When Johnny Came Marching Home

by William Heffernan

  "Jubal, I assure you—" She stopped as I took the few steps that separated us. I reached into my jacket pocket and withdrew the photo I had taken from Johnny's room. I handed it to her.

  "I found this when I searched Johnny's room."

  She stared at the photo, her lips trembling.

  "There's an inscription on the back," I added.

  I watched as she turned the photo over and read what she had written: From Mary, to Johnny with love.

  Her hands began to tremble as she took a deep breath and began to sob. I pulled a clean handkerchief from my pocket and pressed it in her hand. Making any woman cry has always been an abomination to me, filling me with guilt beyond all measure.

  "He was the devil," she managed between tears. "He was the devil come to earth. But, God forgive me, I loved him." She looked up at me. "He was so sweet at first. He made me feel young and alive. But it was all a joke to him. It wasn't like that at first. He didn't show that side of himself then. It came out gradually. But when it did it was horrible. He thought it was funny to seduce the wife of a man he had known all his life, a woman who would have been the stepmother of his boyhood friend. In the end he just laughed at me, and told me that Rebecca would be next. He said he would have her too, because he knew she loved you, and he wanted to see you suffer."

  My body stiffened as the words flowed from her mouth, and I remembered the confrontation Johnny and I had had shortly after I returned home, the temptation I'd felt to kill him then and there.

  "I know what Johnny was like," I said. "I saw him change during the war, watched him become the monster that came home."

  "Will my husband find out?" she asked at length, breathing deeply.

  "Not from me. And not from anyone else if I can stop it. Walter has had enough pain. He doesn't need this added to it." I paused, letting what I had said sink in. "Tell me about Bobby Suggs."

  Mary pressed my handkerchief to her lips, then sat up straight and got control of her breathing. "Johnny was afraid of him," she began. "Oh, he wouldn't show it when Suggs was there, but when we were alone he told me that Suggs hated him, that it was about something that had happened during the war, and that Suggs had come to Vermont to cause him harm." She looked at me fearfully, and it made me wonder if she were about to utter a lie. "Johnny told me he might have to kill him."

  * * *

  Sharpsburg, Maryland, 1862

  We had been on the tail of General Robert E. Lee's army for more than a week when it finally crossed the Virginia border and entered Maryland, the South's first incursion into Northern territory. Emboldened by his victory at the Second Battle of Bull Run, Lee intended to defeat the Union on its own ground, thus demoralizing all who sympathized with the Northern cause. But Lee had another motive as well. Virginia's farms had been stripped of food and he believed that the citizens of Maryland might welcome Confederate forces and willingly supply his troops with much needed stores. Thus his 55,000-man army marched into the state singing "Maryland, My Maryland," only to find the citizens hiding in their homes.

  When he realized that General McClellan was pursuing him with 75,000 men, Lee took up defensive positions behind Antietam Creek, and prepared to fight what was to become the bloodiest single-day battle in the nation's history.

  Since there was no need for reconnaissance, my squad was returned to its regular unit to join in the pursuit of Lee's forces. As we crossed into Maryland, people emerged from their homes to cheer us, a stark contrast to the citizenry of the South, who hid behind locked doors, or occasionally hurled insults, or even shot at us as we passed.

  "I feel like a hero," Johnny announced as the three of us trudged along together.

  "All them cheers means we're marchin' through Northern territory," Abel said. "Which also means that Lee's takin' the fight ta our front door."

  "I still like bein' taken as a hero fer a change," Johnny said. "It's a helluva lot better then lookin' over yer shoulder all the time, thinkin' some old lady with a pistol might take a shot at ya from her kitchen window. God Almighty, I can't believe how scared I am sometimes."

  "You just be careful if we ever march past any Washington whorehouses," I said.

  "Damn, you ever gonna let me forgit that?" Johnny whined.

  "Hell no," I replied.

  "Why should we?" Abel said. "When yer ninety years ol' an' sittin' in yer rockin' chair, I plan ta come bother ya about it."

