The Thackery Journal

by John Holt

  “But you are still a Southerner, sir,” Carter continued. “That must cause certain difficulties …..”

  “You mean in my allegiance to the Union, yes?” replied Miles.

  The Lieutenant hesitated for a moment. He took a deep breath. “Well, in a word, yes.”

  “Not at all, Lieutenant, there is no difficulty,” Miles replied. “Just because I was born in the South does not mean ……”

  Anders looked at Carter and shook his head. “I think we’ll leave this discussion there, don’t you?” he said.

  Carter looked at Anders, and nodded. “Agreed,” he replied. “There is one thing though, Captain, before we finish with this particular conversation completely.”

  “Yes Lieutenant,” Miles replied. “Go on I’m listening.”

  Carter took a deep breath, and then cleared his throat. “Well sir, it occurs to me that there may well be others at the Fort who could be, shall we say, equally puzzled.”

  “Oh I see,” said Miles grinning. “I’ll have to watch out for them won’t I? I hope that I might rely on you two gentlemen in case I am in need of some assistance.”

  “You may, sir,” replied Carter.

  “You can count on me as well, sir,” said Anders. “Now to change the subject, have you been to Washington before, sir?”

  “Yes, I have, but it was a few years ago now,” replied Miles. “Eight years in fact. I imagine it has changed a little since then.”

  “Oh yes indeed, sir,” said Anders. “It has grown quite a lot. It started with the opening of the rail depot just over ten years ago. Of course that would have been here when you came last.”

  “Yes it was,” Miles replied. “Very impressive I have to say,” as he failed to suppress a yawn.

  “You probably won’t have seen the Capitol building though,” said Carter pleased to be able to talk about something different. “It’s not quite finished yet but it promises to be quite a building. Mr. Lincoln was there just a few short weeks ago.”

  “Yes sir, it was March 14th, the inauguration,” explained Anders. “That’s when he became our President ……..”

  But Captain Miles Drew was no longer listening. He had fallen asleep.

  * * *

  “Captain Drew, sir, here we are,” Carter said as he gently shook Miles. “Fort Massachusetts.”

  Miles slowly opened his eyes, and took a deep breath. He glanced out of the carriage window, as they entered into the fort. There to his left was a row of heavy cannon located on raised earth works close to the palisade fencing. In front troopers were saddled and waiting to go on a routine patrol. To his right came the sound of hammering from the blacksmith’s forge. Next to the forge was the livery stables, and several troopers were grooming their horses, their coats shining. The carriage slowly made its way across the parade ground, passing the store rooms, the guard house, and came to a stop outside the Officers Mess.

  “Captain, if you please,” said Anders, as he opened the carriage door, and stepped down.

  Miles looked at Carter and rubbed his eyes. “I’m sorry for going to sleep like that gentlemen,” he said. “Unforgiveable.”

  “Nothing to worry about sir,” Carter said quickly. “The rocking of the carriage can have that effect, sir.”

  “After you sir,” said Anders indicating the open door.

  Miles stood up, moved forward and descended to the ground. He brushed his tunic and slowly looked around. Two or three troopers walked by smartly saluting.

  “If you’ll come with me, sir,” Anders continued. “I’ll take you to see Colonel Maitland, he is expecting you.”

  Miles hesitated and looked down at his belongings lined up next to the carriage. “What about these?” he asked indicating his bags.

  “Oh don’t worry about them,” said Carter stepping forward. “I’ll take your baggage to your quarters, sir.”

  * * *

  Lieutenant Robert Anders knocked on the office door and then slowly opened it. “Colonel, Captain Drew is here sir,” he said as he entered the room.

  “Show him in, Lieutenant,” the Colonel said as he stood up.

  Anders stepped to one side and beckoned Miles to go in. Miles nodded an acknowledgement and marched into the room. As he reached the Colonel’s desk he stopped at attention and saluted.

