The Shiloh Series: Books 1-3

by Phillip Bryant

  “You must have gone through your food quick,” the man continued.

  “Woke up an’ found food and horse missing.”

  “Don’t know too many gypsies hereabouts,” the man with the large ears snorted. “Don’t know too many horse thieves neither.”

  “If you callin’ into question my honor, well, there aint any way for you to prove or disprove it,” Will snapped.

  “You a Reb, so of course I call into question your honor—the honor of every damned one of you,” said Big Ears.

  Will’s face turned red, but he knew there was little to gain by confronting the lout. He just wanted his food and to be done with this table of Yankees.

  “Now, George, leave the man be. If he says he was robbed, who are we to know otherwise?”

  George huffed into his mustache, blowing through whiskers that dangled tantalizingly below his lower lip, which he wiped after each bite to remove the bits of food clinging to each whisker.

  “If you gentlemen excuse me, I has to get my Rebel self back home afore I run into more o’ you who might question my status.” Will rose, bowed slightly to his hostess, and tucked the food parcel his hostess had bundled for him in a square of cloth underneath his arm. Tipping his hat to the officers at the table, he quickly exited the house and retreated back into the forest. The food sat in his belly like a rock. Months had gone by since he’d had anything as delicious as what the woman and her daughter had made. The parcel contained bread and some cured meat, though not enough for four men for very long. It would have to do.

  Making his way back, he paused. He had enough with him for several days if he rationed it to himself, but much less than that if he split it four ways. He had got what he wanted—out. These others were just an encumbrance, especially Pritchert. He could just keep walking along and passing the story that he was a parolee who had lost his horse. Hopewell had the right idea, go it alone. He wondered if Kearns and Hopewell were still together or if they’d split. A moment’s more pause, and he continued on. He found himself turning back toward the forest.

  Will found the others safely bedded down and hard to locate until he stumbled over Peter. They could eat for a day with what he had with him. The bread and meat were chewed in silence, and then each man got back into camouflage.

  “Can we go an’ get more?” Peter asked.

  “No, they think I was just a poor vagabond and alone. I’m supposed to be headed down the road. We can’t go back,” Will replied.

  “Oh,” came Peter’s distressed reply.

  “This won’t last us long,” Stephen stated.

  “We’ll have to make it last as long as possible,” Will said, trying to keep his voice steady. “We can’t all get invited to breakfast next time. We’ll just see how far we can get before we need to get more.”

  “We’ll have food for a few days, then we’ll be in Kentucky,” Fredrick added.

  “Take more’n a few days to reach Kentucky, but we’ll have to manage an’ scrounge more along the way. We find friendlier folk in Kentucky,” Will replied.

  Soon the conversation was replaced with snores and grunts, and the cool of the morning gave way to the heat of noontime. Out on the road, regular traffic moved up and down, the commerce traffic from Columbus to points southwest near Dayton. Wagons, buggies, horses, cavalry and army officers, and civilians on foot; all went about their business unaware of the hiding escapees. A cavalry patrol made several rides up and down the road to Dayton, checking alongside the roadways and interviewing residents.

  ****

  Sitting on the woman’s porch and smoking cigars were the three Federal officers Will had been unfortunate enough to run into at breakfast. Each was packing his kit and preparing to head on his way. Captain George Pickering, the short, stubby man, now in uniform and brushing down his coat, was, between puffs on the cigar, ranting about the state of the war and the War Department. The other two, Major Simon Sheffield and Captain Philip Pearson, were sitting and watching him in amusement.

  “What regiment you reporting to?” George Pickering asked Philip.

  “Twenty-first Ohio. They’re at Nashville with Sherman.”

  “Chaplain, eh?” George said and spat, a guilty look crossing his face as he realized what he’d done.

  “Yes, commission in hand,” Philip replied.

  “Why’d you buy a carbine?” Sheffield asked, eyeing the butt end of the Spencer carbine jutting out from the saddle holster on the man’s horse.

  “I may be a chaplain, but I’m not going to be caught unawares on the way,” Philip replied. “Tennessee is crawling with guerillas.”

