Death Piled Hard: A Tale of the Confederate Secret Services

by W. Patrick Lang

  "My general, I think I used nearly the same words a few days ago, but I believe Sergeant Smoot to be a good fellow."

  "Well, he don't appear to be afraid of me," Early muttered, still peering across the clearing. "That's somethin' in his favor."

  "No, he does not fear easily. He is not afraid of Major Mosby...”

  "Well hell! In that case... Sergeant!"

  Smoot stood up.

  "Come over here!

  Smoot stood before them.

  "I understand you've signed up to look after our visitor?"

  "He can look after himself," Smoot replied.

  "You know what I mean."

  The partisan nodded.

  "Sit down."

  Smoot dragged another of the flimsy chairs up to face the two officers.

  "So, what do you want to do, major? What are you after?" The soft brown eyes gleamed in a weathered face.

  Balthazar mentally fingered the edges of the general's disbelief. "I must see your troops in the field. I must feel them; see for myself what they can do."

  Early said nothing for a moment, then grinned and spat again. "You want a chaw, Sergeant?" he asked politely.

  Smoot accepted the plug, worrying at the tobacco with a clasp knife to get an acceptable piece.

  "I'm gonna send you up to Harry Hays first," Early said. An odd smile played at the corners of his mouth. "He has my Louisiana brigade. You may find them more familiar than the rest. I find them peculiar enough!" He chuckled, amused by his own words.

  Balthazar was pleased. "But, that is marvelous. I have read of the 'Tiger Infantry.' It is they, I hope."

  Early chortled, laughing aloud until the staff looked at him in alarm. He began to cough, hacking dryly for a moment until he managed to get the spasm under control. He sat there heaving silently, red in the face, a bandanna held to his mouth. "Sorry, I've had a cold. I'm really too old for this." He lowered the cloth from his lips. "Yes, it's them! There's another bunch of'em in the Stonewall Division, but they're all the same so far as I can see. They're not like these," he said, waving a hand at the surrounding camp.

  "How so?"

  "Oh! These are citizens in uniform. But, the Tigers, they started out with a lot of men that had been in other armies; Europeans, Walker filibusters from Nicaragua, Americans like Jim Wheat who had gone around the world lookin' for a fight, and found it.

  "I may know Wheat," Balthazar said thoughtfully.

  "Could be," Early opined, "but he's been dead for some time now. They added on Irishmen from New Orleans, a lot of Creoles, some Cajuns, farmers from upstate, and some fellahs who are said to be white as a matter of courtesy since they want to fight and are somebody's cousin, if you take my meanin'. It makes a rich stew. At Sharpsburg I found two of'em on the field after the last Yankee assault. They were goin' around lookin' for gold teeth in enemy heads, knockin'em out with rifle butts. Had pockets full of teeth, they did. One of my staff told'em to stop. They said he should 'go fuck himself'. They went right on with what they were doin'."

  "Do they fight?"

  "A lways. They fight with ferocity and devotion to our cause. They also are infamous for desertion and crime against civilians, often against our own. You'll find that this is unusual in this army. These boys," he waved at the camp again, "are just home folks. But not the Tigers, they're somethin' real special.. Hope you like'em. Let's have another drink before you go! Sergeant, find a glass.”

  -10:00 A.M. 7 November – (The Rappahannock River)

  In the morning sunshine, the chill of the previous night's sleep on the ground began to leave Balthazar's bones. He had a comfortably full belly. Smoot had made breakfast in the camp fire while Balthazar watched and offered advice. The sorrel mare between his knees moved with a rolling gait that had become comfortingly familiar.

  He remembered that Joseph White had given him the reins while they waited for Smoot in the Devereux stable. "Mister Patrick's animal, sir," he said. "Miss Victoria wants you to have her. She has a tender mouth, sir."

  Balthazar had wanted to see the man's face, but it had been hidden in the shadows. Then Joseph had led the horses away, following Smoot into the night.

  Now, he leaned forward in the saddle to rub the neck just behind an ear. The head turned to look at him with a large, brown eye.

