The Way of All Soldiers (Gone For Soldiers)

by Jeffry S. Hepple

  In stilted but precise English, Sigel told Robert that former Governor Claiborne F. Jackson had secretly ceded the State Militia to Confederate control in direct contravention of the Armed Neutrality posture under which Missouri had been admitted to the Union. He further explained that the Missouri Constitutional Convention had reconvened on July 27th to declare the governor’s office vacant and to select Hamilton Rowan Gamble as the new provisional governor.

  “So, legally, Claiborne Jackson is no longer Governor and Hamilton Gamble is,” Robert said to be sure he understood.

  “Correct,” Sigel replied.

  Robert gestured at the armed camp. “Then are these US Army troops?”

  “Not exactly,” Sigel said. “The command’s made up of about six thousand men from the Missouri, Iowa and Kansas militias with a few odd companies of Regular Army infantry and cavalry.”

  Robert took off his hat and wiped the perspiration from his brow with his sleeve. “It’s humid.”

  “Yes. We expect rain soon.”

  Robert looked over the camp. “You appear to be preparing to march.”

  “Yes.” Sigel pointed toward the southwest. “The Confederates are encamped on Wilson’s Creek about ten miles from here.”

  “Confederates or the former State Militia?”

  “The Missouri State Guard commanded by General Stirling Price, reinforced by the brigade of Confederate General Benjamin McCulloch and the Arkansas State Militia under General Bart Pearce.”

  “How many?” Robert asked.

  “We estimate their strength at over twelve thousand.”

  “Twice your number.”

  Sigel nodded. “Our van skirmished with theirs a few days ago and we prevailed, but we know that we are too badly outnumbered to face the full force.”

  Robert put his hat back on. “Are you going to retreat to Springfield?”

  “No. We’ll withdraw to Rolla, resupply and gather reinforcements. But first, we’ll launch a surprise attack to delay the enemy.”

  “You’re going to attack a superior force to delay them?”

  Robert’s sarcasm was lost on Sigel. “Yes. We’ll leave a thousand men here to protect the supplies and I’ll lead about twelve hundred of our men in a flanking maneuver while General Lyon leads the rest in a frontal attack.”

  “Sir,” Robert said after a moment. “One of the tenets of warfare is to never divide your force. Doing so when you’re already outnumbered is – well, ill-advised.”

  “General Lyon has approved my plan.” Sigel was clearly offended. “You have no authority here. I march tonight under cover of darkness.”

  “My authority is unclear and there’s no time to sort that out. However, my duty as an experienced field grade officer is to advise you and General Lyon that your plan is suicidal.”

  “We shall see.” Sigel turned and walked to the command tent where he joined General Lyon. From Lyon’s immediate reaction, Robert knew that any further conversation with either officer would be fruitless. He mounted his horse and turned back toward Springfield to send a telegram.

  August 9, 1861

  Phantom Lake Spring, Texas

  Geronimo had collected his band south of Mesilla and followed the Rio Grande for about sixty miles where he was joined by the Chiricahua bands of Mangas Coloradas and Cochise. From there the Apaches turned east to arrive just northwest of Confederate Fort Davis.

  During the long, fast trek, Jack had been astonished by the efficiency of the women in setting up and tearing down camps and by the stamina of all, including the children. He had always thought of women as delicate. To his thinking, even his mother had been one of the weaker sex. But the Apache women were not the same.

  With food, water and exercise Jack’s health had recovered quickly and he felt as strong as normal. He had been given moccasins, leggings and a loincloth, but even dressed like the Apaches, his height, white skin and hairy chest made him the center of attention as he walked through the camp. He hadn’t expected to become one of them, but neither had he expected to be so alien.

  “You speak English?” a woman asked abruptly.

  Jack stopped suddenly and stared at her. Her skin was dark, burned by the sun, but she had blue eyes. “Yes. Are you – I mean…”

  “White?” She shook her head. “No more. Now Sioux or maybe Chiricahua. No white.”