  The attention of the men was drawn to the front gate as a cavalryman dismounted and strode to the porch.

  “Sir, pardon the intrusion, but may I approach the house and speak with the occupants?” the corporal of cavalry asked and saluted.

  “Speak, Corporal; we are just getting ready to leave ourselves. What is the reason for the visit?” Philip asked after an awkward pause as each man looked to the other before he took the lead.

  “Escape, sir. Several men escaped from Camp Chase a few days ago,” the corporal replied.

  “Damn that Reb we had here!” George said. “Sorry, Rev.”

  “Sir?”

  “There was a Rebel lieutenant here this morning; said he was on his way home after being exchanged but had lost his horse and food. Damn! Something sounded fishy about his story! Sorry, Rev.”

  “Yes, sir. Were there others?” the corporal asked.

  “No, just him. How many escaped?” George asked. He was the oldest of the group, and his ears jutted out from behind his scraggly hair like flaps.

  “Six, sir.”

  “We fed one of them perhaps this morning, a few hours ago,” Philip stated. “Said he was headed back home to Alabama. I suppose you should catch up to him before Dayton. He’s on foot.”

  “You didn’t check his release?” the corporal asked.

  “You questioning your superior, Corporal?” George snapped.

  “Steady, George. No, we didn’t check his release, but he’d have claimed it was stolen with the horse. We took him at his word,” Philip soothed.

  “You see any more birdies just walking around claiming to have been paroled or exchanged, check their release.” The corporal bristled and strode back down the porch and into the yard, softly swearing to himself.

  “What is your command?” Philip called after him.

  “Seventh Ohio. Corporal Hardin, sir,” the corporal said, turning and belatedly remember his manners.

  “Well, Corporal, just keep your mind about you in the company of officers,” George scolded. “And salute when one addresses you.”

  “Sir!” Hardin saluted but glared at George and turned on his heels.

  The three men looked at each other blankly, each knowing he’d been a fool for not questioning the Rebel’s story.

  “Well, if he’s smart, he won’t be on the road. If he was telling the truth we should catch up to him,” George sniffed.

  “We won’t know until we catch up to him. Are we ready?” Philip asked. He stood, snuffing out his cigar. “These really are awful, George. I’ll stick to my pipe.”

  “You just ain’t used to a good cigar.”

  “Neither is you,” Sheffield said.

  “Yeah, I’m ready to get on with this,” George replied. “Sooner I get to Cincinnati, the sooner I can enjoy several days on the water and out of this saddle.” He untied his mount from the porch, leading the beast down the short path and through the wooden gate to the road.

  “I’ll give our hostess our compliments for the bed and food,” Philip said and turned to the door.

  ****

  Jackson Kearns watched as the corporal of cavalry stomped down the path and remounted, leading several other troopers along with him. He’d been watching the cavalry ride up and down the roadway all morning. Hopewell was asleep in the woods some distance back. He and Hopewell had stolen what food they coul
d lay their hands on, but it was not enough for more than a belly full at a time. He was tired and feeling weak in the knees. The people moving about freely were an opportunity to bring all of this to an end. He’d given it his best shot, but freedom wasn’t worth dying of starvation or being shot at by some edgy trooper or itchy civilian.

  Creeping along from tree to tree, Jackson followed the course of the troopers as they slowly moved along the roadway. His shoulder hurt all the time now. If he was lucky it was just a dull ache, but now it was a searing pain and was driving him to distraction. He would just make contact and see what he could work out.

  “Captain, you thinkin’ what I think you thinkin’?” Lewis asked and slapped a hand hard on Kearns’s shoulder from behind.

  Jackson fell to his knees, the shooting pain causing his vision to blur and his legs to give out. His right arm became numb. Then the nausea hit.

  “Captain, you wasn’t gonna turn yourself in, was you? That wouldn’t have been such a good thing fer either of us.”

  Jackson, trembling and blinded by pain, could only utter a few squeaks and grunts. His mouth tasted funny, and he was going to throw up.

