A Deeper Sense of Loyalty (29 page)

Many battles had been fought since Gettysburg and each one drained more men, more resources, and more resolve from the Confederacy. Then, in March, it was clear that the U.S. Government had settled once and for all upon the general who they felt could squeeze the remaining will to fight from the South. The Senate confirmed General Grant's nomination to Lieutenant General. No one had held the rank since George Washington. Along with being the highest ranking officer, Grant would assume the title of General-in-Chief of the Army of the United States.

It was now a matter of time and James thought often about how he would like to be on hand to see the end. However, it was exceedingly true that being at home with Polly and little James was more appealing than the prospect of seeing his native homeland in ruin. But, James knew that war is an indiscriminate monster that destroys everything in its path and he would have to take the bad in order to see the emergence of the good.

So he was torn, as torn as the nation itself, between staying home with his family and returning to the struggle. He wished he had no control over the situation. He knew that he could resign his commission for health reasons. Dr. Pierce would be only too happy to support him in that decision. He knew he could get his old job back at the bank in Mapletown. With his business education he could aim even higher. There were many opportunities for an educated young man, especially in the larger towns and cities. But he could not separate himself from the voice of his conscience; constantly being reminded of his beliefs and of the promise he'd made in 1861.

One afternoon in October, James went to see Dr. Pierce. As he approached his office, the doctor was just coming out to get into his buggy. When he saw James, he sat his bag on the seat and said, “You look like a man who has made up his mind about something.”

“Is it that obvious?”

“Yes. When you've been a doctor for thirty-five years, you come to understand people pretty well. I know the look of determination, especially on you, James. I got to know it the first time you came to town. I am one of the few people in whom Reverend Pyle confided about the underground railway station. Sometimes the Negroes who came to his church needed medical attention. I knew from the start what you were doing, and it takes, among other things, a great deal of determination to risk your life for so unselfish a reason. That's how I know what you're doing here today. When are you leaving?”

“Next Monday, November 12
th
. I sent a telegram to the War Department in Washington. I requested an assignment that will put me under the command of General Judson Kilpatrick. He commands the 3
rd
Division, Cavalry Corps, and Military Division of the Mississippi. That means he's attached to General Sherman's army. General Sherman is in Georgia, and that is where I want to go. My request was granted. All I need is a release from you.”

“I see. I would give you a final examination, but it isn't necessary. You have completely recovered. In fact, you have completely recovered and then some.”

“I understand, Dr. Pierce, and I thank you for all you've done and for all you tried to do. It will be mighty hard to leave, but I believe it will be the last time.”

“I truly hope so, James. I will send a wire to the War Department right away telling them that you are able to return to active duty. Take care of yourself, son.” He offered his hand and James shook it firmly. Without another word he turned and walked away.

That night, James had a long talk with Polly. The emotions that were present were not what he might have expected from his wife or himself. The conversation was much the same as if they were discussing what should be planted in the garden next spring. The Union armies were everywhere down south, pressing the Rebels at every point. There was scarcely a person, Northern or Southern, who couldn't see that the end was near. Consequently, James and Polly took the position that he was going away to finish a job; that he would be back soon, and for good. Tar had been left behind in Gettysburg. James would have to take the train to Chattanooga, Tennessee and secure another mount from Quartermaster Corps and receive his orders from U.S. Army Headquarters stationed there. Then he would ride to Georgia and join Kilpatrick.

On November 12
th
, James, Polly, and little James walked together to the train station. James hugged and kissed his little family and climbed aboard. As the train pulled out, he stared at them through the window as they waved from the platform. In spite of everything, at the last minute he felt an almost overwhelming urge to jump off the train and run back to the station. But he kept his seat as he remembered those immortal words, “The price of commitment.”

 

TWENTY-THREE

 

Rejoining the Fold

 

 

Early on the morning of November 13
th
, the train pulled into the station at Chattanooga. After finding a place to have some breakfast, James reported to the headquarters of Major General Andrew J. Smith. General Smith's adjutant, Captain Blanchard, informed him that word had reached the general's office concerning his new assignment. “You will have to wait a bit, Lieutenant, while my clerk types a copy of your orders. Is there anything else you'll need?”

“Yes, sir, I need a horse. My last mount was left in Gettysburg after I was wounded.” The captain stroked his mustache for a moment.

“I was not aware of your need for a horse. Let me see what I can do. Come back in two hours.”

James walked out a bit irritated at having to wait. He had already eaten and there was nothing else to do. A walk around town was the only remedy for boredom that he could come up with.

In front of a feed store he saw a wagon, a rotund, middle-aged white man sitting in the seat. The front door of the store opened and a black man came out laboring under the weight of a large sack of grain. He was struggling mightily, and when he got his load to the wagon the grain sack came down with a jolt that jerked the wagon, startling the horses. The heavyset man calmed them down with no harm done, still he was angered over the slight spooking of the animals.

He climbed down from the wagon, grabbed a post that supported the roof of the store and pulled himself up to the boardwalk. He brandished a whip in his right hand. Not waiting to see what would happen next, James positioned himself between the black man and the irate farmer and said, “What do you think you're going to do with that whip?”

“What business is if of yours, blue belly?” he said. Intending to throw a scare into the man James replied, “I'm Lieutenant James Langdon, attached to the Provost Marshal's Office in Chattanooga, and if you so much as raise that whip I'll have you jailed.”

“On what charge?”

“Assault.” The big man was apparently not looking for trouble. He tossed the whip into the wagon and said, “OK, Lieutenant. I lost my temper. It ain't easy to get used to.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean a man's world being turned upside down. Yankee occupation army controlling the town, niggers are free men now. I even have to pay them to work for me.”

“It's only fair,” said James.

