“You’re right about that, Charley. Thanks for the advice. Now here’s some advice from me . . . “
Charley held up a hand and said, “Ya don’t need ta tell me, partner, I know what yer gonna say: keep my nose clean and get my sergeant’s stripes back. Better myself, things along those lines. Right?”
“No. Actually I was going to advise you to keep it up! Stay as a wagon driving private and go home when this stupid war is over.”
Charley’s eyes widened as he said, “Dang! Like I said, you just ain’t like them other officers. But, if you think like me, why is it that you are going to the front?”
Dave grinned, “Don’t put those thoughts in my head, Charley. I just got rid of them. I have to go to the front. Let’s just say that something is drawing me there. Just once and then I go home. What about you? Any family back home?”
“Yep! My wife an’ me got two girls and after the war I need ta find work close ta home. Problem is there ain’t no work. That’s why I joined up. I’m tryin’ ta save up some money but it ain’t easy.” He fluffed up the straw a bit then said, “Well, good luck ta both of us partner and goodnight.”
Good night? Dave thought as he lay in the dark wagon. That name has been bothering me ever since I met Charley Goodnight and now I have it.
The next morning he took a pencil and a piece of paper from his grip and over coffee and bacon started to sketch. “Hey, Charley, come here and let me show you something.”
Charley squatted by Dave who showed him the drawing. “Know what this is?”
The private shrugged and said, “Kinda looks like a covered wagon. But, what’s all that stuff on the rear?”
“This, my friend, is a food wagon.”
“A food wagon? What the heck is that?”
“It’s just a typical covered wagon that has storage sections at the rear. The storage has small drawers that hold spices and stuff, such as salt and pepper, dried chili peppers and garlic, beans, dry rub and the likes. The larger drawers hold coffee beans, flour, sugar and such. The barrel tied to the wagon’s side carries water.” He pointed to a fold down table that was attached to the rear of the wagon and went on. “This is a cutting and fixing table to prepare food on. Hanging on a swing-out door are frying pans, pots and at least one coffee pot.”
“Looks interestin’, but where do ya find one?”
“That’s the beauty, Charley, there are none.”
Charley squinted and said, “I don’t understand. Just what is it for? I mean a person don’t need all of those drawers and such. All they need is a sack or two of vittles to make a meal.”
“But,” said Dave, “what if there was a cattle drive. Wouldn’t it be great to have one of these food wagons to ride along and set up meals for the cowboys?”
Charley shrugged, “Mmm. That is a good idea. Are ya gonna make one?”
“Nope! You are. I suggest that right after you leave the army you build one and drive it to the next town that’s putting a cattle drive together.”
“And then what?”
“And then you pitch the idea to the man in charge. You tell him that with you going along, his men would be fed and happy. He need not fear that one or more would leave camp to shoot game instead of getting a full nights sleep. This way the cowboys don’t need to carry food along or cook when they make camp.”
Charley nodded, “That is a good idea. And I can tell him that the company pays for the food and then something for me as the cook.” He nodded again, “This really is a good idea. A money-making cooking wagon.”
Dave added, “I believe that I have a good name for it: a chuck wagon.”
“A chuck wagon? That sounds crazy.”
Davis shook his head and went on, “Not so crazy at all. Chuck is a nickname for Charley and as the man who built it, if he calls it a chuck wagon, everyone else will.”
“B-But it’s your idea. I just can’t take it like that. How come you don’t build one?”
“Hey, I’m no cook and I can’t drive a rig like you can. Besides you have a family to take care of. I have no family or relatives plus the army takes care of me.”
“Then put it there, partner.” he said as he offered his hand, “I might even build two an’ have a son to get out on the road as well.” The two men shook hands.
The next day was much the same except now there were fresh graves along the side of the road besides burned out wagons, broken weapons and dead horses. It was six p.m. when they reached Marietta.
“This here is the end of the line, my friend,” said Charley as they shook hands. “Anything ya need to know ya can find out in that tent. Sure do hope we meet again.”
