by John Holt
“Read the letter, Aaron,” she said.
Aaron nodded, put on his eye-glasses, and started to read:
“Philippi June 1st 1861
Dearest Mother and Father,
We are camped here by the Tygart Valley River, not far from a small town called Phillipi. It is very much different to my last visit. Father you remember Mr. Forrester, I wonder if he is still here. It isn’t likely that I’ll get a chance to visit.
The recruits landed here this morning. We were all glad to see them but were much gladder to receive our things and that old bottle of brandy that was sent. You never saw boys as glad in your life as we were. We have nothing new since I wrote that other letter. We expect a fight every moment, and are all still waiting for the order that will take us into battle. The recruits look like they are scared.
My Respected Mother I have had my lithograph taken which I am sending to you and I want you to keep this one for me and believe it to be the same boy that left you. This one cost 3 dollars but you won't take $100 for it when you get it. Mama I want you to keep my picture as long as you live and show it to all the girls. Tell them that it is of a Larksburg Volunteer. It is just like me now so you can guess how I look.
I want to hear of you smiling when you get this. Remember that it is a son of yours who is in the noble cause of his country and who will willingly stay with it till death if needed.
Farewell my dear Mother and Father.
Your loving son ......”
“Imagine he is just outside Philippi,” said Aaron, as he placed the letter down on the adjacent table.
“Where our friend Jed Forrester lives,” said Emily wistfully.
“Oh I don’t know if he still lives there,” Aaron replied. “It has been a long time since I heard from him.”
“Can I see his image please,” said Emily.
Aaron looked at her. How he wished she would smile again. He reached for the lithograph. Perhaps this would do the trick he hoped. He handed it to Emily. “He looks fine doesn’t he?” said Aaron.
“He looks pale,” said Emily. “He’s not getting enough to eat.”
“Of course he is,” Aaron replied.
There was a tap on the door. Owen, one of the plantation workers came in. “Sorry to disturb you Mr. Thackery,” he said. “There’s Mr. Clements to see you.”
“Show him in please,” Aaron said.
Will Clements was from the Town Council, and lived a few miles away. He was breathing hard when he came in, and his eyes were red. It was obvious that he had been crying.
“Why Will whatever is the matter?” asked Aaron, as he helped his visitor to a chair.
“It’s Zachary,” he replied.
“Zackary,” repeated Aaron. “What about Zackary?”
“He’s dead,” Clements replied. “He was shot at a place called Philippi.”
There was a sudden loud scream from Emily, as she fled from the room.
* * *
So the first real battle of the war had been fought and it had been a humiliating defeat for the South, and it had been a virtually bloodless victory for the Union. Twenty-six Confederate soldiers were killed or wounded that day.
* * *
Over the following months more and more battles were fought. Although many more Southerners lost their lives, for much of the time the two opposing armies had been equally matched. Christmas came, and Christmas went. As far as could be seen, there was no end to the conflict in sight. Then in the early part of 1862 came The Battle of Shiloh.
* * *
Chapter Eleven
April 1862 - Corinth
Settled just a few short years ago, in 1854, Corinth had a prewar population of just 1,200 people. The business district consisted primarily of one and two story gabled timber framed structures. Most of the stores were whitewashed, with the notable exception of the post office, which, oddly enough, was pink.
Businesses included the usual general stores that sold everything from calico to tobacco; and Sunday bonnets, to turpentine. There were blacksmith shops, livery stables, saloons, and restaurants, along with a drugstore, bakery, tailor shop, picture gallery, and the local office of the Aetna Insurance Company.
There were three hotels, the most renowned of which was the Tishimingo, located next to the Memphis & Charleston depot. There was a square brick courthouse, five churches, one of which was bricked. There was a saw-mill, and a long farmer's market with cupola. On the western side of the town there were a number of quaint French style cottages, along with the three story Corona Female College.
Although a small town Corinth was now a major railroad junction, the crossing point between two major tracks. The Memphis and Charleston line ran east to west, and provided a much needed supply route for the Confederacy. And then there was the Ohio and Mobile line which ran north to south, and provided the supply route to the Yankees.
Thackery knew that the rail junction had to be controlled at all costs. The Yankees had to be denied its use. The Confederacy had to maintain their supply route. For that reason there had been a massive build-up of troops from both sides in and around the town.
There had been reports that General Ulysses S. Grant’s army was encamped along the Tennessee River just north of the Mississippi border, poised to strike a blow into the heartland of the South. His plan was to seize the Memphis & Henryton Railroad, the Confederacy’s only east-west all weather supply route that linked the lower Mississippi Valley to cities on the Confederacy’s east coast. Grant had been in position for a little over a month, awaiting the arrival of additional troops under General Buell before he planned his march southward.
Twenty miles to the south, in Corinth, Mississippi, Confederate General Albert Sidney Johnston’s newly christened Army of the Mississippi, of almost 50000 troops were preparing to attack Grant before Buell’s troops arrived. Amongst them were Captain Jacob Thackery and the remains of the first Larksburg Volunteers.