  The colonel returned the salute, and reached out his hand. “Welcome to Fort Massachusetts Captain, have a seat.” The Colonel waited for Miles to take a seat, and then sat down himself. “I hope that you are going to be comfortable here,” the Colonel continued. “Being so close to Washington we tend to live pretty well.”

  There was a knock on the door, and a young trooper came in. He was holding a leather pouch. “Sir, the document you requested,” he said as he placed the pouch on the desk in front of the Colonel.

  “Thank you trooper,” the Colonel replied. “That will be all.”

  The trooper saluted, did a smart about turn and left. The Colonel reached for the pouch, and loosened the leather straps. “I understand that it is some while since you were in Washington, is that correct?”

  “Yes sir,” replied Miles. “It’s actually eight years ago, sir. It was the occasion of my cousin’s wedding.”

  “You’ll find a few changes I would imagine,” said the Colonel. “We will have to arrange for a visit for you. I’ll get Anders to take you in and show you around. By the way do you like the theatre?”

  “The theatre, sir,” Miles repeated.

  “Yes we have one in the town,” the Colonel explained. “It used to be an old Baptist church, but a certain John T. Ford bought the building, and renovated it. It is now a theatre. They usually put on some entertaining plays, if you like that sort of thing. I’m not that struck, but Mrs. Maitland she seems to enjoy them.”

  “That sounds good to me, sir, “replied Miles. “I haven’t been to the theatre for quite some time. Perhaps I’ll take my cousin.”

  “I hope that she enjoys it,” replied the Colonel. He paused for a few moments, gently tapping the leather pouch lying in front of him.

  “Before we go much further, Captain, there is one thing that I would like to discuss,” said the Colonel as he opened the pouch and extracted a sheet of paper.

  “You mean my being a southerner,” suggested Miles.

  “Well you have to admit that it is a little unusual,” the Colonel replied. “There aren’t many Southerners in the Union Army.”

  “Sir, it is true that I’m a Southerner born and bred, I love the South,” Miles started to explain. “I am also an American. It just so happens that I don’t agree with the South’s stand on the Union. It’s as simple as that, sir.”

  “Captain, I doubt that anything will be that simple ever again.” The Colonel replied raising his hand to his cheek he brushed away a tear. “We have hard times ahead, Captain. Loyalties and allegiances will sorely be put to the test. Who knows where events will lead us.”

  “Indeed sir,” replied Miles. “We face troubled times ahead.”

  “Indeed we do Captain,” the Colonel replied. He took a deep breath. “Captain, as I’m sure you realize the fort is located very close to the White House. So naturally we often get called upon to attend the President, for all kinds of function.”

  “But I thought that Lincoln disliked military escorts,” replied Miles.

  “That’s right he does,” the Colonel replied. “In fact he has a small bodyguard made up of members of the local police, and Mr. Ward Hill Lamon, who is a personal friend of the President.”

  “So where does the Army come in, sir?” asked Miles.

  “That is a very good question, Captain,” replied the Colonel. “At present we keep a very low profile, but we are around if needed. But now with this war the President’s life will certainly be at great risk, so we need to be ever vigilant, and on our guard. And don’t forget Lincoln has only been President for a few short weeks. We hope that in time he’ll change his way of thinking.”

  “Perhaps some kind
of a protection unit would be in order, small but effective,” suggested Miles. “Naturally it would be kept in the background.”

  “Maybe that would work, Captain, a small, dedicated, group of men, whose main task was to protect the President. A small secret team,” said the Colonel. He paused for a moment. “Perhaps you would care to give it some thought.”

  “Yes sir, I certainly will,” replied Miles.

  “All right Captain, I think that’s it for now,” he said as he closed the pouch, and secured the straps. “You take some time and find your way around the Fort. Meet up with Sergeant O’Reilly, he’s a career soldier. What he doesn’t know isn’t worth knowing. Report back for duty in two days time.”

  * * *

  There was a sudden flash of lightning which lit up the sky, as Miles came out of the Colonel’s office. Then there came a loud clap of thunder, and the rain began to fall. Miles pulled his cape tightly around his neck as he hurried towards his quarters. As he passed by the ammunition store he could hear singing coming from the adjacent alleyway.

