by Andy Kutler
“We’ll keep this brief today,” began Gaylord, returning to his desk and setting his coffee down. “As most of you know, our friends across the border seem to have a difficult time remembering to stay on their side of it. This month alone, we have had three grievances filed by three different families. Rustlers, thieves, you name it. Never in uniform of course, but it’s clear who they are. They’re stealing horses, cattle, sheep, feed, just about anything they can get their hands on. Captain Royston, your company is scheduled to patrol the Southern Platte settlements. Divide your company, if prudent, but I want you to sweep the widest possible perimeter without placing your men in undue jeopardy. You can dance right up to the border, if necessary.”
“Yes, Sir.”
Gaylord eyed him carefully. “But do watch that border, son. I’d like to see less aggression here and more caution. I want to make a point without triggering any unnecessary confrontations.”
Ethan nodded his understanding. “Terrell will keep us honest,” he answered.
Gaylord exchanged a glance with the frowning Thatch and then continued. “I want you back here in one week. Captain Rudman, your company will patrol the northeast quadrant, namely the Rose Creek area, when A Company returns. We will discuss specifics in a few days. Any questions?”
Many, Ethan thought to himself.
To start, the country was essentially split in two now. South Carolina, Mississippi, Texas, Georgia, Louisiana, Florida, and Alabama had formally seceded from the United States. South Carolina militia had laid siege to Fort Sumter in Charleston Harbor, forcing the surrender of the small Federal garrison and her heavy guns. With the young nation fracturing more each day, it would seem the Army should have matters of greater consequence on its mind than a handful of rogue Indians and Mexicans harassing locals.
Gaylord covered a number of other administrative issues, asked for questions a final time, and when there were none gave them all a dismissive nod. “Good, attend to your duties, if you please. Captain Royston, will you and Mr. Garrity stay a moment?”
The other officers rose from their chairs and slowly filed out of the colonel's office, leaving only Ethan and Cal standing before Gaylord’s desk, with Thatch hovering nearby.
"Relax, gentlemen,” Gaylord began. He was a compact man, maybe five or six inches over five feet, but he remained trim even in his later years. His double-breasted frock coat sported two rows of brass buttons and a sash was fastened around his waist. Like many of the older officers, he had not yet taken to tucking his trousers into his boots as Ethan and Cal did. His gray hair was thinning on top, but the sides remained thick, flowing into the short beard he had maintained since his cadet days. His eyes were the color of molasses, and Ethan felt as if they were appraising him every time he stood like this before the man’s desk.
Gaylord turned and pointed to an area on the wall map. “Captain, I need you to sweep by the Foder spread, down here in this valley. They’re claiming the Navajos are poaching their livestock, much more so than usual. It’s well outside our routine patrol range and an area I imagine you are not too familiar with. Perhaps you should consider taking one of the native scouts with you this time out."
Ethan blinked. "A native scout? Why, Sir?"
Gaylord lowered himself into his chair, reaching for his coffee. "They know this land, Captain, inside and out," he explained, eyeing Ethan carefully while sipping from the mug he held with both hands.
There seemed to be a warning in those words. "Well, Sir, that may be true. But Terrell has been scouting for us for better than a year now, and frankly Sir, I wouldn't trust any Indian as much as I trust Terrell."
“What about Hendry?”
Hendry?
“Lyle Hendry isn’t a scout,” answered Ethan irritably. “He is a glorified horse thief and drinks from dawn to dusk. I’m surprised the blacksmith took him on.”
Gaylord looked at him sharply.
"Captain Royston, I will tell you, unofficially and off the record, that like you, I am aware of Terrell’s past service as an officer in the French Army. What concerns some is why he no longer is an officer in the French Army. Lord knows, a great many have come to this country to start their lives anew, my grandparents included, and I will grant Terrell his right to keep his past to himself. But I must question your decision to elevate him to such a prominent role under your charge.”