* * *
Captain Jacob Thackery and his men were encamped five or six miles to the north of Corinth, awaiting further orders. They had been there for two days already. In all of that time there had been no let up in the rain and he and his men were cold, wet and hungry. All they had was cold coffee, made from acorns, and hardtack. Camp fires had not been allowed.
“We don’t want those Yankees to know we are here do we?” was the reason given. “We want to surprise them.”
Thackery smiled. Surprise them indeed. Just a mile or so away, on the other side of the valley, he knew that there was a small advance detachment of Union soldiers. They already knew that Thackery’s men were there, and knew precisely where they were. The Union spies were all around. You could hear them in the woods. Sometimes you could even see them.
Thackery looked out across the valley. There on the other side of the river he could see the Union camp fires all aglow. They were at least warm and eating well, he murmured wistfully.
* * *
As Thackery’s men sat huddled together trying to keep warm, the rain continued falling steadily. A wind began to stir rustling the leaves high in the trees, and it was beginning to get quite cold. Dark thick clouds were forming. There would be a storm before morning.
Thackery pulled his blanket closer to him. His leg was beginning to ache. The damp always affected his leg, ever since that day at the mine, the day of the cave-in. He reached down and gently massaged his lower leg. Sometimes it helped, but not today.
Thackery looked back towards the valley. Miles had certainly saved him that day, saved him from a certain slow and painful death. Single-handed he had gone into that tunnel, into the debris and the rubble, and the dust. With no thought for his own safety he had torn the rocks away with his bare hands, and cleared a pathway to safety.
“How he knew I was there I’ll never know,” Thackery murmured. “Pulled me right out, he did, saved my life, plain and simple, no question about that.”
Then he thought of their last bitter meeting. It had been a b
ad way to part, arguing like that. How he wished he could turn back the clock. How he wished he could see his friend once more. “Wonder where he is now?” he said in a whisper. He wondered what would happen if they were to meet up on the battlefield. Thackery knew that he could never fire at his old friend, no matter what. He didn’t think that his friend would fire at him. So what would they do? “We will probably just wave at each other,” he thought. “Smile at each other, and then go our own separate ways.”
Jacob took up his field glasses, and looked back down at the forest in the foothills. He could see nothing. Maybe Miles was there after all, in one of those tents, or maybe huddled around one of those camp fires. There was no way of knowing.
He shook his head. It was most unlikely. Miles had joined a battalion in Washington. As far as he was aware they were nowhere near the area. Of course he could have been transferred, Jacob murmured.
He looked away, and shook his head once again. “If I actually thought Miles was down there,” he murmured, “I couldn’t fire a single shot for fear of hitting him.”
“Wherever you are, Miles my old friend, stay safe.”
* * *
Close by were a handful of his men. They were all that were left of the proud band that had marched away with him so long ago. He looked down at the fire, tears in his eyes.
“I wish I were in Dixie,” he started to sing quietly.
It had all gone so badly wrong. It was all to be over by Christmas. At least that’s what they had said. But Christmas had come and gone, and it was far from over. The war had not gone well for the south. He had lost several men at that first battle at Philippi. When was that, he murmured. “Nine months ago,” he whispered. It seemed so long ago. Nine months only. Since that day there had been one defeat after the other.
* * *
Thackery and his small group had been ordered to re-group along the Tennessee River, not far from Pittsburgh Landing. Other troopers were expected to come up from Corinth twenty miles to the south. Thackery’s group had arrived two days previously, and had set up camp as best they could. There had been no let up in the weather since they had arrived. The rain fell steadily, soaking into his blanket.
He looked up at the sky, and shivered. He pulled the blanket even tighter around him. He looked down at the ground. Small rivulets were beginning to form in the mud, running down to the nearby river. Suddenly he heard a Whippoorwill calling in the forest. But he knew that the sound was not actually coming from the brightly colored bird. He knew that it was signals from the enemy, the Union soldiers. He knew that it was their scouts keeping a lookout. He wondered if he had actually been spotted. Then he smiled. They knew he was there, and they also knew that he wasn’t going anywhere, not for the time being.
He looked into the darkness as though penetrating the forest. He saw only the dark shadows of the trees, the moonlight flickering through the branches. He looked out towards the river. Again he saw nothing except for the shimmering moonlight spread across the water. He wondered if there were any fish swimming beneath that moonlight. If only he had his rod and line, perhaps they could catch a few fish for supper. He shook his head. He didn’t have his fishing rod, besides the heavy rain would probably have kept the fish away.
He shrugged his shoulders and looked away from the river, back towards the forest. The enemy was out there somewhere he was sure of that. He wondered what they were doing, what they were thinking. He knew that the Union soldiers were not so very different from himself. They were also a long way from home, and just as homesick as he was. They were just as weary as he was. They were probably just as frightened as he was. But he also knew that they were as determined in their cause as he was determined in his.
Maybe some of them had actually come from his hometown, or State, but had, for their own reasons, chosen to fight for the North. Miles Drew had been one. He had strongly disagreed with leaving the Union, and was violently opposed to slavery. He had no hesitation in joining the Union forces, despite his father’s objections, and despite the bitter argument and fight there had been. Thackery looked down at the ground. He still could not believe that he had fought with his friend like that. He and Miles had always been such good friends, almost like brothers, from their youngest days. Quite often Thackery would stay over at the Drew house, or Miles would stay at his home. They were happier days then, he thought.