  Balthazar and Smoot followed an infantry soldier down a dirt track toward a pretty river half hidden by overhanging trees. He thought there must be a bridge up ahead. Familiar sounds from that direction made him certain. Alongside the dusty road, a group of faded, weather stained tents stood under tall trees.

  The trees reached out to him with slender branches. He looked at the leaves. They were of a kind unknown.

  Then they waited in front of the tents.

  Balthazar’s inspection of the landscape was interrupted when a young officer came out of the biggest tent. An orderly held a horse while the man mounted. Balthazar stared in disbelief at the many rows of braid on the uniform sleeve.

  "Here he is, colonel!" the escort soldier sang out, turning from the colonel to the major, watching to see what would happen.

  Nothing happened.

  Balthazar saluted the young man, who returned the greeting with solemnity.

  The infantryman looked disappointed. "He speaks French," was offered hopefully.

  The young colonel looked annoyed behind a wall of military courtesy. "Thank you, Higgins", he said to the rifleman. "My compliments to Major Lafleur." The man nodded and turned glumly away, and walked back up the track.

  The colonel cleared his throat. "A courier brought news of your coming, major. Unfortunately, General Hays is absent as president of a court-martial. So, it is my pleasure to welcome you to Louisiana in Virginia, and the brigade. Wherever we are is Louisiana. My name is Davidson Penn. Welcome again!"

  To Balthazar, he was something new, a senior officer who appeared to be so young that he might have no need to shave regularly. His immaculate uniform made an interesting contrast in the memory with Jubal Early's shabby dignity. "You are most kind, mon colonel. In General Hays' absence you command the brigade?"

  "Yes."

  It seemed impossible. Brigades of veteran infantry were not playthings for children. Perhaps something of this sentiment showed in his expression or tone of voice.

  Penn grinned at him. "Actually, I am the senior colonel of the brigade.”

  "Et, vous etes Louisianien?" Balthazar asked in a moment of forgetfulness.

  "Virginien en origine, mais j'etais avocat et commercant a New Orleans avant la guerre."

  Balthazar was touched at the young man's willingness to speak French, but did not wish to push it too far. "And you are a West Point man as is General Early?"

  "No, VMI.”

  Balthazar looked to Smoot.

  "The state military school."

  "Ah, yes. I have heard something of this place. General Jackson."

  "One of my teachers," Penn replied.

  "There are many of you from this school in the army?"

  Colonel Penn shrugged in a curiously Gallic fashion. "There are several among the Louisiana troops, but in the Virginia regiments, they are everywhere. A number are in the ranks."

  Balthazar found that astonishing. "But, they are needed as officers!"

  The shrug came again, this time accompanied by a frown. "You have to understand, Major. A lot of us really insist that we are fighting for the kind of country Jefferson wanted. The VMI men in the ranks, they think that officers are European hogwash, tending toward aristocracy, and beneath the dignity of a gentleman."

  Balthazar thought of Early. This fit. "But, this is completely Jacobin."

  Penn's grin grew wider. "Without a doubt! I, obviously, only partly agree with these 'purer' spirits.

  Smoot listened to this talk and decided to explain. "There's a whole crowd of these fellahs in Mosby's command, Major, more all the time. None of them want to be officers. The major, he doesn't like them much… They judge him, but, they're
real useful."

  Colonel Penn waited for Smoot to finish. "Look here, I need to go out to the vedette line. The cavalry sent word just now that our 'friends' are restless and are moving around. Want to come? We can continue our talk on the way."

  The Rappahannock gurgled softly behind him.

  Balthazar thought it the prettiest river he had seen in America. Steep, wooded banks crowded close to the water and covered the cool depths in shade. Beyond the stream, a low ridge climbed away into the distance.

  The three men rode to a pontoon bridge across the stream. Engineer troops clung to the sides of the structure, helping comrades in small boats repair some invisible defect in the cables which bound the pontons together.

  As they clattered onto the planking of the bridge, Balthazar looked at the boats.

  An officer stood in one of them. He wore grey trousers and a red and black checked wool shirt. A battered kepi rode on the back of his head. He raised it, holding it in one hand to shade his eyes and inspect the horsemen.

