The Way of All Soldiers (Gone For Soldiers)

by Jeffry S. Hepple

  “It is my blood but the wound’s nothing,” he replied.

  “Then why are you so pale?”

  “I’m just a little tired. Please see to our men. They need you much more than I do.”

  She ignored him, started to lift his shirt and slapped his hand when he tried to stop her. “Oh, this is nasty.” She glared at him. “By showing how strong you are you’ve turned a superficial wound into something serious. Come with me.”

  He shook his head. “Not until my wounded have been cared for.”

  “I don’t care about them.”

  “I do.”

  She looked up into his eyes for a moment, then went to speak to an elderly nun. The nun looked at Quincy, nodded and floated toward him. “You will come with me, Colonel. No nonsense.”

  “I’ll come when my men have been seen to, Sister,” he said peevishly.

  “In the eyes of God every one of these men is equally important,” she replied. “In the eyes of the war effort, a colonel is more important than all those men. You will come with me now.” She took his hand and led him toward the medical cabin.

  January 1, 1863

  Washington, D.C.

  By the President of the United States of America:

  A Proclamation.

  Whereas, on the twenty-second day of September, in the year of our Lord one thousand eight hundred and sixty-two, a proclamation was issued by the President of the United States, containing, among other things, the following, to wit:

  “That on the first day of January, in the year of our Lord one thousand eight hundred and sixty-three, all persons held as slaves within any State or designated part of a State, the people whereof shall then be in rebellion against the United States, shall be then, thenceforward, and forever free; and the Executive Government of the United States, including the military and naval authority thereof, will recognize and maintain the freedom of such persons, and will do no act or acts to repress such persons, or any of them, in any efforts they may make for their actual freedom.

  “That the Executive will, on the first day of January aforesaid, by proclamation, designate the States and parts of States, if any, in which the people thereof, respectively, shall then be in rebellion against the United States; and the fact that any State, or the people thereof, shall on that day be, in good faith, represented in the Congress of the United States by members chosen thereto at elections wherein a majority of the qualified voters of such State shall have participated, shall, in the absence of strong countervailing testimony, be deemed conclusive evidence that such State, and the people thereof, are not then in rebellion against the United States.”

  Now, therefore I, Abraham Lincoln, President of the United States, by virtue of the power in me vested as Commander-in-Chief, of the Army and Navy of the United States in time of actual armed rebellion against the authority and government of the United States, and as a fit and necessary war measure for suppressing said rebellion, do, on this first day of January, in the year of our Lord one thousand eight hundred and sixty-three, and in accordance with my purpose so to do publicly proclaimed for the full period of one hundred days, from the day first above mentioned, order and designate as the States and parts of States wherein the people thereof respectively, are this day in rebellion against the United States, the following, to wit:

  Arkansas, Texas, Louisiana, (except the Parishes of St. Bernard, Plaquemines, Jefferson, St. John, St. Charles, St. James Ascension, Assumption, Terrebonne, Lafourche, St. Mary, St. Martin, and Orleans, including the City of New Orleans) Mississippi, Alabama, Florida, Georgia, South Carolina, North Carolina, and Virginia, (except the forty-eight counties designated as West Virginia, and also the counties of Berkley, Accomac, Northampton, Elizabeth City, York, Princess Ann, and Norfolk, including the cities of Norfolk and Portsmouth[)], and which excepted parts, are for the present, left precisely as if this proclamation were not issued.

  And by virtue of the power, and for the purpose aforesaid, I do order and declare that all persons held as slaves within said designated States, and parts of States, are, and henceforward shall be free; and that the Executive government of the United States, including the military and naval authorities thereof, will recognize and maintain the freedom of said persons.

  And I hereby enjoin upon the people so declared to be free to abstain from all violence, unless in necessary self-defence; and I recommend to them that, in all cases when allowed, they labor faithfully for reasonable wages.

  And I further declare and make known, that such persons of suitable condition, will be received into the armed service of the United States to garrison forts, positions, stations, and other places, and to man vessels of all sorts in said service.

  And upon this act, sincerely believed to be an act of justice, warranted by the Constitution, upon military necessity, I invoke the considerate judgment of mankind, and the gracious favor of Almighty God.

  In witness whereof, I have hereunto set my hand and caused the seal of the United States to be affixed.

  Done at the City of Washington, this first day of January, in the year of our Lord one thousand eight hundred and sixty three, and of the Independence of the United States of America the eighty-seventh.

  By the President: ABRAHAM LINCOLN

  WILLIAM H. SEWARD, Secretary of State.

  January 2, 1863

  Mesilla, New Mexico

  Abraham Van Buskirk, with thirty families of former slaves, had left New Jersey on November 23rd, bound for the ranch of the late Marina Van Buskirk in territorial New Mexico. However, when they arrived in Mesilla, just after Christmas, neither Abe nor his charges had been prepared for the anarchy that had been left in the wake of the retreating Confederates.

  The village of Mesilla was a virtual ghost town inhabited by stray dogs and a few sick and infirm squatters who foraged in fields that had already been picked clean.