“Same here, Charley. Hope you have a great life.”
Dave entered the tent pointed out by Charley. There were four desks with a private behind three of them. Every few seconds a runner entered with a message and one of the troopers handed it to a lieutenant sitting at the fourth desk. Dave knew that because they were in the field there was no saluting.
“Lieutenant,” he said as he placed his grip on the flattened grass next to his desk, “Can you tell me where I might find Captain Merrill?”
The slim dark haired man stood and said, “Yes, sir. Might I ask why? The captain is a very busy man.”
“I came down from Washington with a letter from Secretary Stanton. I’ve been asked to show it to him personally.”
The young officer stood quiet for a moment then said, “Of course, captain. Allow me to guide you to his tent.” He turned to one of the troopers and said, “Kinsley, I’ll be out for ten minutes. Please hold any runners until I return.” He smiled as he put on his campaign hat and said as he pulled open the tent’s flap, “This way, sir.”
The two men walked past twelve tents until they arrived at another large tent. The lieutenant knocked on the wooden support and said, “Lieutenant Andrews with a visitor, sir.”
“Enter,” said a deep voice from within.
The lieutenant held back the flap for Dave to enter. Sitting behind a desk and smoking a pipe was a slim, dark haired captain with a typical of the era mustache and pointed goatee. His dark brown eyes swept over Dave and he said, “Lieutenant Andrews you may leave us alone.” He stood and said, “Good day, captain. What can I do for you?”
“I bring you this letter, captain.” He passed the letter with the Secretary’s signature to Merrill, who opened it. He sat back down in his old squeaky chair and read it. He finished and looked Dave over before folding it and putting it on a stack of papers. Merrill clasped his hands on his desk as he studied Dave.
“The secretary thinks that you can be of assistance to my group. Why? Tell me why I should bring you into my group, Captain McKinnon?”
Dave stood dumbfounded. This is not the way it’s supposed to go, he thought. I believed that the secretary’s signature would be enough to win Merrill over.
Merrill inhaled deeply on his pipe and asked, “Well, captain? Are you going to sell yourself or what?”
Dave slowly opened his grip and after moving things around took out the manila envelope Bill had given him and passed it to Merrill.
“What’s this?” asked Merrill plainly becoming agitated with the situation.
“It’s-it’s a map. I mean there are a group of maps that I wish to show you, captain.”
“Look around, captain,” said Merrill with a sweep of his hand as he alluded to the many maps pinned to the canvas sides of the tent. “What makes the secretary and you think that I need another map maker?”
“Captain,” said Dave timidly, “before I joined the army, I lived down in this region and became familiar with the area you are entering. I’ve always believed that just making a map of the land was missing the point of being a topographer.”
Merrill took another deep pull of his pipe and opened the folder. He took out the fifteen maps. Choosing one he used a magnifying glass to study it. After a moment he put it down, looked at Dave, then picked up another and studied that one. He took a
nother from the middle of the stack and looked it over as he said in a low voice, “These, these are winners.” His voice rose, “Why they’re not just the physical topography of the region, but its materials and human conditions, the number of men up to the age of forty-five. Best farmland and creeks along with old trails. Best places to forage and live off the land.” He stood and shook his head. “When did you do these, captain?”
“I finished them just a few weeks before the war started. I figured, a map might tell all about how to get around but if you put where’s the best place to plant corn and potatoes and other crops that would be where you would find people. The same with water, lakes and creeks. All places where people would live. Everything that an opposing army would like to know as they enter the region.”
Merrill offered his hand as he said, “Secretary Stanton has a good eye for talent. I can use a man of your talents, captain.” Sit and relax, I’m just going to take a quick run over to the general and give him a quick look at your maps. Then I’m coming back and gather my guys to make copies of them for the troops. Be right back.”
