Tanner's Law

by Charles G. West

  Casting sorrowful thoughts aside, he turned his focus back to his primary concern at the moment. Taking a minute to get his bearings, he found the sun through the canopy of oak leaves above him, and turned to the west. Starting out at a lope, he made his way through the trees, avoiding the silent bodies. He gave no thought toward searching any of the fallen for usable items, though he would not hesitate to take from the dead, especially his comrades. He certainly would not begrudge their taking something of his if the situation were reversed. But now he knew that because of the debilitating lack of supplies, no one in his company had anything worth taking. During the weeks leading up to the battle, the men of his regiment had foraged farms and villages for food, but there was nothing left to forage. Even the population of rabbits and squirrels seemed to be depleted. The only thing he might gain from his dead comrades was possibly a few extra cartridges for the Enfield he carried.

  Approaching the western edge of the forest, he slowed to a cautious walk before emerging into an open field, a dozen or more acres wide. It was across this field that the Union cavalry had charged and his unit had stood to repel them. Looking out over the open space, he could see the scattered bodies of Union soldiers, seeming small and pathetic in their eternal sleep. Here and there, the larger lumps that were the slain horses appeared like random boulders in the level field. He was still trying to decide whether to strike out straight across the field or to circle it, when he heard someone call out.

  Reacting instantly, he dropped to one knee and swung his rifle around to aim at the point from which he thought the voice had come. “Corporal Bland.” The voice came again. Instinctively shifting his rifle to aim at a clump of briar bushes several feet to the right of the first target, he still could not locate the source. “Don’t shoot, Corporal. It’s me, Jeb Hawkins.”

  “Jeb Hawkins,” Tanner echoed in surprise. “Where the hell are you?”

  “I’m down here in this damn hole,” the man replied.

  Still Tanner did not spot him right away, but in a few seconds’ time, he saw branches parting no more than ten feet before him to reveal the head and shoulders of Jeb Hawkins, a man from his company. Upon moving to help Jeb up, he discovered the bushes hid an old stump hole. Grasping Jeb’s wrists, Tanner hauled him up through the brambles. His tunic was spattered with blood. “Damn, Jeb,” Tanner exclaimed, “how bad are you hurt?”

  Jeb replied with a grin. “I ain’t hurt bad a’tall. Just some little cuts and scratches.” He went on to explain that he received his injuries when he split the barrel of his rifle. “When them Yankees charged, we was firin’ so fast, and all the guns goin’ off right and left of me, I didn’t even know that I hadn’t pulled the trigger, and I rammed another load down the barrel, right on top of the first one. When I pulled the trigger that time, it knocked me plumb over backward, and I landed in that stump hole. Landed on my head, I reckon, and by the time I started to crawl outta there, our boys had started retreatin’. I was gonna scramble out and catch up with ’em, but Billy Thacker fell right in my arms, with a hole in his chest the size of my fist. We both wound up in the bottom of the hole.”

  “You sure you aren’t hurt? There’s a helluva lot of blood all over you.”

  “That’s mostly Billy’s,” Jeb replied. “They got him right through the heart, I guess. I thought he never was gonna stop bleedin’ before he finally just quit breathin’. He was still layin’ on top of me. I started to crawl out again, but the Yankees were already movin’ up through the bushes.” He displayed another grin. “So I figured I’d just lay right where I was, with ol’ Billy.” He paused, then asked, “How come you’re slippin’ through the woods by yourself? Where’s the rest of the boys?”

  Tanner painted the somber picture for him. “I don’t know how many others got away,” he concluded, “but it looked like damn near the whole bunch of survivors surrendered.”

  “So it’s just you and me then,” Jeb said, scratching his head thoughtfully. “What are you aimin’ to do?”

  “I’m aimin’ to get the hell away from here,” Tanner replied. “That’s the first thing I’m gonna do. This valley is crawlin’ with Union troops, and I don’t plan to spend any time in a Yankee prison.”

  “That’s damn sure my feelin’s as well. Whaddaya say we team up?”

  “Suit yourself,” Tanner replied. “I’m thinkin’ maybe we can head up in those mountains west of the pike. It oughta be easy enough to stay outta sight in those hills. Then maybe we can work our way back down the valley, and cut across to Lynchburg or somewhere. We’re bound to run into some of our army between there and Richmond.”

