The alcohol was making him lightheaded. He had to get outside and clear his mind; get away from people; get back to his hotel room. Carefully he got to his feet, trying not to stagger, and walked outside. The streetlights illuminated the sidewalk along the avenue. Just ahead, James saw a woman standing by a light post, appearing as though she were waiting for someone. As he approached, she took a few steps toward him.
She wore a dark green overcoat open down the front, revealing a crimson colored dress with a low neckline. Her hair was long and dark; a cigarette dangled from her red painted lips. An overabundance of rouge smeared her face and the smell of cheap perfume covered her like a mist.
“Where you headin, honey?” she said without removing the cigarette from her mouth.
“My hotel,” said James. He was pretty sure of her game but hoped he was wrong, being in no mood for it.
“How about a little company this evening?”
Anticipating her ability to take a hint he said, “I’m afraid not. I happen to be a married man.”
“Is your wife in town?”
“No, she isn’t.”
“Then what’s the problem, honey?”
Something inside let loose and James responded in such a way as he never had before. “What’s the problem? You ask me what the problem is? If there is a problem, it lies with you. I told you that I was married. Maybe that means nothing to you and maybe it wouldn’t mean anything to every other married man in this city, but it does mean something to me. Furthermore, even if I were not married I would not debase myself by consorting with someone of your low moral character. Now would you please step away from me before I call a policeman, who in this city would probably do nothing more than to avail himself of your services.” With that, James walked away leaving the woman who commenced weaving a web of obscenities that would cover every vulgar way of expressing oneself. Out in the cold night air, the affects of the alcohol began to weaken it but did nothing to dilute his vexation.
When he reached Willard’s, he picked up his key at the desk and went straight up to his room. Never being one to brood, the past two days had, nevertheless, reduced him to a sullen mass of despair. He lay on the bed with a hundred conflicting thoughts doing battle inside his head. He was fast beginning to think he did not belong up north or down south. All communication with his family in Georgia was gone. By now they must think he had fallen from the face of the earth. He was married to a woman whom he adored, a loving creature who bore him a son; he had no idea when he would see her again. The walls were closing in. Suddenly, he thought of deserting. He would leave immediately for Mapletown. Once there, he would pack up his family and head to Canada. They would be safe there and could simply wait out the war. When it was over they could come back and re-establish their lives in Mapletown or Georgia or anywhere. But what would Polly think of his plan? Would she lose respect for him? Would it scar their relationship? James’s soul was in torment. How could a beginning with such good intentions end up going so badly?
Looking for a way to ease the pressure, he took out the unfinished letter. When he had completed it, he saw that he had not included a single discouraging word. It was a good letter; simply expressing his love, telling her how much he missed her and little James. Then he sealed the envelope, addressed it, and fell into a deep sleep.
NINETEEN
The Assignment
The following morning James awoke, surprised to find that most of his anxiety was gone. If only he could receive his assignment and be on his way.
After a quiet breakfast, he walked up Pennsylvania Avenue toward the White House. When he reached President’s Park he sat down on a bench with very little purpose other than to kill some time. Only a few minutes passed before his attention was taken by the sight of a solitary figure walking across the White House lawn in his direction. As the man drew near, James began to wonder if his eyes might be deceiving him. The tall, lanky gentleman dressed in a dark suit and stovepipe hat changed direction to a course that would have bypassed the bench upon which he was sitting. Then, noticing the young soldier, the man turned and walked directly toward him. From a distance of about fifty feet, James knew that there was nothing wrong with his eyesight. Jumping to his feet, he found himself in the presence of President Abraham Lincoln.
“Good morning, Lieutenant,” said the president.
“Good morning, Mr. President. It is both an honor and a pleasure to meet you, sir. I must say that I am rather surprised to see you out here alone.”
“Yes,” said Lincoln. “I hear that quite a lot. I am forever being chastised for my indifference to personal safety, especially by Mrs. Lincoln and my good friend, Ward Hill Lamon.”
“Forgive me, Mr. President, I meant no offense.”
“Not at all, Lieutenant. I believe that a president must be accessible to the people he serves. And I do not believe that any measure of security can keep a man safe if there are those who are determined to do him harm.”
“I suppose that is sad but true, Mr. President. But perhaps a complete lack of protection might encourage an attack that might otherwise not be attempted.”
“A deterrent?”
“Quite possibly, sir.”
“I shall give it some thought. I do not mean to be forward, Lieutenant, but I cannot help noticing your accent. From where do you hail?”
“I was born and raised in Georgia, sir.”