  Marina’s hacienda was a ruined heap of shattered adobes and clay roof tiles. Anything of value had been looted. The ancient cottonwood trees that had shaded the big house were broken, burned or reduced to blackened stumps. The poplars that had lined the road had been cut down for firewood.

  The only remaining buildings on the ranch property were three large warehouses on the west bank of the Rio Grande where cotton and other produce had been stored for shipping to market. With nowhere else to go, Abe had moved his charges into the largest of the three warehouses.

  The following day, more than half the people in Abe’s party joined a passing wagon train that was headed for Albuquerque. Over the next weeks, all but three families had gone north. Today, the last three were leaving.

  “There ain’t no point in arguin’ about it, Abe, we’re not stayin’ here,” Ira Spotswood said. “Livin’ here is worse than our slave quarters in Georgia.

  Abe’s frustration was showing. “I’m only asking you to stick with me until spring when we can start planting, Ira. When the weather’s warm and we have…”

  “If we ever got anything to grow, some bandits’d come and take it,” the man argued.

  “We’ll arm ourselves against that possibility,” Abe said.

  “We’re thankful to you for all you done for us, Abe,” Ira’s wife said. “But we’re gonna go on up to Albuquerque or maybe Santa Fe. Sorry. That’s just how it is. Why don’t you come with us?”

  Abe shook his head. “No. I’m staying. Is anybody staying with me?”

  “I will,” a woman said from the back.

  “Anyone else?” Abe asked hopefully. “Come up front.”

  No one came forward.

  “All right then,” Abe said sadly. “I wish you all God’s speed.”

  The men, women and children quietly shuffled out around the woman that had offered to stay.

  He sat down on an empty crate and put his head in his hands.

  “I’m sorry,” the remaining woman said. “I know how that must hurt after all you’ve done.”

  “You might as well go too,” he said without l
ooking at her.

  “Why?”

  “You can’t stay here alone with me.”

  “If I’m with you, I won’t be alone.”

  He looked up at her and his face registered surprise. “Hey. Who’re you?”

  “My name is Farah Segura.”

  “You didn’t come from New Jersey with us.”

  “No. I was already here when you came.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I worked for Marina Van Buskirk, but the day that the Confederates blew up the hacienda and killed Marina and Clementine was my day off.”

  “And you’ve stayed here alone since then?”

  “I haven’t always been alone.”

  He got up and walked toward her. “Where have you been living?”

  “My husband, my three sons and I lived in the village until Mexican bandits came and killed him and my sons. After that, I moved around until you came. Since then I’ve been here.”

  “Here? With us?” He shook his head. “I never saw you before today.”

  “I’ve tried to be inconspicuous.”

  “Inconspicuous? If you’ve really been here, you’ve been invisible.”

  “I’m glad you decided to stay.”

  “I’m not sure why I did. Just stubbornness, I suppose. I don’t have any idea of how to get this place back on its feet. My farming experience is limited to a small vegetable garden.”

  “But you know horses.”

  “Yes, but they’ve all been stolen, along with the cattle.”

  “There’s a big herd of wild horses up there.” She pointed toward the mountains.

  “Spanish mustangs. Their only value is for making glue.”

  “This herd is mostly très sangres.”

  “I don’t know what that means.”

  “Three bloods. In their purest form, they’re called Hispano. That’s a cross between Arabian, Andalusian and English Thoroughbreds. This local herd has more Arabian.”

  “Your English is very good.”

  She gave him an odd look. “Why wouldn’t it be? My mother was English.”

  He chuckled. “I wouldn’t have guessed that.”

  “What would you have guessed?”

  “Your accent is Spanish, but your skin is nearly as dark as mine so I’d have guessed that you were from some Caribbean island or South America.”

  “My father was Egyptian, my mother was English and I was born in Spain.”

  He smiled. “That would explain everything. How did you end up here, of all places?”

  “It’s a long story and not very interesting.”

  “I’d like to hear it. Do you have a short version?”

  She smiled. “A short version?”

  “Please.”

  “A short version of my life. All right. Let’s see. My father was a fourth-generation trainer of Spanish warhorses in Barcelona. At the invitation of President Antonio López de Santa Anna, my father brought my mother, my sister, my two brothers and me to Mexico in 1836. He was killed at the Battle of San Jacinto soon after we arrived. My mother and my sister died from a fever a short time later. I don’t know where my brothers went. I was not quite eleven years old. I lived on the streets of Mexico City until I got interesting to men. After the war, I came here with a young Mexican soldier who later married me. We had six children. Three of them lived until the bandits killed them. How’s that for a short version?”

  “It was so interesting that I’d like to hear the long version some time,” he said with a grin.

  “Some time I might tell it to you. If you’ll let me help you build this into a horse ranch.”

  “A horse ranch?”

  She nodded. “The armies, both North and South, are clamoring for good horses.”

  He shrugged. “Why not? I don’t seem to have anything else to do.”

  January 2, 1863

  The Yazoo River, Mississippi

  Quincy was standing at the rail of Red Rover, watching the traffic shuttling between the newly arrived vessels and those under the command of Sherman and Porter. The infection that had weakened him was under control and he was eager to get back to duty, but the doctor’s orders had specified a week and Sherman was insisting that Quincy follow them. “What’s going on over there?” he called to a sailor in a supply boat that was coming alongside.