  When Johnny comes marching home again,

  Hurrah! Hurrah!

  We'll give him a hearty welcome then,

  Hurrah! Hurrah!

  The men will cheer, the boys will shout,

  The ladies ...........

  Miles stopped and looked towards the sound. There in the shadows he saw a group of figures.

  “Who’s there?” he called out.

  “It is myself, sir,” a voice called back. “Sergeant O’Reilly. I’m here with Corporal Thompson and a couple of the other lads.”

  * * *

  Chapter Nine

  Sergeant O’Reilly

  Sergeant Seamus O’Reilly, although not very tall, was still a big man. Standing at just a little over five feet six inches he was stocky and thickset. His accent was as broad as his shoulders. He had left Ireland during the famine in 1845. As a young man, with a young family, he had travelled to America, to the land of opportunity, ready to make his fortune. He never did find his pot of gold, and after trying his hand working on the railroad, and for a short time as a prize fighter, he had joined the Army. It offered security, a home for his family, and he had signed on for twenty five years. He was twenty two years old at the time.

  * * *

  “Was that you singing, Sergeant?” asked Miles as he walked over to where the group of men were standing.

  “It was indeed, sir,” the Sergeant replied, his brogue sounding stronger than normal.

  “I see,” replied Miles, not exactly sure what he saw. “Your choice of song was I have to admit, slightly puzzling.”

  “Well now, sir, you see we thought that it would stop you from being homesick, so to speak,” the Sergeant explained. “You being a Reb and all.”

  Miles took a deep breath but kept quiet.

  “We know how patriotic you southern boys are,” the Sergeant continued.

  Still Miles said nothing, although he could feel the anger building inside.

  “Now when Johnny comes marching home again, hurrah, hurrah,” the Sergeant started to sing once again. “Fine words wouldn’t you say?” He started to smile. “Though I’m thinking that there won’t be many of them there Rebs marching home, not once we’ve finished with them that is.”

  Miles still remained silent.

  “You know Captain we were just having a bit of a discussion,” the Sergeant continued. “Me and the lads that is.”

  “You were,” replied Miles. “What was it about exactly?”

  “Ah now, we were just wondering why a Johnny Reb, such as yourself, would be wanting to join the Union Army,” replied the Sergeant. “Now Trooper Crawford, standing at the back there, well he says that you just plain made a mistake.”

  “In what way a mistake, Sergeant?” Miles asked.

  “Ah now that’s simple Captain. You meant to join the grey coats but you couldn’t remember where to go to enlist, and you ended up here,” replied the Sergeant. “Now that just ain’t possible says I, a person like Captain Drew would never make such a mistake. He would know exactly what he was doing.” He paused for moment waiting for Miles to respond. Miles said nothing.

  “Corporal Thompson over there, he said that you were maybe a spy who had deliberately been sent here,” the Sergeant continued.

  Miles smiled nervously. He looked at Corporal Thompson and shook his head. “I’m no spy.”

  “Sure you’re not, sir,” replied the Sergeant. “Them’s me very words exactly.” He looked at the others, holding his hands out in front of him. “That’s what I said isn’t it lads?” The others nodded their agreement.

  The Sergeant turned back to face Miles. “No, I said, it was more likely that you were a Southern coward and just too frightened to do battle against us.”

  Miles said nothing for a few moments, anger building. “I’m no coward Sergeant,” he said finally.

  “Well now talks cheap, sir,” replied the Sergeant. “You standing there in your fancy uniform and me just a Sergeant and Thompson nothing more than an old Corporal. Crawford we’ve no need to mention. But I just reckon that when it comes right down to it you won’t fire on those Rebs when we see them. I think you’ve joined up with us because you think you’ll have an easy ride.”

  “Sergeant, there’ll be no easy ride for me,” Miles replied. “I have broken from my friends and my family. Whatever happens in this war I will never be able to go home again.”

  The Sergeant shook his head. “That makes no sense to me, Captain. If that is true then why, you tell me.”