  “How long have you been with the Chiricahua?” he asked in Lakota language.

  She smiled. “Not long,” she replied in Lakota. “White soldiers stole me from The People. My Chiricahua family rescued me from the whites.”

  He gestured to the camp. “Can you tell me why we are here?”

  She thought a moment before answering. “There is a white soldier fort near here. A small war party will steal some horses and when the white soldiers come here to take back the horses, the soldiers will all be killed.”

  Jack decided that it might be wise to say no more on the subject.

  “How do you know the Lakota tongue?” she asked.

  “I made a trip with a young Lakota warrior from California to Yellowstone. He taught me his tongue.”

  Geronimo, who had been watching them with some interest, joined them. “You have the Sioux tongue?” he asked Jack in his own language.

  Jack nodded.

  “This Sioux woman would go back to them if she could,” Geronimo said, switching to Spanish. “I will give her to you for ten horses.”

  “I would only need a rifle and a few men to get a hundred horses from the Rebel Fort,” Jack said in Spanish.

  Without a word, Geronimo turned and walked away.

  “Did I say the wrong words?” he asked the woman.

  “Yes, he has tricked you,” she said, ignoring his comment. “He will give you boys and maybe one old man.”

  “You told me that there would be a small raiding party. Now I will lead it. That was what I wanted.”

  “You cannot gather one hundred horses with some boys and one old man.”

  “If he gives me one good rifle with the boys and old man, it will be enough.”

  “Why do you do this?” she asked.

  “I do it to kill some white men in the fort and to pay Geronimo for helping me.”

  “But you also made a bargain. Ten horses for me.”

  “I made a bargain of one hundred horses for you. Does that not please you?”

  “It would make me the envy of all the women in all the tribes.” She looked down at the ground. “What would you do with me?”

  “Nothing,” he said. “I will bring Goyaałé only ninety-nine horses. You will still be the envy of all women, but you will be free to marry someone of your own choosing.”

  She turned and started away.

  “Wait.”

  She stopped and turned around.

  “Do you want him to give you to me?”

  She walked back to him. “Will you take me back to my people?”

  “No.”

  She started away again, then stopped and came back. “If you can bring Goyaalé his one hundred horses I will go with you wherever you go.”

  “Let me think about it.”

  August 9, 1861

  Washington, D.C.

  Anna was reading in the living room when Quincy came in. “How was the party?” she asked.

  He took off his hat and shrugged. “Boring.” He removed his ceremonial belt and began unbuttoning his jacket.

  “Did you meet anyone interesting?”

  “No.” He sat down across from her. “But I did meet Kate Chase.”

  “And you didn’t find her interesting?” Anna put her book down.

  “Only moderately. But I must be the exception, because she had more men fawning for her attention than any queen might reasonably expect.”

  “She is the queen of Washington society.”

  “Long live the queen.” Quincy yawned. “Think I’ll turn in.”

  “Okay. Good night.” She picked up her book.

  “I’m going
to get a room for myself tomorrow,” Quincy said as he got up and gathered his things.

  “Why?”

  “I’ve imposed on you and Nancy enough.”

  “Don’t be silly. You’re no imposition. We love having you here with us.”

  “I’ll still be somewhere nearby, but you’ll have your bedroom back.”

  “Nancy and I have slept in the same bed, more nights than not, for over forty years, Quincy.” Anna put her book down again. “And we’re not, and never have been, lovers, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  “I wasn’t thinking anything except that you deserve your privacy and I’d like some of my own.”

  “Ah.” She pointed her finger at him. “You’ve found a girl that you want to see privately.”

  “That’s a possibility.”

  “Tell me it’s not Kate Chase.”

  “It’s not Kate Chase.”

  “Very well. I won’t pry.” She picked up her book. “Who is it?”

  “Goodnight, Mother.”