“Maybe you think so. Nothing seems fair when it's forced on you.”

“Things change. Just accept it; you'll be a better man for it.”

“Damn your Yankee advice. I obey the law. I don't have to agree with it.” Then he nodded his head toward the back of the wagon and pointed a finger at the black man. The man got in the wagon and sat down beside the grain sack. The disgruntled employer heaved himself into the seat and started off up the street. As James stared after the wagon, the black man raised his hand as if to thank him for his concern.

James started down the boardwalk thinking that few things in the world are more difficult to change than the human mind. The war was proof of that. You can muster a large army and you can defeat an adversary but you cannot change his way of thinking. The new law said that the black race was now and forever free. James knew it would be a long time before it did them much good. It was not just the people of the South who believed the blacks were inferior. The illustrious forefathers of the United States were to blame with all of their ambiguous talk of freedom. When a race of people is introduced to a new land wearing shackles and chains they are branded from that day forward. After over two hundred years of being slaves, how, James wondered, could the black man ever appear as an equal in the eyes of the whites?

When two hours had passed, James returned to General Smith's office. Tied to the hitching post out front was a mule wearing a saddle blanket and a bridle. He went inside; Captain Blanchard was waiting for him.

“Here are your orders, Lieutenant. I guess you noticed the mule outside?”

“Yes,” said James in a wary tone.

“It's the best I could do. You will join up with General Kilpatrick's Corps in Atlanta. Procure a better mount when you get there. That is all.”

James couldn't believe that not a single horse was available. How unpleasant it would be to ride the whole way to Atlanta on a mule, and without a saddle to boot. It would be a dangerous trip. If he ran into Confederate cavalry he wouldn't stand a chance. He knew it would do no good to argue or complain. He took his orders, tied his things to the back of the mule as best he could, and rode out of town.

By nightfall, James was only about ten miles south of Dalton. It was very slow going on the mule and more than a little uncomfortable. The only way he could prevent falling off was to keep his legs wrapped tightly around the animal's belly. He decided to get off and walk for a while. He was leading the mule down the road when he noticed a faint flicker of light in a stand of Oak trees a short distance ahead of him. When he was within a hundred feet of what he could at that distance recognize as a campfire, he tied the reins of the mule's bridle to a tree branch and crept toward it, revolver in hand. From behind a tree not far from the center of the campsite he could see a lone figure dressed in a ragged Confederate uniform. The man was stretched out by the fire with a bedroll under his head and a slouch hat covering his face. His fingers were laced together over his stomach and his musket stood against a nearby tree. What interested James the most was the big Bay horse tied to a picket pin near the edge of the firelight. Apparently, the Reb still felt that Georgia was a safe enough haven that he didn't need to bother putting out his fire before going to sleep. If he had, however, James never would have spotted his location.

He waited for a few minutes, watching closely for any movement. When he heard an audible snore, he knew it was time to act. Stepping from behind the tree, he cocked the revolver and stood beside the sleeping man's feet.

“Wake up, Johnnie,” he said. The snoring stopped suddenly and the Reb slowly moved his right hand up and pushed back the slouch hat. He sat up looking both sleepy and disgusted at the same time. “
Damn
Yank. I reckon you walk through cemeteries at night wakin the dead.”

“Not as a rule. But I need a horse and I
would
wake a sleeping man and help myself to his.”

“You mean ya'll is gonna leave me on foot.”

“Nope. There's a good young plow mule tied up just down the road and you're welcome to him.”

“A plow mule for a good horse? That ain't no fair trade.”

“Well, I'm also leaving you here alive.”

“I reckon that does even things up some.”

“Which way are you heading?”

“Back home to Virginia,” said the Reb. “I was with Hardee in Atlanta. What a hell of a fight that was. The whole time I was fightin I says to myself I says, if you don't get kilt in this here battle, you bes go home while you still can. A man of few wits can see where this war is headin so what's the sense of dyin for nothin? When it was over, the army headed south and I headed north.”

“Where did you get the horse?”

“I stolt him from a farm las night.”

“Well that makes me feel a little less guilty about stealing him from you.”

“You got a sense of humor, Yank.”

“I'm glad you think so. Now roll over on your belly and put your arms straight out.” The Reb did as he was told. James carefully checked him for weapons. All he found was a large bowie knife; he tossed it away. Then he picked up the musket, pulled back the hammer and removed the percussion cap from the nipple. He threw the cap and the musket into the darkness.” You can find that in the morning. Now get up and saddle that horse.” Again he did as he was told. Enemy or not, James felt a little ashamed. This worn old campaigner obviously wanted no trouble. He just wanted to go home; a feeling shared by many.

When the horse was saddled, James climbed up and said, “Wait until you hear me ride by, then go down and get that mule. I do hope you make it back to Virginia.”

“Thanks, Yank. I'll think a you when I do the spring plowin.”

James tipped his cap and rode out through the trees. He wasted no time getting his gear off the mule and tying it behind the saddle. Then he raced by the stand of Oak trees; the Reb's campfire was still burning.

The big Bay was a welcome change from the unenthusiastic mule. On through the night James kept an easy but steady pace, and by daylight he was just twenty miles from Atlanta. Coming up on a long, sweeping bend in the road, he could see dust clouds being raised ahead of him. A little farther and the strains of “Battle Hymn of the Republic” came back to him on the morning breeze. A large body of Union troops was also heading into Atlanta. James spurred the big horse and galloped up to the rear of the column. “What army is this?” James called out.

“Why, it's Uncle Billy's of course,” was the reply.

“Do you mean General Sherman?”

“None other. We're his farm boys from Ohio, Illinois, and Indiana. We're headin to Atlanta to help the fellows finish her off and then we're gonna burn a path to the sea.