, and in a whisper he said, “I'm sorry, Thomas . . . you were an honorable man.” Then he put Milroy's body on his horse, mounted Tar, and headed towards the road once again.

 

TWENTY

 

A Demoralized Army

 

 

It was late afternoon before James finally rode into the sprawling winter camp of the Army of the Potomac. He was hardly aware of the soldiers who stopped and stared as he passed by leading a horse that carried a dead body. Not that it would have had a lasting effect since most of the men in camp were fresh from the terrible slaughter just across the Rappahannock at Fredericksburg. The army was in a somber mood and James would have no trouble fitting in.

Locating the commanding officer's hut, he tied up the horses and went inside. The man in charge was General Edwin Sumner, whose Right Grand Division had suffered the heaviest losses before the impregnable stone wall on Marye's Heights. Sumner, however, who was mistrusted for his rashness, had consequently been left out of the fight and kept behind at Falmouth.

James stepped in front of the general's desk and stood at attention. He raised a salute and said, “Lieutenant James Langdon reporting for duty, sir.”

Bull Head Sumner, as he was known, returned the salute and said, “Yes, Lieutenant, I received a communication from Washington. You are my southern officer, I believe.”

“Yes, sir,” James replied through gritted teeth.

“Relax, Lieutenant. I have nothing against southerners, as long as they are on our side. I am told that you can be of some help as a scout.”

“Yes, sir, I believe I can.”

“Good. Scouts can be worth their weight in gold to an army. It may be a few weeks before you see action. In the meantime I think you will be quite useful for interrogating prisoners.”

“Prisoners, sir?”

“Yes. Every week at least a dozen or so Confederates come through our lines to surrender. Most of them are sick of the war, most do not get enough to eat, and most are driven by desperate letters from home. They are looking to get paroled so they can return to their families. We get all the information we can before we ship them north to prison camp. Maybe you can make more out of the things they tell us since you are from the south.”

“Or maybe they will resent me so much that they won't tell me anything, sir.”

“Maybe, but you might be surprised at how eager some of them are to talk. The South was so much less prepared to fight this war than we were. Poor conditions concerning food, clothing, medical care, and so on can change a man's way of thinking pretty quick.”

“I'll do my very best, sir.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant. I was expecting a Corporal Thomas Milroy to be with you. Do you know where he is?” James's gaze fell to the floor.

“Yes, sir. He is outside.”

“Very well. I will assign you your quarters, and then you can send him in.”

“I'm afraid that I can't, sir. Corporal Milroy is dead.” The general's face took on a stoic expression. James made no judgment about the man's demeanor. He understood that after more than two years of war, death simply becomes matter of fact.

“I will expect a written report, Lieutenant, but briefly tell me what happened.”

“We camped about forty miles from here last night. This morning we were attacked by four Confederate cavalrymen. We managed to kill all four, but Corporal Milroy died in the fight.”

“I am sorry, Lieutenant. It sounds like he died a hero.”

“I hope that is enough for his wife and sons, sir.”

“I will form a burial detail in the morning,” said the general. “For now you can take his body down to the hospital tent and—”

“No, sir.” The general looked at James, his face contorted with surprise.

“How is that, Lieutenant?”

“His body must be sent back to Ohio, sir. It is the very least we can do for his family.”

“I'm afraid you don't know what you're asking. If we sent every one of our dead boys home we wouldn't get anything else done.”

“I do understand that, sir. But I knew Corporal Milroy. He was a very good man. He joined the army because he took responsibility to heart. Just last night he told me that he would have given anything to stay on his farm with his wife and his two boys. He could not bring himself to shirk his duty. He also told me that he'd never shot a man and didn't know if he could. But when those Confederates attacked, he fought bravely and I think a man like that deserves better than to be buried nowhere other than his farm in Ohio.”

General Sumner sat quietly for a moment. “Very well, Lieutenant. I will make arrangements to get the corporal's body sent home.”

“I thank you very kindly, General. I should like to write a letter to his widow and send it along.”

“Certainly.” Handing James a piece of paper the general said, “The hospital tent is in the rear of the camp. This is your quarters assignment. Don't forget to write your report.”

“You will have it in the morning, General.”

That night James wrote a heartfelt letter to Mrs. Thomas Milroy, then he wrote a letter to Polly, and of course, he wrote out the report for the general.