Dave sat on the wooden chair. I’m in! I’m in! I can’t believe it. All I have to do now is scout out that hill where General Sherman goes to direct the battle and have it searched for enemy troops. Dave felt as though a weight was lifted off of his shoulders. It all seems so easy. I believe that it’s a combination of being a re-enactor and a member of the 1800 Club. He looked around as he continued his train of thought. Dave McKinnon, you lucky son-of-a-gun. You are back in time! Not only that but as a captain in the Union army.
Twenty minutes later the tent flap opened and Captain Merrill returned and took his seat. “We might as well be on a first name basis, I’m Bill.”
“And I’m Dave.”
“Dave, the general loves the idea of seeing more than just where hills and roads are. He believes that if used correctly the maps you are providing him with could give him a view of where to fight and where to avoid battle. It’s no secret that our next battle is the taking of Atlanta. After that we continue our march to the sea.” He looked at the maps once again and asked, “Tell me, Dave. How would I best use your talents? Allow you to travel the field with some of my men?”
“First, Bill, let me show you this,” Dave answered as he took a large book out of his grip and placed it on Bill’s desk. “It’s the 1860 census of the coastal regions of the south. What it covers is the areas that people have settled because of good farmland and water availability. I see myself taking the maps that your men bring in and using the information from the 1860 census book, adding the best areas to avoid, to forage in, to find water in and little known trails to use. The information gathered in 1860 is in that book and I can even find out how many fighting men are in that area.”
“Done! There is a desk in the tent next to this where you can work and a cot to sleep on.” He smiled and said, “Once again, welcome. Now come and eat with the group as we bed down early and arise early to map out the next area of march. Follow me.”
The two officers left the tent and walked to a stand of trees where a group of tents were pitched. Nine men squatted before a fire in front of the tents and started to rise as they approached them.
“Stay at ease, gentlemen,” said Captain Merrill as he entered the group. “I want to introduce you to the newest member of the group, Captain McKinnon.” As all nodded, Bill went on, “The captain brings us a different way of gathering information to put into the maps we produce for the general.” He turned to Dave and said as he pointed at the pig roasting on a fire. “One of the perks is to find the food before the forage teams are sent out. Shall we join them for dinner?”
The group ate roast pork and each enjoyed a tin cup of wine that someone ‘found’. The group all went to their cots by eight p.m.
After tying the tent flap closed, Dave took out the hairbrush communicator and after entering his password: SAMSON, typed: JULY 15, 1864 HELLO BILL, FROM THE TOPOGRAPHIC GROUP’S TENT. ALL IS WELL AS I AM NOW OFFICIALLY WITH CAPTAIN BILL MERRILL’S GROUP. I START TOMORROW AND INTEND TO WAIT FOR THE MAP THAT THE GENERAL WILL USE AS THE ATTACK ON ATLANTA STARTS. CONTACT YOU SHORTLY, DAVE.
Dave pressed the ‘send’ button and was asleep the moment he put the communicator back in his grip.
It was four o’clock in the morning when Bill rapped on Dave’s tent pole. “Good morning, Dave,” he whispered loudly.”
“Good morning to you, Bill.”
“Meet me at the group of tents when you’re ready.”
“Will do.”
Dave knew that most of the troops wore a beard and mustache and this morning he found out why: It was chilly, the water was cold and using a straight razor was an art that he didn’t have as when he played re-enactor, he used a safety razor. He walked away with a face full of stubble.
Twenty-five minutes later he was eating bacon, brown bread and black coffee with the group as the rest of the camp slept. The company bugler blew reveille and Bill’s men departed for the field as the rest of the troops got up.
“That was good,” said Dave as the two officers went back to the big tent. Once inside, Bill handed him a stack of maps, “Dave, these were done yesterday by my guys. Want to see if you can enhance them using the census book before I give them to the general?”
“I’ll give it a go, Bill,” he answered as he took the maps.
Alone in his tent, the time traveler sat at the drawing desk and sipped a cup of coffee as he thought, This is like cheating. But, the maps that Captain Merrill’s group produced were war winners and even if I were not here, history tells us that they helped win the war. It’s like what came first: the chicken or the egg?