  Jeb didn’t reply at once, nodding slowly while he thought the prospects over. He apparently thought the matter of rejoining the army worthy of considerable speculation. Tanner studied the man in the meantime, realizing he knew very little about Jeb Hawkins. He had never spent any off-duty time with him. From a little town in Kansas, Jeb had traveled to Virginia to join General Jubal Early’s army. Tanner knew that much—that and the fact that Jeb, a tall, rangy man with a shock of sandy red hair, soon established a reputation as a hard-drinking, quick-tempered hell-raiser anytime he was off duty. As far as soldiering, from what Tanner had seen, Jeb Hawkins never hesitated when given an order, even though he usually looked as if he was considering questioning it.

  “Well, hell,” Jeb said, his decision finally made. “That’s what we’ll do then. Maybe we’ll find ol’ Robert E. Lee hisself.” Before Tanner could take a step, Jeb added, “I need me a gun, though. My rifle barrel’s split like a cherry tree.”

  “There’s Thacker’s,” Tanner said, pointing toward the dead man’s weapon.

  “I’m thinkin’ more about pickin’ up one of them Spencer repeatin’ carbines those Yankee cavalry boys carry. If we hustle our asses, we oughta have time to find us a couple of rifles before they come back to pick up their dead.”

  “That makes sense to me.” Tanner readily agreed, wondering why he hadn’t thought of it himself. Without further comment, the two hurried out of the trees and into the open field. “There’s gotta be some stray horses around here somewhere, too,” he called out as he headed for a Union body.

  “I’m gonna leave you this bullet sack of .58-caliber cartridges,” Jeb said to the corpse of a young man whose head was half blown away. “I wouldn’t wanna just take this fine carbine of yours without tradin’ you somethin’ for it.” He laughed at his macabre humor as he relieved the body of its ammunition pouch of rimfire cartridges. “Look here, Corporal, this feller has one of them Blakeslee cartridge boxes.”

  “So has this one,” Tanner said, in the process of equipping himself from another unfortunate soldier. He was well familiar with the cartridge boxes fashioned by a man named Blakeslee. The Spencer held seven cartridges in its magazine, and Blakeslee had built a carrying case that held anywhere from six to thirteen tubes loaded with the cartridges. The rifle was loaded through the butt, and these tubes could be quickly inserted, loading all seven bullets at once. It was a hell of an advantage in a hot firefight.

  Well equipped, and loaded down with extra ammunition for their confiscated weapons, the new partners stayed to scavenge the enemy dead as long as they dared before deciding it best to remove themselves from the open field.

  “Damn, Corporal, I wonder what happened to the horses,” Jeb said, panting as they ran toward the lower end of the field.

  Breathing rapidly himself, Tanner answered, “My name’s Tanner. That looks like a creek runnin’ along the bottom of the hill. If they’re anywhere around, that’s the place we’ll find ’em.”

  Tanner’s prediction proved to be accurate. Just past the lower end of the field, the creek wound its way into a heavy forest of oaks and poplars. About thirty yards into the trees, it almost doubled back on itself, forming a narrow glen. It was here that half a dozen cavalry horses had gathered to graze on the tender grass within the double bend of the creek. Curious, but not frightened, all six horses bobbed their h
eads up to study the two men approaching.

  “Well, would you look at that,” Jeb commented. “All bunched up and waitin’ for us to come get ’em.” He chuckled at the thought. “By God, I reckon I ain’t in the infantry no more. ’Course, I never figured I’d be in the Yankee cavalry.”

  Tanner merely grunted in response, his mind already evaluating the choice of horseflesh before him. “Looks to me like the gray and that sorrel beside him are the best of the bunch,” he offered. Of the six, those two appeared to be more broad-chested and built for stamina. “I’m not holdin’ myself up as being an expert on horses. I’m just sayin’ I figure on takin’ one or the other of those two.”

  “Yeah, I reckon,” Jeb allowed, although he was eyeing a hand-tooled saddle on one of the other horses. It looked to be of Mexican origin and had the initials JW tooled on the apron. “That black sure is sportin’ a fine-lookin’ saddle. I bet it was an officer’s horse.”

