Crossing the Deadline (9 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY

Major Lilly leaves, and I turn to Henry and William Peacock. “You know what that means, don't you?”

“No, what?”

“If only the mounted troops are going, they expect action. We'll be moving fast. No infantry to slow us down.”

“You're way too excited about all this,” Henry says. He tucks his lower lip between his teeth and bites gently.

“What are you worried about?” Peacock asks.

“What do you mean?”

“Henry, I've been your tent mate since we enlisted,” I say. “You only bite your lip when you're fretting over something.”

“Like learning to play the bugle,” Peacock says. “It took you a long while to catch on. You worried they were going
to reassign you, and you nearly chewed your lip off the entire time. Right?”

He nods.

“And now the major's requesting that you call assembly,” Peacock says, putting his arm around Henry's neck. “You learned all those calls and got worked up for nothing. This may be our best chance yet to finally see the elephant. We've been through Indiana, Kentucky, and Tennessee and haven't as much as shot at one dadblamed reb.”

Henry pushes his hair back across his ears and speaks in a hushed voice. “I'll be honest, fellas. I don't care to see any fighting.” He looks around to see who's in earshot. “I know we trained hard and all three of us bugle real good, but I don't mind telling you . . . I'm scared.” There's a quaver in his voice I've not heard before.

“There's nothin' to be afraid of,” I assure him. “We've trained for this, and we have the best soldiers in the US Army.” I pat the side of Henry's arm. “Major Lilly's the best there is. We'll be fine.” I think better and correct myself. “You'll be fine.”

“I'm all my wife's got left. My son hadn't taken his first step when I left. If something happens to me . . .” Henry's voice breaks off.

“I lost four brothers to the war, pard,” Peacock says.

“Four?” I ask.

“Mom and Dad buried four. They didn't want me leaving.” Henry and I look at him, shocked.

Henry drops his head and clears his throat. “If something happens . . . to me . . . will one of you get word to my wife?”

I nod.

“Tell her I said, ‘I love you to the moon and back.' If you tell her that, she'll know I said it. She'll know it for sure.”

“Why you talking crazy?” Peacock says. “Everything's going to be fine.”

“I don't know which would be worse, dying in battle quickly or a slow death in a prison. Stephen, you saw how those fellows looked in that prison we snuck into in Indianapolis. I can't do that. I can't go to prison.”

Henry shakes his head and doesn't say another word. He stops blinking and stares toward the base of a tree. His face has the same look that Mom's face had when she stood on the porch, watching black clouds head toward Centerville.
How bad is this storm going to be? Will it grow into a tornado and rip everything into a pile of rubble or peter out and just leave a good soaking?

The three of us finish our coffee in silence. Henry does a
fine job sounding assembly, and as we pack to leave, I think of what he said. “I love you to the moon and back.” My load seems heavier than it did yesterday.

A quarter moon provides little light as we ride. Often we travel near open meadows. Just as often, the trail ducks into forests of old growth. Under trees, it's barely possible to see past the horse's mane. My eyes dart from side to side, looking for Forrest's picket lines. Once, in a clearing, I see Henry glancing toward the sky for several seconds.

“Whatcha looking at?” I ask.

“Sarah and I promised to look at the moon as often as we could while I'm away,” he says. “It's our way of connecting with each other.”

“I like that,” I say. I don't know what else to tell him to put his mind at ease.

“It's like, when we are both looking at the same thing at the same time, we feel connected,” Henry looks at me. “Don't laugh. I know it doesn't make any sense.”

“No, no, no . . .,” I insist. “I think it's a nice way to stay in touch, to stay connected. How do you know when your wife's looking at the moon?”

“I don't. But I pretend she's looking every time I'm looking, and I worry less. It makes me feel good.” Henry
smiles and glances up at the moon again.

“I bet she's looking right now,” I say.

“Ya think so?”

“Yeah, that's exactly what I think. Sarah's looking at the moon right now and thinking of you. You know, my mama always told me, ‘Don't worry about trouble till trouble comes.'”

It's good to hear Henry laugh. “Yeah, I guess she's right.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Friday, September 23, 1864, 11:45 p.m.