  “General McClernand’s come to take command, sir,” the sailor answered.

  “Command of what?” Quincy asked.

  “Of all of us, I guess, sir. They don’t tell me anything, but the scuttlebutt is that the old man – I mean Admiral Porter – is havin’ a cow over it.”

  “Thank you.” Quincy looked toward Porter’s flagship but if General McClernand was aboard, he was not in sight. Quincy decided that it was time to return to duty, doctor’s orders or not.

  ~

  In May of 1861, Congressman John Alexander McClernand of Illinois resigned from his seat in the House of Representatives to accept a commission as brigadier general. His commission was requested from and granted by President Abraham Lincoln, who needed McClernand’s political connections with the Democratic Party in Southern Illinois. McClernand had been Ulysses S. Grant’s second in command at the Battle of Belmont and was the commander of Grant’s 1st Division at the Battle of Fort Donelson. Before the Battle of Shiloh, McClernand was promoted to Major General by Lincoln.

  Always the consummate politician in uniform, McClernand used his contact with Lincoln and the cabinet to lobby for an appointment to replace George McClellan in the East or Grant in the West. In October of 1862, using his political influence with Illinois Governor Richard Yates, McClernand obtained a leave of absence to visit Washington. After meeting with President Lincoln and Secretary of War Edwin M. Stanton, McClernand received orders to mount an expedition against Vicksburg. Now he had returned to take command of all existing forces.

  ~

  Sherman was on shore, pacing the muddy riverbank. “You’re on sick leave,” he growled.

  “If you don’t need me, General, I’ll gladly go back to Red Rover,” Quincy said, pointing out into the river.

  “I guess you’ve heard about McClernand,” Sherman said, ignoring Quincy’s comment.

  “Yes, sir.” Quincy nodded. “But I don’t understand.”

  “It’s simple: McClernand outranks me and he’s assumed command of all the troops I have with me.”

  “Can he do that? I mean, some of them are General Grant’s troops.”

  “He has orders from Secretary Stanton, countersigned by Halleck, to attack Vicksburg, so there’s no choice but to obey.”

  “But what about General Grant?”

  “He’s apparently withdrawn from Vicksburg, but we’ve got no communications with him.”

  “We need to stall for time until we’ve reestablished contact with General Grant, sir.”

  “What would you suggest?”

  “We’ll convince General McClernand to attack Fort Hindman.”

  “He’ll never go for it.”

  “I think he will, sir. If we paint it as an easy victory that can gain General McClernand a lot of press attention.”

  “He’ll want a battle plan and I’ve never even seen the fort.”

  “I think I know enough to fake one.”

  “Fake one?”

  Quincy shrugged. “It’s a four sided fort on a bluff overlooking the Arkansas River with some high ground to the north. The commander’s Thomas J. Churchill. He’s got about five thousand men, most of them are dismounted Texas cavalry.”

  “How do you know all that?”

  “It was in the Memphis newspaper. When the Confederates captured the Union steamer Blue Wing, she and the two coal barges she was towing were all taken to Fort Hindman. The papers made a big fuss and covered it extensively.”

  Sherman grinned. “Getting back some of those lost munitions and provisions might make the commanding general into something of a hero.”

  “It might at that, sir.”

&n
bsp; “So what’s our fake battle plan?”

  “A small force will take the high ground to defend against anything coming from the North. The balance of the troops will stage as near the fort as possible. Then after a concentrated bombardment, attack in mass.”

  “It could cost a lot of men.”

  “Not as many as it’ll cost if General McClernand launches an attack on the bluffs of Vicksburg. We know from bitter experience how costly that can be.”

  “You’ve sold me.” He took out a notepad and pencil. “Did the newspaper mention how high the bluff is?”

  “Yes, sir. It’s said to be about twenty-five feet above the river.”

  “How wide do you think the Arkansas is at that point?”

  “Wide enough for Admiral Porter’s gunboats to conduct an enfilade bombardment, if that’s what you want to know.”

  “The high ground is north of the fort?”

  “Yes, sir. The fort’s on the north side of the river. The bluff is part of a higher formation. Not quite a mountain but bigger than a hill.”

  “Five thousand troops, you said?”

  “Yes, sir. And I wouldn’t expect their morale to be high. They’re at the end of a long supply line and, as I said, dismounted Texas cavalry who would rather be anywhere else.”

  “What do you know about Churchill?”

  “Not a thing.”

  Sherman reviewed his notes. “If he asks me how I obtained this information, what do I tell him?”

  “An escaped prisoner told us.”

  “How did we happen upon a prisoner from Fort Hindman?”

  “He sought us out at Chickasaw Bayou.”

  “And where is he now?”

  “Dead. He was in bad shape when he reached us.”

  “That’s good,” Sherman said after making a few additional notes and rereading them. “That’s very good. You’re as devious as your mother.”

  Quincy laughed. “Not by half. But I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  January 17, 1863