  "Morning Cartwright!" Colonel Penn called out. Hear anything up ahead?"

  The engineer grimaced as though in pain. "A little carbine fire half an hour ago, nothin' since. Let me know if we have to run! Me and the boys don't plan to be out on this dam' bridge with the Yanks tryin' to get on the other end!"

  Penn smiled at the thought.

  The Negro Pioneers in the boats did not seem impressed by his confidence. One of them raised his voice. "Don't you be laffin' 'bout this now, Cunnel! You go up theah and keep them folks away so us hones' so'jers can get on wif ouah wuk!" General laughter followed among the engineers.

  Penn waved a hand in greeting as he rode through them.

  "Come on boys!" a white sergeant said. "We've got them bad-ass Loosiana fellahs up front. Let's get these lashed back up so we can go get some grub!"

  The little cavalcade clattered off the end of the floating bridge. The track sloped uphill between two swelling hillocks.

  A deer appeared unexpectedly ahead. Its wide eyes filled with terror at the sight of them. Turning to flee into the forest, it heard the sound of soldiers above. The animal hesitated, swung back to look at them.

  Penn stopped his horse.

  The three sat quietly for a few seconds.

  The doe gathered herself and leapt into the brush. The sound of her going receded along the bank of the Rappahannock.

  The horses drove upward, passing below the crest on the left. The raw, red scar of trenches crowned this hill.

  Colonel Penn waited for Balthazar at the top of the little pass. "There's another redoubt on a hill over there to the right." A sweep of his arm pointed the way. "You can just see it."

  The red earth made it easy to see.

  ”The line runs around beyond that."

  "What about this way?" Smoot asked, his meaning clear as an arm swept in the opposite direction.

  "It goes southwest for half a mile and bends back to near the river." Penn spurred his horse forward.

  They burst from the woods, cantering downhill across a grassy plain toward a small copse ahead.

  Balthazar turned in the saddle to see the extension of the lines to the west. The ditch curved following the shape of the hills, disappearing behind the shoulder of one in the distance. A thin line of infantry lounged in the grass forward of the trench line. This will be a force of tirailleurs, he thought.

  Cavalry waited in the grove.

  Penn dismounted. He left his animal with them and stalked forward through the vegetation.

  Balthazar nodded to a bearded, roughly clothed soldier while tying Patrick Devereux's mare to a tree. He and Smoot followed the Louisianan into the little wood. The same golden light shone before them through the brush.

  Penn stood just inside the tree line on the far side with several others.

  Balthazar avoided the group and placed himself a few yards away in the shade of a large tree.

  Smoot came up beside to find him turning a leaf over in his hand.

  "What is this?” he asked “It appears to be a species of oak, but the shape of this is...”

  "Strange?"

  "Yes."

  "It's a White Oak."

  "I see...” His gaze shifted back to the scene before them and to the enemy soldiers massed in the open ground. "This is intriguing. I suppose that this could be a reconnaissance, but I think we have approximately three thousand men before us."

  Smoot stood silent.

  The little group of cavalry officers around Penn bent toward the infantry colonel in animated description. "There were none an hour ago,” one said. “Then they came through the oaks over there all at once. I lost half a dozen men who didn't get out from in front of them quick enough...”

  "What do you think is behind?" Penn asked.

  "No idea!"

  Balthazar pondered the scene. Union infantry filled the vast meadow. They stood in long lines of battalion length. Their leaders gathered in little clumps to chat. They did not even look at the Rebel scouts only a short distance away. There were no flags.

  "Major Balthazar!"

  "Yes, my colonel?"

  "Your opinion, sir?"

  The stocky figure turned toward the cavalry leaders. "I have not had the pleasure...”

  Penn smiled slightly. "This is Captain Anderson, and his officers."

  Anderson nodded, "Cobb's Georgia Legion," he said. "How're you?" He held out a large, hard hand. While they shook hands he pointed to a lieutenant of cavalry in the group. "This fellow is named Faver, and this is my brother-in-law James Rawlins. He's our battalion adjutant."

  Balthazar's hand made the rounds of the family circle. He found the thought so charming as to almost take his mind from the professional problem at hand. He remembered that Penn waited for an answer. "They follow our thinking in matters of tactics?"