  “C’mon, Captain, let’s get you back to the woods where I can keep an eye on ya,” Lewis said and heaved Jackson up onto his feet. “That’s it, sir, let’s get you back.” Lewis supported Jackson over his shoulder and dragged the man along. Jackson went limply along, unable to resist. “I gots somethin’ I want you to do fer me, Captain.”

  ****

  Darkness was becoming evident as the four fugitives roused themselves from their cover.

  “Can we eat?” Peter asked as he rubbed his eyes.

  “No, we need to save the food,” Will said. “I think they’re wise to us now.”

  “Huh?” Stephen said. “What changed?”

  “Cavalry activity on the road all day today; up and down.”

  “What’re we going to do?” Fredrick asked.

  “Keep going, stay off the road.”

  The going was slower now as they pushed their way through trees and bushes, and it grew even slower in the gathering darkness. Dayton was another matter. The city was not easy to sneak through, and they could not avoid the roads. The city was dark, with gas lamps still illuminating only the main thoroughfares, and the houses were silent, but footfalls echoed painfully along cobblestone byways. They ducked in and out of the shadows for hours. Exhausted, they stumbled out of the city limits and ran into the trees. It was early in the morning, and Dayton was asleep save for the dogs who barked at each other and at any movement nearby. Collapsing, they divided the food and consumed it eagerly. They had found nothing to add to their sparse provender as they darted to and fro in the city. By map, they had not made it very far.

  Peter, too exhausted to whine about his portion, ate silently, chewing like a cow grinding its cud. They all looked rather bovine in expression as they ate just enough to make them hungry instead of starving.

  “We ain’t gonna make it, are we?” Stephen said and swallowed.

  “We done good so far,” Fredrick replied.

  “We can go longer on less food, and water seems to be plentiful. As far as being gobbled up by some roving cavalry patrol, that’s more likely,” Will said. “We stick to the trees. Cavalry can’t move in trees like this, and they’ve been sticking to the roads mainly. We just keep going.”

  Another nightfall, and the four men, stomachs rumbling, stumbled through the darkness, following the road as close as possible and keeping to the trees. They struggled over fences, through creeks, over fallen tree trunks, and through brush until they were panting and sweating in the musty night. Will was tired, as were all, and they found the need to rest coming more frequently. They were making less and less time before daybreak. Tempers were fraying. Walking through the woods alongside the Germantown Pike, the group settled into a death march cadence of step, stumble, step, shuffle through dried leaves and twigs, and trip over a stump or exposed root. Signs pointed to Germantown being the next town they’d encounter.

  Peter was grating on all their nerves, especially Will’s—he hadn’t known the boy as long. Will was in a black mood this night, and Peter was in an annoying one. His calls to stop for rest and to eat more food were becoming continuous. Stephen and Fredrick tried to keep him quiet, but the more they tried, the more insistent he became.

  “Can we stop, please? I need to rest,” Peter moaned as the group shuffled along.

  “No, not yet, and quit asking,” Will growled.

  “I want to stop,” Peter persisted.

  “You can stop at daylight,” Will snapped.

  “I want to stop now!” With that, Peter collapsed to the ground and whimpered.

  Hearing the crackle of leaves and limbs as Peter’s body hit the ground, Will turned fiercely on Peter, grabbing him by his tunic coat and hauling him to his feet. “Listen, boy, we will leave you here to rot!”

  Peter, jabbering incoherently and shuddering all over, whimpered and shook.

  “Leave him alone; he’s just a boy.” Fredrick interposed an arm between Will and Peter.

  “This boy needs to become a man or die. If he don’t stop his whimpering like a little babe, he’s going to stay here. I won’t go another inch with him until he decides to grow up,” Will said.

  Stephen stood and stared at the ground. Peter had been a constant companion in the camp from the day he and a gang of other prisoners arrived. Few had wanted anything to do with him, so it wasn’t hard for him to latch on to anyone who would allow it. Even Lewis had tolerated his constant bumbling, and Stephen had grown fond of the lad. But there was nothing to do but sit and play games in the camp. Now that they were outside the walls, Peter was becoming a nuisance.