  August 10, 1861

  Wilson’s Creek, Missouri

  The rain had begun at sunset and it had taken Robert Van Buskirk all night to catch up with Lyon’s forces. It was almost 5:00 AM when he was passed through the pickets of the 1st US Cavalry and directed toward the unit’s commander, Major Samuel D. Sturgis. Sturgis, who was about forty years old with a mop of unruly hair, greeted Robert warmly. “I doubt that you remember me, Colonel,” he said, “but we met briefly in Mexico when you liberated me from the Mexican army prison at Buena Vista.”

  “I’m sorry,” Robert replied. “I remember the battle well enough, but the names and faces of the prisoners we released have faded from my memory.” He gestured toward the glowing campfires along Wilson’s Creek. “What’s your assessment of this battle plan, Major?”

  Sturgis hesitated. “As a West Point officer, I think you can guess at my assessment of any plan that divides an inferior force.”

  “Please speak plainly. I’ll tell no one what you say. I’m not familiar with the ground or the enemy forces.”

  Sturgis pointed. “There’s an artillery battery from Pulaski Arkansas right there with their guns facing Lyon’s main body. When those guns are unlimbered they’ll chew General Lyon to bits.”

  “Does Lyon know the battery’s there?”

  “Yes, sir. General Lyon is convinced that surprise will carry the day. He intends to overrun the Confederate camp and take the high ground before the artillery can be brought into action.”

  “Is it possible that he’s right and the Arkansas Militia’s completely untrained?”

  “No, sir. They’re as good as or better than any Regular Army battery.”

  “Hmm.” Robert tipped the rainwater off his hat brim. “This may turn out to be a very important battle. The outcome could easily determine if Missouri becomes a Confederate State.”

  “The confederacy will never get popular support in Missouri, sir.”

  “Let’s hope you’re right, because if General Lyon loses this battle the only hope to keep Missouri in the Union will be via the ballot box.”

  ~

  At first light, the Union forces attacked. Lyon’s troops carried the enemy camps, but they were stopped at the crest of the ridge by artillery fire from the Arkansas battery. While Lyon’s troops ran for cover, Price’s infantry formed lines on the south slope of the hill.

  Sigel had lost contact with Lyon during the bombardment and he stalled at the Sharp Farm, short of his objective. McCulloch immediately counter-attacked driving Sigel’s forces off the field and leaving Lyon, Sweeny and Sturgis alone.

  At about 9:30, Lyon was shot through the heart and Sweeny took a bullet in his leg. Major Sturgis assumed command and ordered a retreat.

  August 18, 1861

  Phantom Lake Spring, Texas

  On July 29th, after speaking to Thomas Van Buskirk, Jefferson Davis, the acting President of the Confederate States of America, had instituted an investigation of Colonel John Baylor, the self-appointed Governor of the Confederate Arizona Territory. Unlike most slow grinding investigations, evidence of Baylor’s abuse of power became immediately apparent and Davis signed an order cashiering Baylor from the Confederate army and removing him as Governor.

  On the 6th of August, when Baylor was replaced by his second in command, he left Fort Davis, Texas, on horseback for his ranch near San Antonio.

  On the 9th of August, Jack Van Buskirk, armed with an ancient muzzle loader and accompanied by six unarmed boys, had stolen nearly two hundred horses and several mules from the Confederate garrison at Fort Davis. As promised, Jack gave a hundred horses to Geronimo, kept four horses and two pack mules for himself, then gave the rest of the animals to the boys who had accompanied him on the raid.

  Four days later, two cavalry squadrons, under the command of Colonel David Cleburne, John Baylor’s replacement, came up into the mountains to retrieve the horses. They were massacred to a man by the three Chiricahua bands. After the battle, Jack learned of Baylor’s removal from one of the dying soldiers.

  Today, Jack and Sioux Woman were mounted on two stolen Confederate Cavalry horses with two pack mules and two remounts on a tether. Most of the people had come to say goodbye. Geronimo walked to the front of the group and stopped with his arms crossed and a scowl on his face. “You go now?”

  “Yes, and I thank Goyaalé for his kindness,” Jack said.