  Tanner took another look at the black mare. “If you were to ask me, which you didn’t, I’d say take the saddle, but throw it on one of the other horses. That horse may look pretty, but she’s too narrow in the chest, and her legs are too long. The gray or the sorrel would likely run her into the ground. But that’s just my opinion.”

  Jeb thought that over for a few moments, then decided Tanner was probably right. “I expect that’s true,” he said. “Which one of them two do you favor?”

  “Either one.”

  Jeb speculated a moment more before speaking. “I reckon you favor that fancy saddle yourself, and you outrank me.” He studied Tanner intently, awaiting his answer.

  Tanner was not looking at him when he answered. Instead, he was gazing out toward the field they had just left. When he spoke, his voice was quiet and calm. “Right now, we ain’t worried about rank. You fancy that saddle, you take it. Take your pick of the horses. But be quick about it. There’s a Union patrol on the road on the other side of that field, and they look like they’re fixin’ to cut into the field.”

  “Damn!” Jeb exclaimed, becoming immediately alert. At the same time, a grin appeared upon his face when he realized Tanner wasn’t concerned about rank. “Fair enough,” he said. “I’ll take the saddle, so you take first pick of the horses.”

  More concerned with expediting a quick withdrawal, Tanner said, “All right, I’ll take the gray.” He walked slowly up to the two horses he had selected and caught the reins of both. Looping the reins over a laurel branch, he prepared to remove the cavalry saddle from the sorrel while Jeb approached the black mare. He hesitated with his hand on the girth strap, however, when the black bolted, leaving Jeb to chase wildly after her.

  The horse, somehow spooked by Jeb’s manner, splashed through the creek with Jeb right behind her. Under less dire circumstances, it might have been amusing, with the exasperated redhead struggling up the bank, arms waving frantically, running after the frightened horse.

  Tanner took one more glance back toward the field to check on the Union patrol’s progress. When he was sure they had not spotted the two Confederate soldiers, he calmly stepped up on the gray. Taking the sorrel’s reins as well, he started out after his new partner, figuring they might both be sitting cavalry saddles. Jeb appeared to be pretty physically fit, but Tanner felt fairly confident that he wasn’t going to outrun a horse. He gave the cantankerous horse a run for her money, however, before giving up the chase. The contest ended with the black standing, watching warily, on a pine knob some fifty yards from the winded Confederate infantryman. If, indeed, Jeb had been correct in assuming the black was an officer’s mount, the horse had no doubt recognized the two as enlisted men and apparently deemed it highly improper for Jeb to presume to climb on her back.

  A somewhat impatient observer to all this, Tanner guided the horses along behind the haphazard chase through the trees. In spite of the potential danger of the Union patrol now searching the open field behind him, he was not overly concerned as long as Jeb and the black continued moving in a westerly direction, away from the patrol. Even though it was only the second day of March, the woods were fairly dense, and he felt certain they had not been spotted by the soldiers.

  Pulling up beside Jeb, who was bent over, hands on knees, gasping for breath, Tanner handed the sorrel’s reins to the frustrated man. “If you really fancy that saddle that much, I’ll try to get it for you.” He left Jeb holding the sorrel and gave the gray a touch of his heels. The big horse responded immediately, crossing the creek again and climbing up the pine knob toward the waiting mare. Tanner had a notion that the mare was only spooked by the red-haired Rebel chasing her. That turned out to be the case, for the black stood patiently waiting while Tanner rode up beside her and took her reins. He dismounted, and unbuckled her girth strap. “You can go ahead and jerk the saddle off of that sorrel,” he called out to Jeb as he pulled the hand-tooled saddle off.

  “Well, I’ll be double-dogged damned,” Jeb exclaimed, scarcely able to believe his eyes. From that day forward, he would always believe that Tanner had a special way with horses, a belief that Tanner didn’t embrace himself, but never bothered to refute.

  When the transfer of saddles was completed, Tanner said, “Let’s get movin’. I wanna get up in the hills on the other side of the pike before dark.”