  “Pete, you can keep going,” Stephen said to the boy. Peter had surrendered when New Madrid was captured by Union forces not too soon after the battle of Shiloh. He’d been a powder monkey for a battery of heavy fortress artillery, and when the siege of New Madrid, or Island No. 10, was over on April 8, the Mississippi was open all the way to Vicksburg. Peter had seen little of the hard service that infantry, field artillery, or cavalry had experienced to date. He’d been used to servicing an 8 inch Columbiad cannon in a casemate carriage. His primary responsibility to help move the heavy gun for loading and swiveling it from side to side on its rails. He was used to sleeping in a bed and regular meals. Stephen and the others had seen hard marching, rain, privation, cold, and battle. Though the siege was long and the cannonade fierce, Peter had experienced little of war. The fortress had been reduced by river gunboats firing huge mortar rounds into the parapets. Though death was a daily problem, Peter had spent most of the siege hiding in the bomb proofs. From garrison to prison, Peter’s war had meant little of want and hardship.

  Will, still ready to throttle Peter, kept his grip on his tunic and brought the boy’s face close to his own. He wanted to beat some sense of discipline into him. He wanted to be rid of his constant complaining. In that moment, he wanted to be rid of them all. The ghost of his father reared up in him. “If you keep crying like a little child, I will cut that crying tongue of yours out!”

  “Stephen, Fredrick, don’t let him hurt me!” Peter cried.

  “Sir, let him go,” Stephen said.

  “Lieutenant, you can’t do this.” Fredrick grabbed Will’s arm. “Sir, you need to let him go. You don’t want to be court-martialed for injuring an enlisted man.”

  “I wouldn’t really have done it,” Will mumbled and loosed his grip on Peter. He felt his own self-control waning with fatigue, stress, and hunger. He’d never have made such a threat to one of his own troopers, let alone grabbed one. There was behavior befitting an officer; not even enlisted men were to behave in such manner to one another. Embarrassed, Will let Peter go and stomped off.

  The rest of the fatiguing march through the trees was in silence. The screech of a startled owl and the heavy, clumsy tread of shoes on uneven ground was their only company. After a few h
ours of this, even Will needed to halt and rest. He had no idea where they were, only that the farms were becoming more frequent and that Germantown was some distance ahead by the last sign they’d seen. Water was also scarce now, and they added thirst to hunger and exhaustion.

  Will sat alone, away from the other three, who huddled together like men seeking mutual warmth in the cold. There was little to talk about, and each man sat dazed and breathing hard. The food was down to a few mouthfuls of bread, the meat having long ago been consumed. Another farmhouse was needed, another willing hostess—or a careless one who’d leave food enough for four men to last several more days just lying about, an unlikely prospect.

  “How long we goin’ to keep goin’?” Peter whispered and looked at Will, whose back was to them.

  “Till we can get to Kentucky,” Stephen replied. The woods provided cover but little else, and they were starting to thin out as their path took them across large, cultivated fields, plowed and planted but bearing little fruit to be pilfered. Crossing them was becoming dangerous as barking dogs roused sleepy farmhouse inmates. This was rural Ohio, and anyone prowling about one’s property in the early morning hours was not going to be a neighbor. Keeping parallel with the road but off of it was going to be a problem now that they had made it as far as Lebanon. Towns, villages, and farming communities were increasing in number along the roadway, and the forests that had given them shelter had been cut down to clear the land for tilling and the growth of villages into towns.

  Will leaned against a tree and closed his eyes. He was light-headed and dizzy. They were far from starving to death, but they had reached a point where they would not be able to press on without a consistent source of food. Lewis Hopewell had probably stolen a horse and might have already made it across the Ohio River by now. Will doubted he and Jackson were still together. But horses were problematic and not invisible. Horses needed an even more consistent supply of food than men did, and they had to stick to the roads. The fugitives would have been captured by now if trying to travel inconspicuously by horse. Will suspected Hopewell wasn’t having any better a time of it and was probably close by. If he had to guess, he’d assume Jackson had split off and turned himself in.