  "If I get ta be ninety—hell, if I even get home—I won't care whatcha bother me with," Johnny snapped back.

  * * *

  General Hooker, who now had charge of our corps, ordered us into battle against Lee's left flank, which proved immediately vulnerable. We charged in, several thousand troops strong, and drove the Rebs back. The battle swirled about us for hours, sweeping back and forth across a wide expanse named "Miller's Cornfield," bodies piling deeper every time we crossed it, each side showering the other with artillery fire. We were bombarded by artillery under General Jeb Stuart to the west, and Colonel Stephen Lee to the south, his canister rounds firing from batteries across from Dunker Church, driving us back time and again in hales of grapeshot. Each time, Union forces returned fire with nine batteries of powerful twenty-pound Parrott rifles, which decimated advancing Reb troops in what became known on the Reb side as "Artillery Hell." On one advance General Hooker spied the glint of Rebel bayonets hidden in the cornfield and immediately called a halt; then he directed four artillery batteries to open fire over the heads of his crouching troops.

  As we watched, the cornfield exploded with round after round, and when we resumed our attack we found stunned Reb forces scattered throughout the cornfield and we beat them over the heads with rifle butts and stabbed them with bayonets, the fighting too close at hand to risk firing a weapon. Our men then fought our way to Dunker Church, crashing through Reb fortifications, destroying their artillery batteries, and leaving the church mostly in ruin. When we finally stopped to rest, bodies lay all about us, Reb and Union alike, and the air was filled with the smell of blood and gunpowder and death. The following morning Lee continued to skirmish with McClellan, as he removed his battered army south, crossing the river back into Virginia.

  * * *

  While Lee fought his way home we were sent out to move through the bodies and search for any who were still alive. Word had come down that there were 23,000 casualties on both sides, and as my unit moved through the piles of twisted and torn bodies the shock of the carnage seemed overwhelming.

  Abel walked beside me, shaking his head. "Jubal, we only got nine hundred folks livin' in Jerusalem's Landing," he said. "We got more bodies 'n that right cheer in this field."

  We found one boy lying next to a split rail fence under the bodies of two others. He was still alive but had suffered a severe stomach wound and was moaning in pain. We lifted the corpses off him—one Union, one Reb, both as stiff as cordwood. Then we eased him onto one of the stretchers we had brought with us. He begged us for water, his lips dried and cracked, but we knew better than to do more than wet his lips and tongue.

  "Damn," Johnny said. "Give the boy more water."

  "He's got a belly wound. He'll die if we do," Abel said.

  "Well, I'll tell ya, Abel. If ya ever find me like that, ya give me all the water I ask fer." Johnny shook his head and turned away. "I hate this goddamn war. I hate the stink of dead bodies. I hate seein' pieces a men layin' about, not knowin' which body they came off of. I thought I knew what this war was all about when we started out, but now I don't know what anythin' is about. It's jus' killin' an' more killin', an' I'm sick ta hell of bein' part of it."

  I let Johnny rant, knowing he needed it. I waved for the wagon we had brought with us, and when it came forward we loaded the wounded soldier on board.

  "We better get him to the field hospital," I said. "Abel, you come with me." I turned to Johnny, wanting to give him something to do. "Johnny, you take the rest of the men and look for more wounded. You're in charge. We'll be straight back
with the wagon. We'll look for you due west of here."

  The field hospital was a mile up the road at Grove Farm, the same encampment where General McClellan had set up his headquarters. As we drove our wagon into the camp we were stopped by a squad of heavily armed men, with a cavalry detachment fanned out behind them. A stocky sergeant with a thick red beard stepped up to the wagon, his hand on the grip of his holstered sidearm.

  "Where you from and where you goin'?" he barked.

  "We're from General Hooker's corps," I answered. "We're bringing in a wounded man we found near Dunker Church. I have a squad out there now looking for others."

  The sergeant walked around to the back of the wagon, wincing at what he saw. "Looks bad. Better get him to the field hospital. It's up a piece to the left. Yer gonna see somethin' up there yer gonna havta keep quiet about."