Dave found it easy to add information to the maps as the census book had everything he needed. It was noon when he turned them in to Bill and the captain was thrilled. “The general is going to love these,” he said as he left the tent.
Sitting alone Dave thought, I didn’t see the map of the area that the general gets captured in. Then it suddenly hit him, Wait a minute! If history hiccups as Bill from the 1800 Club says it does, maybe the map group never creates a map of it. And, he thought excitedly, how would I warn him not to go to a place that he never knew existed, but will eventually find and use as a spotters position? He held his head, Oh man this is terrible. I don’t know what to do. How do I say don’t use the hill that won you the battle of Atlanta? He stood and paced the tent. Suddenly he stopped short and thought, Wait a minute, Dave, use your head! If the maps are brought to me every day, I just have to watch for the one that includes the hill that the general gets captured on. Today is July 16 and the general gets captured on July 22. That means that I have about five days to get it and warn them that the enemy would recognize that hill as a high spot that must be held. And, he thought with a smile, I also get to fulfill a lifetime’s dream of being back in the Civil War.
The tent flap opened and Bill stepped in. “Dave, the general loves them. He is briefing his field commanders on the new information that you added and I believe that the maps have made him decide to attack sooner than he originally planned. Anyway I told him that my plan was to take the daily maps and give them to you the next day so you can add the pertinent information to them. Then I’ll give them to him. Makes sense, doesn’t it?”
“Sounds good to me, too, Bill.”
Dave was in his glory as he worked on the maps that came in from the field. In between he walked around the camp making mental notes of things that the re-enactors did wrong. He even took part in a five-mile march to stay in shape and helped move some of the big cannons around.
Back at his drawing board he used the census book to add information to the maps that were then given to the general to look over. He was getting anxious as the days went by and the map he needed didn’t show up.
It was on July 20 that he knew that he had to go out himself. He went to see Bill and asked, “Bill, would you mind if I went out on a mission?”
Bill shrugged,
“But, why? I mean, I think that we are better served with you being right here. And to tell the truth it’s quite dangerous out there.”
“It’s just that I’ve never gone on a mission and I sort of feel the need to do an original map of my own.”
Bill shook his head, “I understand, but do you think the general will? Not for one second.” He fiddled with a magnifying glass before saying, “Look. One mission only. Okay? And don’t get yourself killed or the general will have me hung for such poor judgment.”
“Thank you, Bill. Believe me I will be extremely careful.”
“Do you have a section picked out?”
“Actually, yes. I know that when we attack Atlanta the general will seek a high spot to range his cannon in on the enemy. If my recollections are correct, I know where that spot is and want to give it a complete checkout.”
“Why don’t I send one of the troops out with you?”
“Bill, you know as well as I that one man has a better chance of not being spotted.”
Bill nodded again, “Yes, you’re right about that. When will you go out?”
“Best time is right now. I know the spot is fifteen miles away and I’ll need a horse.”
“No problem. There’s a corral about forty tents that way,” he said as he pointed. “Give the trooper this,” he wrote a quick note and signed it.
“Thanks, Bill. I hope to be back in about five hours.”
“The password is Vigilance,” said Bill. If it’s dark when you get back, walk the horse in and make sure the horse is between you and the sentry. They get trigger-happy after dark.” He slapped Dave on the back, “Good luck, my friend.”
Twenty-minutes later Dave rode out of camp on the darkest colored horse he could find and headed south. He knew exactly where he was heading as he had studied the old maps that Bill Scott had downloaded from the Internet over and over again. After nine miles he dismounted and tied the horse to a tree in the shadows and proceeded on foot. No sense in alerting any reb scouts by driving an eight or nine hundred pound horse through the woods, he thought as he stepped over the root of an old tree.
TimeTravel Adventures of The 1800 Club: Book 12 Page 24