The hooves clattering on the ground cause my mind to drift back to Centerville. I wonder how many horseshoes I've replaced on horses pulling wagons west. How many nails did I pound into hooves? I want to wrap Mother up in a blanket, set her on a wagon, and ride to Kansas or Texas, far away from Uncle Clem.

At midnight, a fog creeps in and shrouds what light is coming from the quarter moon. Major Lilly orders us to slow our gait. The railroad remains to our left as we make our way toward the Elk River. A water station appears, and we're ordered to stop and rest awhile.

I dismount and reach for Major Lilly's reins. He doesn't give them to me. “Sergeant Survant, take our horses and give them some water,” he orders, and climbs down. After
the horses are pulled away he asks, “How are you doing, son?”

I'm taken aback. Major Lilly has never called me “son” before. “Fine, sir. I'm doing fine,” I say.

“That's a nice horse you have there,” he says.

“Thank you, Major. His name is Texas.”

“He's a beaut,” he says. “Are you scared, Stephen?” he asks.

“No, sir,” I answer. “Not really.”

“Not at all? Not even a little bit?”

I clear my throat. “Well, maybe some, I guess.”

Major Lilly laughs. “Smart man,” he says. “Back in Pulaski, when I told you that we were heading out, you seemed giddy.”

“Somewhat,” I confess.

“Only a fool goes into battle unafraid, son.”

I don't know if he can see in the dim light, but I nod nonetheless. “I heard Governor Morton say that once, sir.”

“Part of Forrest's strategy is to disrupt the movement of supplies along the railroads. I think there's a ninety percent chance we'll meet the gentleman real soon,” he says. “We'll need you more than ever when that time comes.”

“You will, sir?” I ask.

“
We
will,” he says again. “It's your job to raise the spirits
of our men in battle. When I came to tell you we were leaving Pulaski, I waited for you to finish the song you were playing for the men.”

“The song was ‘Can I Go, Dearest Mother?'” I say.

“Yes. I didn't get to be a major without noticing important details, Stephen. The men had tears in their eyes.”

“I didn't mean to upset the men.”

“They weren't sad, Stephen. You reminded them of why we're here. Don't underestimate your contribution to the regiment,” he says. “Governor Morton told me about you. ‘The boy's special,' were his exact words. I saw that last night. Your horn connects with these men.”

“Yes, sir,” I say. “I understand.”

“I'm not sure you do,” he says. “I didn't hire you to blow a horn. I can train a goose to do that. Your style lifts their spirits and gives the men confidence more than any speech I can make.” I can't quite see the major's face, but his tone tells me he's a bit concerned, too. “Do your job well,” he says. “The men need you. You are a valuable part of this unit.” With a nod, he says, “Dismissed, son.”

“Yes, sir,” I say.

* * *

The sun burns off the fog by midmorning. The closer we get to the Elk River, the more tree stumps we see. Obviously, the trees have been used in the construction and repair of the bridge and blockhouses over the river. We arrive at Elk River at noon. The camp's commander informs Major Lilly that we are a little over a mile away from the Alabama line.

“Union troops have captured the bridge called Sulphur Branch Trestle, a few miles into Alabama. They are in need of help,” he says. “We're in the middle of a Confederate hotbed, and we need to hold that bridge. I'm ordering you to take two hundred of your men there,” he says. “Rest an hour or so and head out when you feel the horses are ready.”

* * *

Riding through northern Alabama is like riding on an unmade bed: lots of flat places, but wrinkled here and there with shallow valleys and short, steep hills. We ride a few miles into Alabama and through a place called Elkmont. Just south of town we get a view of Sulphur Branch Trestle, and I can see its importance. The massive structure connects two hills and is long enough to support seven flatcars at one time. One slip from the center of the trestle means a fall the height
of a full-grown oak tree. Wooden blockhouses sit beside either end of the trestle. An earthworks fort sits at the top of the southern hill close to the tracks.

Major Lilly leads us down a steep slope, and we ride to the base of the hill at the far end of the bridge. “Stephen, once we walk up this hill into the fort, you and Henry stay near me,” he orders. “I want you within earshot at all times.” We pool our horses in the ravine and scale the hill on foot to the fort. This embankment is the first line of defense and is too steep for horses to climb.