Where the hell is this coming from?
Everyone liked Terrell. It was impossible not to. But Ethan knew better than to judge him based on his devilish humor and often disheveled appearance. There was much more to the man. And Gaylord knew it too.
“Sir, are you ordering me to remove Terrell as my lead scout?”
Gaylord frowned. "You know I prefer not to meddle with how my companies are organized internally, so I will not countermand any decision you make in this matter. But I will tell you, again off the record, that there are senior officers both here and at Fort Pierce who have questions about Terrell’s past life. Until such questions are answered to everyone’s satisfaction, he is unlikely to make promotion or receive any sort of commendation, no matter how deserved. Is that clear?"
Ethan searched Gaylord’s eyes, trying to understand what this was really about. They both knew that Terrell could give a damn about promotion.
Gaylord returned his gaze, intently, as if trying to communicate a message.
No, this isn’t coming from you, is it?
As if to answer his unspoken question, Gaylord’s eyes flashed briefly to the man next to him.
Of course.
“Yes, Sir.”
"Do you think it is clear to Terrell?" asked Thatch in his nasal voice, as if on cue.
"I will make sure it is, Major.”
Gaylord leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs. “All right, I think we can move on. I’ve been meaning to ask you about Lieutenant Townes and his progress. His evaluation is coming due in June; I’ll need you to file the preliminary. He’s had his command for what, two months now?"
"Three, Sir," said Ethan, relieved to be back on more familiar ground. "He's doing fine, and he has sharpened my Second Platoon quite a bit."
"Must be that fine West Point training, right, Mr. Garrity?"
"Yes, Sir, Colonel," said Cal.
Ethan enjoyed watching Thatch’s face tighten with that.
“Very well, you two are dis—”
Ethan stepped forward. “Colonel, a minor administrative matter. Lieutenant Whitaker had escort duty the other day for a freight wagon out of the fort. They found a man, Mr. Kelsey, near the crossroads with some minor injuries. He has recovered now, and both Whit—Lieutenant Whitaker—and Lieutenant Garrity here speak highly of him. My company is down some twenty men now and I’d like to bring him out on this patrol with us as a civilian scout. See what he’s made of. If he can show he is able, we can muster him in.”
Thatch turned to Gaylord, a scowl on his face. “Is that what our standards have become for the Dragoons? I met this man, Colonel, and he was insolent and vulgar.” He turned back to Royston. “What are this man’s qualifications to be a scout?”
“None, Sir, but Terrell will train him. My gut tells me he is a good man. I’d like him to have the same opportunity I had.”
“None, indeed. We are professional soldiers, Captain, with a tradition that dates back to the Continental Army. We don’t find recruits on the side of the road.”
“I could not agree more, Major, about the standards of our officers and non-commissioned officers. But you know our enlisted fall well short of that mark. We are under strength as it is, and what we have is a mixed lot at best. Can we not even consider this man?”
“You make it sound as if this Kelsey will save the Union. And you seem to be exercising a great deal of energy on one man. Captain.”
Ethan felt his cheeks beginning to burn. “As do you. Major.”
Gaylord stood, hoping to quell any further words between the officers. “Major, Lieutenant Garrity, will you tw
o gentlemen excuse the Captain and me?”
Thatch began to protest but the look he received from Gaylord discouraged him from uttering another word. He left the office, followed closely by Cal.
Gaylord stood and circled the desk until he was standing beside Ethan. He folded his arms and leaned back against the desktop. “Ethan, about this man—”
“Colonel, I’m happy to withdraw the request.”
“Oh? You sounded pretty adamant a minute ago. Were those strong feelings a result of Major Thatch sticking his nose in it?”
“No, Sir. I…well…I guess…” Ethan sighed. “Yes, Sir, mostly. But Kelsey does seem like a good man. Kind of an unusual sort. You should meet him.”
Gaylord chuckled. “Son, you make the decision, I trust your judgment. We have more vital matters to discuss, do we not?”