  "As slavishly as we."

  He said nothing for a moment, looking around at the bright sunlight, the red-gold of the leaves and the earnest faces.

  The circle of enlisted soldiers grew closer. They watched him skeptically, hoping a little, for what they knew not.

  "My colonel, there should be fifteen thousand more back in the forest, just there...” he said pointing. He turned to Captain Anderson. "Have you seen more?"

  The Georgian nodded, laughing a little. He indicated the south. "Just before you turned up, there was a column of dust beyond the trees over there. You could hear the guns. They were goin' south." He looked at the stocky brown figure.

  "The wheels? You could hear the wheels?"

  "Yes."

  "How many?"

  The brother-in-law spoke. "'Bout eighty by my count, mebbe a few mor'er less, mebbe.."

  Balthazar turned back to Penn. "May I assume that this tete de pont is intended to prevent a crossing elsewhere?"

  Colonel Penn bowed slightly from the waist.

  Anderson was clearly fascinated by the discussion. "The fords are good below," he offered, hoping for a renewal of the talk.

  "Too dam' good!" the brother-in-law growled. "They'll go over Kelly's Ford like shit through a goose!"

  "General Lee expects that our presence will slow their advance there...” Penn spoke without looking at Balthazar directly. His eyes were fixed on the blue host.

  "Ah! I see the strength of this position, the two redans, and first rate infantry within... I assume there is a battery? Yes?"

  Penn nodded.

  Balthazar waved a massive arm and shrugged. "Well, let them come! It will be a memorable affair. The ground is well chosen. General Lee's reputation as an engineer is sound. He fished in a jacket pocket. A short, black cheroot appeared in his fingers. He lit a match with one hand, puffing the little cigar to life and then looked around. "Ah! Mon Dieu! I forget everything in the tumult of the moment! You must pardon me!" He handed cigars around. He looked at the Union troops again, then back at the entrenchments, then at Penn. He glanced at Smoot.

  The partisan's eyes were fixed on the Rebel officers.
His face grew steadily grimmer. He avoided Balthazar's eyes.

  None of the Confederates uttered a sound.

  Balthazar sighed. "Ah! What is wrong? You know something that is not evident to me, a stranger... What could it be? I can see the enemy, and the ground. I can see our works, but I can not see all our strength. I can not see all..." He spun on a heel to look at the line of riflemen lounging on the grass outside the entrenchments. "No more than that?" he breathed. "This is not wise, my colonel. Not wise. Why has General Lee done this?"

  "Unavoidable," Penn muttered. "It couldn't be helped. We lost too many men at Gettysburg, then more at Bristoe Station. Pickett's Division is in Carolina rebuilding. The rest of First Corps left for Georgia a couple of weeks ago.. Unavoidable. The other choice was to withdraw still further south. That was unacceptable."

  After a second's thought with his head sunk on his breast, the Gascon looked up. "May I ask of your arrangements?"

  "I will bring the rest of the brigade across the river, three companies..." Penn smiled at the thought.

  Balthazar bowed slightly in acknowledgment of the joke.

  "And, I will inform General Early of the… coming crisis in our affairs."

  Balthazar bowed again. "You will excuse me? I would join your troops, to become better acquainted. Good day, gentlemen." He strode away, back through the oaks.

  Smoot flipped his cheroot away, shook his head and followed.

  A galloper bound for the pontoon bridge passed in a cloud of dust as they led their mounts across the red dirt road and up the gentle slope toward the Pelicans.

  Some stood up, waiting to greet them, and hoping as soldiers always do for some interruption in the boredom of their lives.

  Pat Devereux's mare picked her way through the deep grass, seeking the choicest, sweetest clumps. The hobbles kept her feet fairly close together, but she knew to move carefully, and did not seem unhappy.

  Balthazar sat a few feet from her on the ground. He had made a small fire and was brewing Bedouin coffee. A boxlike contraption lay in the coals. The smell of roasted Mocha beans filled the air.

  Smoot watched from a supine position off to one side, his head propped on a hand. "Need some help?" he asked.