A rifle pit, deep enough for a man to stand in, rings the outside walls of the fort and provides the second line of protection. We enter the fort through two wooden doors wide enough for one man to pass each way. Two blockhouses sit inside the fort.

A man with muttonchops walks quickly to us and salutes. “Colonel Minnis,” he says. He blinks rapidly as Major Lilly introduces us. The colonel waves his hands excitedly and hurries us over to a pit in the ground. “Here's our magazine. I'm afraid it's pitifully stocked with ammunition for a couple hundred men. There are only two frame buildings inside.” He points to one. “That one is set up as a hospital, and the other is a command center.”

The fort is much smaller than I expected. I am astonished by its lack of size.

“Over here,” Colonel Minnis says, walking quickly to a small window on the western part of the fort. “This side was built close enough to the tracks that the cross timbers can be touched by men in the rifle pit. Just beyond the tracks, the hill falls away to a field of dried cornstalks.”

Major Lilly asks, “Can troop advancements be seen coming through the field?”

“Certainly,” the colonel replies. “That's not a concern at all. But over there,” he says, pointing to the opposite side of the fort, “is another story. A deep, narrow ravine to the east creates a natural boundary preventing a
mounted attack.
However, that ground rises quickly to a hilltop higher than this fort.” Colonel Minnis points to trees outside the fort. “The trees you see there are on the far hilltop, less than sixty yards away.”

Major Lilly shakes his head. “Perfect for a Confederate artillery strike. The possibility of being attacked from that side is one hundred percent.”

“Exactly.”

I turn to Henry and speak low enough that he alone can hear. “I can't believe we stayed three months in Nashville,
the most fortified town in the South, to end up at Sulphur Branch Trestle, Alabama, with no protection at all.”

Henry nudges me on the arm and points to the eastern hillside. “We're like ducks sitting on a pond, waiting to be shot,” he says.

I nod and Henry bites his lip.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Saturday, September 24, 1864, 4:20 p.m.

“Your two hundred men bring our total to one thousand,” Colonel Minnis says.

Major Lilly shakes his head in disbelief. “Even with those numbers, two twelve-pound howitzers are not enough to defend an attack from the east.” His voice is raised, clipped with anger. He points toward the ridge. “How far away are those trees, Stephen?” he asks.

“Sixty yards, seventy at the most,” I guess.

“And how far do howitzers shoot?”

“Up to one thousand yards, sir,” I answer.

“What's the problem with that?”

I glance at the top of the hill—the answer is easy. “It's like stirring a cup of coffee with a shovel,” I say. “Our cannons are too large of a weapon to protect the fort from
the nearest and most obvious threat, that hilltop.”

Major Lilly nods. “He's fourteen and sees the problem. We don't have the right tool for the job, and the fort is built in the wrong place. Why aren't our men on that hill?” he asks.

“There's no protection up there. It would be putting my men up there with their backs to a cliff.”

“Well, what good are howitzers when the enemy is looking down at you from less than one hundred yards away?”

The colonel throws his hands into the air. “I agree, but it's all we've got. And we only have sixty rounds per howitzer.”

Major Lilly squints like he's staring into the sun. “One hundred twenty rounds?” he asks. “My God, can it get any worse?”

The officers stand and stare at each other. Major Lilly massages both temples with his fingers. “I say we turn the western howitzer to face east. If we get hot fire from that hilltop, it's going to be hard to stop. But maybe we can scare them to death.”

Colonel Minnis nods. “An advance from the west can be handled with guns. We have the upper ground there,” he says.

“I have another concern,” Major Lilly says.

“What's that?”

“Who's leading the Negro troops?”

“Colonel William Lathrop. They're the One Hundred Eleventh Negro troops, and he has several hundred men.”

“We don't want another Fort Pillow on our hands.”

“What do you mean?”

“Forrest is in the area, right?”

“Correct.”

“Word is he took Fort Pillow's white soldiers as prisoners but lined the Negro troops up and shot them like rabid dogs.”

The idea makes my stomach lurch, and my chest feels like it's being squeezed in a vice. “We can't let that happen,” I mutter to Henry. It's hard for me to catch my breath.