“Sir?
“Our whole world is about to be turned upside down, Ethan. As our naval friends would say, we will be navigating some uncharted waters. Everyone in America will, but it will be most difficult for those of us already in uniform. This army is a powder keg, and Fort Sumter has lit a very slow fuse. You think the last few months have been tense, it is about to get worse. Much worse.”
“It’s already dividing the Army.”
“Indeed. Look, I can’t tell you what is going to happen to this regiment in the coming weeks and months, but your job is to prepare your company for war. Total, complete war.”
“You are convinced there will be one?”
Gaylord nodded somberly, his tone regretful. “There is no question, I’m afraid. And this regiment will be sent back east to fight it. South Carolina and the others have crossed a line, I fear. Mr. Lincoln needs muscle, and we are it.” He paused. “I know you and Mr. Garrity are close. Have you spoken to him about this? What are his intentions?”
“I’m not sure I know, Sir.”
Gaylord smiled. “And if you did know, you wouldn’t tell me, would you? This will be a difficult business, lad. You have good men under your command. But neither they, nor you, have ever faced cannon and cavalry. Or charged an infantry regiment behind a fortified position.”
“I wouldn’t sell these Indians out here short, Colonel.”
“Neither would I. But they are not a disciplined army, and their backs are not against a wall, at least not yet. And that is what we will be facing.”
“Won’t the Southern army have its own problems?”
“I pray they will. But they’ll have capable professionals to lead their armies. I fought beside many of them across the Rio Grande two decades ago. And I would wager that a majority of Mr. Garrity’s and Mr. Townes’s graduating classes are from the South. This army will have its hands full, I assure you.”
“Sir, a question, if I might? Those men you fought alongside with. Can you imagine fighting against them now?”
“No, no I can’t. That thought burdens me almost every night. You’re thinking of Lieutenant Garrity? Son, a word of advice. I wouldn’t concern yourself with Mr. Garrity. No matter how this plays out, the odds you will see each other across a battlefield are minuscule. I’ve heard some say this will be over in a few months. My own view is this could go on for a year or two. You need to concern yourself with the men in your company. I’ve seen you with your men. You’re close to them, and they love you for it. Some would say there’s nothing wrong with that. But my advice? Keep your distance, best as you can. Many will fall, and you will find yourself grieving. Some will fail, and you will find yourself feeling responsible. That is why you must lead them. And inspire them. But you must stay above them. Do you understand?”
“I think so, Sir. But two years? Is that really a possibility?”
“You expect fast work? Major Thatch certainly does. Just be mindful that this is what the Redcoats believed some eighty years ago. We’re the professionals, they said, puffing out their chests. Better training, better equipment and our generals are gentlemen. But as they learned from Bunker Hill to Yorktown, it is a very different thing when you are standing on another man’s land.”
Gaylord held Ethan’s shoulder. “Mark my words, Ethan. I’ve seen my share of young officers in this army. You have to wear those captain bars with strength and conviction. Trust your instincts. Yes, you’ll make mistakes. Learn from them. When I was your age, I served under a brigadier who told me that being an inept officer with a large command is a bit like being an undertaker. There may be lots of people beneath you, but no one is really listening.”
The two men shared a smile and Gaylord moved back to his seat. Ethan knew he was dismissed. He saluted and marched out of the office.
Gaylord watched the younger officer leave. He sighed, fretting about Ethan and what his fate might be in the coming months. He would be in the thick of things, as would Garrity, and Nathan Gaylord had seen too much of war in Mexico to discount the angst he was feeling. He had commanded a cavalry detachment at Vera Cruz and was shot from his horse. The musket ball still lodged in his shoulder—and the gruff surgeon’s hurried, agonizing attempt to latch on to it—was a constant reminder of that experience.