  Chapter 2

  Now mounted, with plenty of ammunition for their newly confiscated carbines, and a small supply of salt, coffee, and hardtack, all courtesy of the Union army, Tanner and Jeb made camp by a narrow stream that wound its way down a wooded ravine from the mountain above. From their position high up on a ridge west of Waynesboro, they could watch the activity on the valley pike. The main body of the Union army didn’t linger in the little town very long. After defeating General Early, Sheridan crossed over the Blue Ridge and headed toward Charlottesville.

  The new partners sat on a boulder that offered a clear view of the road out of Waynesboro and discussed their options. Though neither man voiced it, it was clear to both that the Southern cause was lost as far as the war was concerned. Their regiment having been destroyed, they now had the feeling that they were fugitives. The thought of simply giving up and going home had crossed both their minds. But Tanner had never started anything important that he didn’t finish, so he knew his conscience would dictate his decision in the end. Jeb was never bothered by conscience, but he had come a long way to fight in this war, and it was a long ride back to Kansas. Still undecided, he waited for Tanner to make his decision.

  “Well,” Tanner finally said, “there’s still a few patrols running around down there. Speakin’ for myself, I’m thinkin’ to wait it out right here for a day or two more and see if the rest of those Yankees clear out and follow Sheridan to Richmond. Then I figure we’ll be in the clear. We can cross back over the pike, and head south toward Lynchburg, and join up with another unit.”

  Jeb thought about it for a few moments before making up his mind. “Hell, that plan sounds as good as any,” he said.

  It was two full days before the last stragglers of Sheridan’s army left the town to recover what it could of life before its encounter with the fiery Union general. In groups of two or three, the townsfolk returned to the streets, emerging from hiding places to fearfully contemplate homes stripped of food and supplies. It was a grieving community that Tanner and Jeb rode into on the third day after the battle.

  Their scant rations already depleted, they decided to see if any of the people had hidden away supplies that they might be willing to sell to two Confederate soldiers. Of the buildings left standing, one appeared to be a general store and seemed as good a place to look as any. When the two riders approached, they were met by the owner on the front step. His eyes sparked in anger as he announced, “There ain’t no use lookin’ in here. Your friends have already stole everything off the shelves.” Taking a closer look then, he realized that the two were not Union soldiers. “Sorry, boys,” he said in apology. “I thought you were some more of them thievin’ Yankees.”

>   “No harm done,” Tanner replied. “We’ve been hidin’ out in the hills since the rest of our regiment got whipped. We’re on our way south to try to join up with Lee’s army.”

  Without having to be told what they sought, the store owner volunteered, “What I just said was the truth. The Yankees cleaned everything off my shelves. There ain’t a scrap of bread in this town, nor the flour to make more. They even found the cornmeal and coffee I’d hid under the floorboards. I’m sorry I can’t help you boys out.”

  “Thanks just the same,” Tanner said. “I reckon we’ll all have to make it on rabbits and squirrels. Good day to you, sir.”

  “Good luck to you, son,” the store owner said. As Tanner started to turn to follow Jeb, the man asked one more question. “Where is your home, young fellow?”

  Tanner reined his horse back. “Alleghany County,” he answered, “not far from a little town called Covington. My father’s got a farm there.”

  “Covington—I know the town,” the store owner said, smiling. “Well, I hope you get back there soon, and we can get this war behind us.”

  “Yessir,” Tanner replied. “Well, good day to you,” he said again, and wheeled his horse to follow Jeb, who was already fifty yards ahead of him. He was about to urge the gray forward but then he quickly hauled back on the reins. At the end of the street Jeb was abruptly halted by a patrol of six Union cavalry that appeared suddenly from around the corner of the bank building. Realizing in that instant that the soldiers had not spotted him as yet, Tanner immediately guided the big horse into the alley beside the general store.

  With no time to react, Jeb was caught with no chance of escape. He was instantly surrounded. “Well, lookee here, boys,” a heavyset man wearing sergeant’s stripes chortled. “I do believe we caught us a Johnnie Reb.” He pulled his horse up almost nose to nose with Jeb’s sorrel. “And he’s ridin’ a U.S. Army branded horse, and carryin’ a Spencer carbine.” He directed one of the other soldiers to relieve Jeb of the rifle. “I expect you killed the man they belonged to, and from the looks of that fancy saddle, he was most likely an officer.”