  “Sergeant, I joined the Union army because I don’t think the South could win,” Miles started to explain.

  “That’s as may be,” interrupted the Sergeant. “You’ll get no argument from me on that score. The South won’t win that’s for certain. But I still say you’re a coward.”

  Miles smiled. “Sergeant you wouldn’t by any chance be looking for a fight would you?”

  “Well now seeing as you’ve put the question, then maybe I am, sir,” the Sergeant replied.

  “I understand Sergeant that you are a career soldier,” said Miles. “Is that right?”

  “That is correct, sir.”

  “A twenty year man?” asked Miles.

  “Twenty-five, sir,” the Sergeant corrected, standing to attention.

  “You do realize Sergeant that I could report this whole matter and you would have a Court Martial to face,” he said. “Why would you risk your career on something like this?”

  “Ah now, indeed you could make that report, sir,” the Sergeant replied. “You could indeed. But you know somehow I don’t think you will.”

  “Why would you ever think that, Sergeant?”

  “Well firstly I would just deny it ever took place. My witnesses, Thompson and Crawford would back me on that,” the Sergeant replied. “More importantly though, sir, if you did make that report then in the eyes of the men it would show that I was right, and that you are a coward.”

  Miles could not believe what was happening. He was being deliberately goaded, and becoming more and more entrapped.

  Miles was desperate to find a way out. “Sergeant, you must be aware that should I strike you I could be Court Martialled,” he said.

  “Quite correct, sir,” replied the Sergeant.

  “If you strike me you could face the firing squad,” Miles continued desperately trying to find a way out.

  “Now sir I had thought of that,” the Sergeant started to explain. “So it occurred to me that we shouldn’t tell anyone.”

  Miles looked puzzled for a moment or two. “We have a fist fight, but we don’t tell anyone,” he repeated. “Are you being serious?”

  “That’s right, sir. We just keep it to ourselves,” said the Sergeant. “It’ll be our little secret so to speak, ours and the lads.”

  “Our little secret, as simple as that,” replied Miles beginning to get agitated. “And what if someone sees us and a report goes to the Colonel? Then what d
o you suppose would happen?”

  “Well now I thought of that as well,” said the Sergeant, a wide grin spreading across his face. “We could just say we were having a little boxing lesson.”

  “A boxing lesson?” repeated Miles, shaking his head. “A simple little boxing lesson, just like that.”

  “That’s right, sir, a boxing lesson,” the Sergeant confirmed. “There’s nothing wrong with that now. A little bit of physical exercise is good for you they say. Now what do you say?”

  Miles heaved a deep sigh. He was trapped at every turn. He could see no way out of the situation. Either way it looked bleak. If he fought there was a strong possibility that both he and the Sergeant would face serious trouble. If he didn’t fight he would be branded a coward by the men.

  “All right, Sergeant if you insist, but it could mean trouble for both of us, and these others,” Miles replied, and started to remove his coat. As he did so the Sergeant’s right hand struck a blow on to his chin. Miles staggered backwards. The Sergeant moved forward and hit him again as he went down.

  Miles looked up at the Sergeant, and rubbed his jaw. He took a deep breath. “That wasn’t very fair, Sergeant.”

  “Ah now sir, what is it that they do say? All’s fair in love and war,” the Sergeant replied. “I reckon the same goes for fighting don’t you?”

  Miles heaved a sigh, and started to his feet. As he did so the Sergeant moved forward once more throwing first a left then a right. Miles ducked just in time, catching the Sergeant with a left jab to the chest. As the Sergeant’s head went forward Miles’ right hand connected hard with the Sergeant’s chin. He fell backwards hitting the wall before falling to the floor. Drew stood back waiting, his knuckles bruised and sore.

  The sergeant staggered to his feet, and came forward once again, catching Miles off balance, and landing blow after blow to his stomach. Miles pulled away, but not before another crashing blow to the side of the head. He fell heavily to the floor, and blood started to pour from a cut above his right eye.