Gaylord knew he held a more sober view of the coming conflict with the South than his adjutant. Or most of his senior colleagues for that matter. Politically, he agreed with them on much. He was an ardent Unionist, and believed that the Southern states should be compelled, by force if necessary, back into the United States. And there was no question about the repugnance of the institution of slavery. It had to go.
But he was also under no illusions about the consequences of war. He knew it would shatter the country, perhaps irreparably. It would turn neighbors and families against each other, brother against brother in some cases.
He laced his fingers together and placed them behind his head, staring up at the ceiling. This business back east saddened him beyond measure.
And conflicted him. He desperately wanted to be there. It wasn’t vanity by any means; he mostly dreaded having any role in what was brewing. But with his years came temperament and clear thinking, and he knew both qualities could very well be lacking in Lincoln’s new army.
Winston Thatch embodied his concerns. He knew the man had been a tenacious Indian fighter in Utah. Thatch had political connections as well, a family of outspoken Republicans, just like the new president. Washington would surely find a prominent role for him in whatever force it was gathering on the banks of the Potomac River.
But there were implications with putting men like Thatch on a battlefield. Their ambition was like an angry beast demanding to be fed, wanting triumph and glory at any cost. Thatch would hardly be alone in this, and it churned his stomach to think of good young officers like Ethan Royston and Cal Garrity serving at the whim of such men.
Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more.
There was a knock at his door and Thatch entered. With a nod from Gaylord, he took a seat in front of the desk. Gaylord stood, pouring two cups of coffee plus a measure of whiskey into each, and handed one to the other man.
“You’re not very fond of that lad, are you?”
Thatch shrugged, accepting the cup. “Royston? He’s a capable man.”
“Speak your mind, Major.”
Thatch took a swallow. “Truthfully, Sir, I can’t understand why you are so fond of him.”
Gaylord returned to his chair. “He’s a promising, first-rate officer, and right now, we need every loyal young man of such caliber.”
“As I said, capable. It’s his judgment that concerns me. The man he chose as his second is a secessionist, and if what we hear is to be believed, his lead scout is some sort of international fugitive of justice.”
“Oh, come now, Major,” said Gaylord, waving his hand dismissively. “There is no evidence of any kind that Mr. Garrity is a secessionist. Those rumors you and I have both heard are rubbish. True, he is a Virginian and I am aware of who his father-in-law is, but he graduated near the top of his Academy class. And, I might add, he chose not to fall in behind
Cavanaugh, Rutledge and the others.”
“If Virginia…” Thatch persisted, then paused as he realized that their words may carry into the next room. He softened his voice. “If Virginia chooses to formally secede, you and I both know that Garrity will resign his commission.”
Gaylord sighed, acknowledging the truth in his adjutant’s statement. Still, he wasn’t going to make any headway with this man.
“Captain Royston is young and he lacks formal training. But the discipline and morale among his men are unmatched out here, including Rudman’s best. He had virtually no desertions last year. You are familiar with his record, and even you, Major, have to admit that he has proven to be wholly reliable in the field.”
“I am familiar with his record and I will grant you that, Colonel,” acknowledged Thatch. It was no secret that the Army, particularly in the West, had been plagued by desertions for nearly a decade. The dragoons less so than the infantry, but it was still a problem.
“But fighting these small pockets of savages in the rocks and sand here is a far cry from facing trained regiments of riflemen backed by batteries of Napoleons. Captain Royston still has much to prove.”
Gaylord swiveled his chair and looked out the window, watching Royston and Garrity cross the parade ground.
“He is hardly alone in that, Major,” he said, sipping his coffee.
CHAPTER 7
“More coffee, Ethan?”
He nodded gratefully to his host, his mouth crammed with sourdough bread, and soon his cup was filled with the rich, steaming brew. His plate was clean, not a scrap remaining of the absurdly delicious spit-roasted chicken and potato dumplings Emily had prepared. Ethan once again silently thanked his friends for using their personal funds to acquire a cook stove for their private quarters.