Thackery sat in silence for a few moments, as he recalled those happier times. “They were good times,” he murmured. “He had a brother,” he suddenly remembered. “An older brother,” he paused as he tried to recall the details. “Henry, that was his name,” he continued. “Henry. He joined the Confederacy, enlisted the same day as I did, I think.”
He thought for a few more moments, and then sadly shook his head as he remembered. Henry had been killed a few short months after the war had started. “It was at Bull Run. He was with Brigadier General Joseph Eggleston Johnston.”
Thackery thought for a few moments, a frown on his face. “When was that first battle?” he asked. “June? No, not June, it was July. It was July 21st. Just a little over three months after enlisting, and he, along with hundreds – maybe thousands – were now dead.”
It had been the first major battle of the war, and it had been a Southern victory against all the odds. The South had been heavily outnumbered, but it was still a victory, although at what cost. There had been almost two thousand Confederate casualties that day, and nearly three thousand from the Union side. Sadly the war had gone badly for the South after that.
Thackery continued to stare into the forest for a few moments longer, trying to imagine the Union soldiers. The Union soldiers had set up positions along a small, little-used farm road near a dense oak thicket. Close by was a peach orchard. At least they might get some fresh fruit once the battle was under way, Thackery thought.
Then he suddenly heard the sound of approaching footsteps. He reached for his holster, and withdrew his pistol. He cocked the hammer, and held it pointed towards the direction of the sound. Then there was the sound of an owl hooting. It was a signal. Thackery gave an answering signal. Out of the darkness emerged a young man, no more than fifteen years old. He was breathing hard.
“Captain,” the boy whispered. “We are ordered to assemble over on the north side, at first light, sir. That’s five o’clock, sir.”
He replaced his revolver into the holster, and buttoned the catch. So the attack was to take place after all. He had been expecting it for some days. Now that it was about to happen he suddenly felt nervous, apprehensive. He shook himself, as though to shake the feeling off. “Very good, five o’clock it is,” he replied. “Spread the word.” The boy saluted and moved away, back into the shadows. Thackery watched him go, until he was out of sight.
He looked across to the other side of the clearing. “Sergeant,” he called out. “What time do you have?”
“Just after one o’clock, sir,” came the reply.
Thackery took out his fob watch. It was two minutes to the hour. He shook the watch. “Slow again,” he murmured. “Always slow.” He adjusted the hands to the correct time. “One o’clock it is Sergeant.”
He opened the catch and looked at the lithograph inside. It was of a young woman. He stared at the image for a few moments. Tears started to form in his eyes. He drew his hand across his eyes, brushing the tears away. He then quickly closed the case and returned the watch to his inside pocket.
“Tell the men to get some rest, Sergeant,” he called out. “We leave at first light.”
“Right sir,” replied the Sergeant. “Leave it to me.”
Thackery reached inside his saddlebag and took out a small leather bound bundle of papers. He shuffled through them, glancing at them as he did so. “Here we are,” he murmured as he found the document that he was looking for. He picked up his pen and started to write.
“April 5th 1862. We have been ordered to assemble on the North ridge at first light. The battle cannot be long in coming. The
men are nervous, but ready.”
He stopped writing and looked up staring into the distance. What would the morrow bring, he wondered? He looked down at the sheet of paper, and continued to write.
“I pray that I do not dishonor my father, my mother, my men, or my beloved South. Whatever befalls I shall do my duty.”
He laid the pen down, and stretched his arms into the air. He then carefully re-secured the papers and replaced them inside his saddlebag.
He yawned. He was so tired. “Better try to get a little shuteye, I suppose,” he muttered.
It was a good idea, but he knew that he would not sleep. There was too much on his mind. There was just too much to think about. He shrugged his shoulders, and took a deep breath. He tried to stifle another yawn. No he would not sleep, but at the very least he could just close his eyes and rest. That would help.
* * *
He suddenly heard a gentle tap on his door. Then there was another, slightly louder this time.
“Jacob, Jacob,” a voice called out. “Are you awake yet? It’s time to go.”
Jacob knew the voice instantly. It was his father calling to him. But that was not possible. How could he be here in the forest? Then there came another load knock. “Jacob, wake up.” His father called once again.
That could not be, Jacob thought, but it was his father. Why would he be calling me, and why so early? It was not like him. He had only just gone to bed. Why he had barely closed his eyes. Then he suddenly remembered. They were going out fishing today, down at the creek, him, his father, and Miles.
It had been years since they had done that, gone fishing together. He had been seven or eight years old then. He was sixteen now. Certainly he had gone fishing several times on his own, or with some of the boys from the town, especially Miles Drew, but he hadn’t been out with his father, not since that time. Today was to be special, very special. Today his father was taking him. He had a brand new fishing rod, and he had been looking forward to this day for weeks now. He hadn’t used the rod yet. He couldn’t wait to show it off to his father, and to Miles.