“We'll worry about that if the time comes,” Colonel Minnis says. “Forrest overran Athens, five miles south of here earlier this week. He's picking off small forts one by one like he's going down a row of corn.”

It's decided that Major Lilly will take fifty men and follow the railroad south toward Athens to have a look. Just before sunset I sound the boots and saddles call, and we mount. We leave the corral with a squad and eight additional men who have been at the fort for several weeks and know the area. We ride quietly until we face a small rise in the flat terrain.

“That's called Hay's Mill,” a private says.

Major Lilly stops the line and orders the private and Sergeant Survant to ride ahead. Near the top of the rise, they stand high in their stirrups. Sergeant Survant turns and motions for the rest of us to advance. Far ahead, we see small pockets of flames, too numerous to count. They span a wide swath of land.

“My God,” Major Lilly says in a low tone. “We've found the rebels.”

“How many?” somebody asks.

Major Lilly tugs on his mustache. “Several thousand, I'd say.”

We sit in silence, scanning the orange horizon. “Mother calls that color of sky Indiana sunset,” I tell the major.

“It's not the sun painting that orange wash along the bottoms of the clouds. It's fire,” he says.

“Can small fires cause the clouds to glow like that?”

“No.” Major Lilly shakes his head. “Campfires, even that many, won't reflect that high. My guess is Athens is burning.”

“Where are the rebel picket lines?” I ask.

“They're not worried about us,” Major Lilly says. “Not now.”

Tree branches snap, and suddenly pops ring out from the
direction of the fires. But a safe distance ahead. It's the first time I've been fired at.

“There's your answer, Gaston,” Sergeant Survant says.

“Have you ever been fired at, sir?” I ask the major.

“Many times,” he says slowly.

Knowing we are totally outnumbered and sitting ducks in the fort makes my face feel flushed. With a battle looming, I no longer want to see the elephant when it attacks in full force. “Why would they shoot from that far away?” I ask.

“Someone wants us to know they see us. They know we won't attack. There's too many of them. Let's head back before they decide to get close enough to do harm,” Major Lilly says.

We ride back to the fort, store the horses in the ravine, and climb the hillside. It's nine p.m.

* * *

“How will the Negro troops perform if fighting turns thick?” Major Lilly asks Colonel Lathrop when we return.

The colonel twists his head to the left as if he's hard of hearing. “I don't understand. What do you mean,
How will the Negro troops perform?”

Major Lilly's struck a nerve, but he keeps pressing. “I estimate over two thousand rebels perhaps three miles south of here. We'll need every able-bodied man to defend the fort and trestle. What is your level of confidence that your men will perform when the fighting starts?”

“Major, their lives are on the line, more so than yours or mine. Every man under my command has trained like any other Union soldier. Their dark skin doesn't mean they'll perform any differently than your men.”

Major Lilly smiles and nods. “That's what I wanted to hear, sir,” he says. “I'm sure we'll all make Forrest's acquaintance sooner than later.”

* * *

Twenty minutes pass, and Colonel Lathrop requests Major Lilly to join him along the western wall, where the Negro troops are stationed. “From that vantage, Forrest's sharpshooter can pick us off one at a time,” he says.

Major Lilly agrees. “That's going to be problematic. The only cover for your men is the hospital. When it starts—and it will—make sure your men stay out of the line of sniper fire from the hill. Don't worry about advancement from the cornfield.”

Major Lilly turns to me. “Stephen, tell the Ninth to assist the Eleventh for the rest of the night. Build an earthworks anywhere on this side of the fort that can be seen from the hill. Logs, thick branches, large rocks, anything you can get your hands on need to be here for them.”

* * *

Henry Dorman and I carry rocks from the creek and lay them to create a crude wall extending from the corner of the hospital. William Peacock and a fellow nearly seven feet tall make several trips with us. The two of them are strong as bears and carry the largest boulders. I hear others call the taller fellow Big Tennessee. After several trips we collapse for a rest. Henry stares at the half-moon, and I watch his lips move slowly.

I look up at the moon as well. “Maw, I love you to the moon and back,” I say loud enough for Henry to hear.