  "What's that?" Abel asked.

  "President Lincoln is up at field headquarters meeting with General McClellan."

  "Jaysus!" Abel yelped.

  "We're here to keep him safe," the sergeant said. "Yer not talkin' 'bout him bein' here'll help."

  "We'll keep our mouths shut," I said.

  I started the wagon again and headed up a narrow dirt track.

  "Ya think we'll get ta see him?" Abel asked.

  "I don't know. I sure would like to," I said.

  I pulled off at a sign directing us to the hospital. Across the dirt track was the large tent that housed McClellan's field headquarters, surrounded by a cluster of small tents. Abel and I strained our necks but we couldn't see anyone who resembled the president.

  "Look for someone who's taller than most and who's wearing a stovepipe hat," I said, turning my attention back to the horses. "It's how he looks in all the pictures I've seen."

  We reached the hospital and jumped down and hurried to the rear. As we pulled the stretcher from the wagon a tall, bearded man in a stovepipe hat stepped from the hospital tent. Josiah Flood was beside him, and once outside the president stopped and placed a hand on his shoulder.

  As we approached the entrance, President Lincoln turned to look at us. He was a giant of a man, and his face was worn with enough creases to make you think he had seen all the troubles in the world.

  "Is this boy badly hurt?" he asked in one of the softest voices I'd ever heard.

  "Pretty bad, Mr. President," I said.

  "Better get him inside."

  As we passed, Mr. Lincoln reached out a hand and let it brush lightly against the boy's cheek. "They're going to take good care of you, son," he said in a near whisper.

  "Damn," Abel muttered as we passed into the tent. "I never even got to salute the president."

  "When we get back outside maybe you'll still get the chance."

  We placed the stretcher down where we were told and were quickly brushed away by a heavyset nurse. "Go find some more," she said, ordering us out.

  We hurried outside just in time to see the president joining a cluster of officers outside McClellan's field headquarters. Josiah still stood there watching him. Abel and I went up to him.

  "So what'd the president say ta ya?" Abel asked.

  Josiah turned toward us and I could see there were tears in his eyes. "When he was inside talkin' to the wounded boys, he was cryin'," Josiah said. "There was tears jus' rollin' down his cheeks. Then he seen me, an' he axed me where I was from an' how long I been fightin'. He put his hand on my shoulder an' he walks me outside cheer, an' then he tellin' me how he was signin' a paper tomorra tha's gonna make all colored folks as free as I is. Tha's when you boys come up."

  I looked back toward McClellan's field headquarters and saw that the general and his staff were gathered next to the president as a photographer prepared to take their portrait.

  That picture will be in the history books one day, I thought. Then I thought about the paper the president planned to sign tomorrow, a paper that would make all Negroes free men. It was a good thing, but it would sure raise hell in the South.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Jerusalem's Landing, Vermont, 1865

  It was shortly after suppertime the following Friday when I saw Bobby Suggs ride up to the parsonage. I was standing outside the Johnsons' store talking with Rebecca. I had avoided her most of the week, not wanting to face the questions I knew she would ask about my conversation with Mary Johnson. Tonight I had gone to the store to pick up my father's weekly ration of pipe tobacco and she had followed me outside.

  "Jubal, I need to know what Mary told you," she began.

  It was just then that Suggs pulled up in front of the parsonage and dismounted.

  "I'm gonna have to talk to him," I said, raising my chin toward Suggs.

  "That's fine," she responded. "Then you can come right back here and take me for a walk. Unless you're going to reject me because I'm brazen enough to ask you to."

  I smiled at her. I couldn't help myself. "I've known you since you were a little girl and you were brazen then. Why would I expect anything different from you now that you're a grown-up woman?"

  Rebecca glanced down at her shoes, and when her head came up again she too was smiling. "And don't you forget it," she said.

  Suggs came out of the parsonage carrying his carpetbag and began securing it to his horse.

  "Got what you came for, eh?" I said as I approached behind him.