  “You could stay,” Geronimo replied.

  Jack shook his head. “Your war is not my war.”

  “Your war is not over,” Geronimo said. “You did not kill the white man that killed Marina and your wife of the red hair.”

  “It is too late,” Jack replied. “His chief in Richmond has removed him from the army. I must take what we did here as my only revenge or become an outlaw.”

  Geronimo raised his hand.

  Jack did the same, although he wasn’t sure if it was appropriate, and gave his horse a kick.

  Sioux Woman hurried her horse to stay alongside him. “Apache people treated me inferior,” she said in broken English. “Now I am One Hundred Horse Woman. No more Sioux Woman.”

  “You need a better name than One Hundred Horse Woman,” Jack replied. He looked back and waved at Geronimo again. “Do you remember what you were called when you were white?”

  “Yes. But I do not like the sound of it.”

  “Tell me.”

  “Pru-dence.”

  “Prudence? That’s a pretty name.”

  “I do not like it.”

  “How about just Pru?”

  “Prude?”

  “No, I said – never mind.”

  “How do I call you?”

  “Jack.”

  “Jack,” she repeated. “I can be Jill.”

  “Jill?”

  “It’s a song that I remember from when I was white.”

  “Yeah. I know that song.”

  “Do you? Can we sing it?”

  “Not now. There will be white soldiers looking for me. Singing might attract attention.”

  “Oh.” She looked contrite.

  “If we stay in the saddle all day, maybe we can sing tomorrow,” he suggested.

  “Where we go?”

  “To Waco. But we’ll stop along the way to trade for some clothes.”

  “I am afraid of white town.”

  “Waco isn’t going to be like the white towns you remember as a child. My brother Tom lives there. Well, now that I think about it, he’s probably in the east fighting in the war but his wife, Jane, will be there. She’s half Montauk.”

  “Montauk?”

  “That’s an Indian tribe in the northeast. You’ll like Jane and she’ll like you.”

  September 7, 1861

  Cairo, Illinois

  Brigadier General Ulysses S. Grant accepted a cigar from Robert Van Buskirk. “Welcome to the District of Cairo, Professor.”

  “Thank you, General.” Robert clipped his own cigar and made a great production
of lighting it before lighting Grant’s for him.

  “Did you get your new orders from General Frémont?” Grant asked, blowing smoke over Robert’s head.

  Robert nodded. “Succinct and vague, as usual. ‘Report Grant Cairo’ was the full extent of the message. I have no idea in what unit or in what capacity I’m to serve.”

  “Well don’t ask me,” Grant said with a chuckle. “You’re either a new brigade commander or my replacement. I’m not sure which. But you’ve got a star. I have those orders.”

  “Your replacement? What are you talking about?”

  “On the thirty-first of July, President Lincoln promoted me to brigadier general in the Federal Volunteers. The next day General Frémont appointed me to command the District of Southeast Missouri now known as the District of Cairo, in the Regular Army. Are you with me so far?”

  Robert nodded. “I’m with you. It doesn’t sound like Lincoln and Frémont are on the same page, but that wouldn’t be at all unusual.”

  “Wait, it gets better. When he appointed me, General Frémont informed me that the Confederate Army, stationed in Columbus under General Polk, had violated Kentucky’s military neutrality.”

  “General Polk? Leonidas Polk? In Columbus?”

  “Yes, Leonidas Polk. But, he’s not there in Columbus. He’s a major general in Richmond or somewhere. Gideon Pillow’s the force commander in Columbus.”

  “Sorry. Go on.”

  “So, anyway, acting on Frémont’s information, I led a recon in force against Pillow in Columbus. I might have been able to push him out, but when they started moving artillery from the river, I withdrew and seized Paducah. Frémont was livid and he dressed me down.”

  “He dressed you down for what?” Robert asked.

  “For taking Paducah.”

  “That’s ridiculous. Taking Paducah effectively offsets Pillow’s occupation of Columbus and puts Kentucky back in the neutral column.”