  He cast a disdainful look over his shoulder and continued with his task. "I hear ya been ridin' up ta Lucie's woodlot durin' the week jus' ta make sure I'z still there," he said after a while.

  "Maybe I just wanted to make sure you hadn't died from that thumping Rusty LeRoche gave you." I had run into several loggers while I was at Billy Lucie's house and knew the word would get back to Suggs. It was fine with me; I wanted him to know I was watching him and would be on his trail if he tried to leave.

  "Didn't know ya worried after me like that," Suggs said. He finished his task and turned to me. "Ya really think I had somethin' ta do with Johnny gettin' kilt?"

  "The thought has crossed my mind."

  "Maybe ya oughtta be lookin' in the mirror, ya wanna find yerself a killer." He sneered at me and held my eyes.

  "So you think I killed Johnny?"

  "Coulda been you. Johnny tol' me how ya threatened him when ya came home. Tol' me ya put yer pistol right under his chin."

  "Johnny had a good imagination," I said.

  "Oh, ya denyin' it?"

  I stepped in close, wishing I had two good hands I could use on him. "I don't need to deny anything to you, Suggs. But I do want to know what you were threatening Johnny about."

  He gave my words a derisive snort. "I guess I'm jus' like you, Constable Foster. If somebody done tol' ya that, well, I'm sayin' they's got a good imagination too."

  "Well, I sure am hearing it. Seems Johnny told his lady friends all about you, about how you were bothering him. You want to tell me what it was about?"

  Suggs threw back his head and laughed. "Johnny'd tell a woman anythin' he thought she wanted ta hear," he said. "Anythin' that'd get her ta spread her legs."

  I took him by his shirtfront and drove him back against his horse. "You should be careful what you say about the women of this town," I whispered. Then I drove my knee up into his crotch and felt a great rush of foul breath exit his lungs.

  I let Suggs go and watched him crumple to the ground. "Have a nice ride back to Billy Lucie's place," I said as I turned and crossed the road to the Johnsons' store.

  * * *

  "What did you do to that man?" Rebecca whispered.

  "I gave him a lesson in manners." I took her arm and started down the road, heading for the bridge that crossed the river.

  "Why?"

  "He made some disparaging comments about the women of this town."

  "Who in particular?"

  "Just the women in general."

  She turned back and watched Suggs struggle to mount his horse. "Then you should go back and kick him again," she said.

  I laughed and took her el
bow as we continued down the road. "One kick a day is enough."

  "And what if he'd said it specifically about me?" she asked.

  I fought the smile but couldn't keep it down. "Well, then I'd still be kicking him."

  We crossed the bridge and followed the river until we found a flat rock. I removed my jacket and spread it out to protect her pale blue dress and then sat beside her. Below us the heavy rush of water assured me our voices would not carry.

  "You want to know what Mary told me?" I said matter-of-factly.

  "Yes, I do." Her voice sounded slightly nervous, but there was an edge of determination as well.

  "It wasn't much more than what you already told me," I said. "But I promised her I would do my best to keep it secret."

  "She admitted her relationship with Johnny?" Rebecca's eyes were filled with anger over this confirmation of her father's betrayal.

  "She acknowledged their relationship was more than it should have been. I didn't ask for details and she didn't offer them." I looked down at my hand, suddenly wondering where my other hand had gone. It was something that happened at the oddest of times and it always made me feel foolish.

  "What were you asking her, then?"

  "I wanted to know what Johnny told her, anything he said about being afraid of anyone, afraid someone might try to harm him."

  "Did he mention this man you just . . . kicked?"

  "His name is Bobby Suggs, and yes, Johnny mentioned him, at least according to your father's wife." I had consciously avoided referring to Mary Johnson as her stepmother ever since she had become so angry when I had.

  "Do you think he killed Johnny?"

  "I don't know. But I know he's capable of it."

  "From the war?"

  I nodded. "Some of our men did things there that were pretty monstrous. Suggs was one of them."

  "Was Johnny another?"

  "Yes, he was."

  She hesitated, almost as if she were afraid to ask her next question. "Did Abel ever do anything like that?"