“That is very interesting. Could I be so bold as to ask why you joined the Union army?”
“I do not consider your question to be bold, sir. It is something that I hear quite a bit.”
Having accepted the fact that he would find himself being asked to repeat his story, he explained it all again for the benefit of the president. And like the others before him, Mr. Lincoln was impressed by James’s insight and equally impressed with his ardent compassion for the slaves.
“I can imagine how difficult it must have been to make such a decision. I daresay that not many would do as you have done. You say that you are waiting to be assigned?”
“Yes, sir.”
“How long have you been in Washington?”
“I arrived yesterday, sir.”
“I see. Well, in my opinion it is a serious misuse of a fine military resource, having you sit idly by. I was heading to the War Department this morning. Will you accompany me?”
“Of course, Mr. President, I would be pleased to.”
At a leisurely pace, James walked side by side with President Lincoln, indulging in pleasant conversation. He felt like someone special in the company of the man whom everyone greeted and made way for. He was very taken with the president’s warm, unpretentious personality.
Instead of going to Mr. Scott’s office, James soon found himself being introduced by the president to Mr. Edwin M. Stanton, the Secretary of War. It was like being invited to dine with royalty. “Mr. Stanton, we have a very good man here who has been waiting since yesterday for his assignment. I would like to have him taken care of right away.”
“Of course, Mr. President.” Stanton took paper and pen; wrote a few lines, folded the paper, and handed it to James. “Take this to Louis Weichmann’s office, Lieutenant. It is just up the hall on the left. You will be on your way by this afternoon.”
“Thank you, Mr. Secretary,” said James. President Lincoln held out a sinewy hand with long bony fingers. “I wish you God’s speed and good luck, Lieutenant.”
“And the very best of luck to you, Mr. President,” James replied, grasping the bony fingers.
Amazed at the results of presidential power, an hour later, James had his orders and was on his way to Willard’s to pack and check out. He had been assigned as a staff officer to 1st Brigade, 3rd Division, Cavalry Corps, Army of the Potomac, and ordered to report to the winter quarters at Falmouth, Virginia. It also pleased him to learn that he did not have to make the trip alone. A Corporal Thomas Milroy, assigned to the same unit, would be riding to Virginia with him.
Corporal M
ilroy was an affable man with a terrific sense of humor and James liked him immediately. He was tall and broad shouldered; a build that said he was no stranger to hard work. His red hair and green eyes were evidence of his Irish descent. But the corporal was about ten years older than James and somehow it didn’t feel right having Milroy call him sir; especially since James had just joined the army and his subordinate had been in since the war began. However, it did not seem to bother his jovial companion. In fact, he seemed rather impressed when James told him the story of being a Confederate conscript at the battle of Cumberland Gap.
“If you ask me, you’ve already earned those shoulder straps, Lieutenant. It’s a hell of a thing, a man getting all shot up. I haven’t seen the elephant yet myself. I’ve been stuck in the Quartermaster Corp in Washington since I joined up. And I know it sounds crazy, cause I sure don’t wanna get shot, but I got so tired of issuing supplies after almost two years that I just up and put in for a transfer. I’m good with horses so they put me in the cavalry. But I hope I don’t wish I hadn’t done it cause I sure don’t wanna get shot.”
“Well,” said James almost laughing. “I will do my best to look out for you and I give you permission to ride directly behind me when we go into battle.”
Milroy knew that James was teasing him and he mockingly replied, “I appreciate that, sir. Now I know I don’t have anything to worry about.”
“Are you married, Corporal?”
“Yes, sir. I have a wife back in Ohio and two young boys to help keep the farm going. How about you, sir?”
“I have a wife in Pennsylvania and a newborn son.”
“I heard that you come from Georgia, sir. I guess that makes this war harder on you than most.”
“I guess I’ll soon be finding out.”
“I’m sorry, sir. Sometimes my brain stops before my mouth does.”
“It’s all right, Corporal. I understand the curiosity that I arouse.”
The two rode in silence from that point until they reached Virginia. “Reb country, Lieutenant,” said Milroy.
“Yes. It will be dark soon. We’ll stop in those woods up ahead and make camp. I figure we have another forty miles to ride. I’d rather do it in the daylight.”
“I’m with you, sir.”
After a suitable site had been found, the two picketed their horses, made a small fire, and dined on salt pork, beans, and coffee. Then they smothered the fire and made themselves as comfortable as possible. The moon came up almost full, and once their eyes adjusted they could see around the campsite pretty well. There were Yankee armies in Virginia as well as other states further south but the Confederates were nowhere near being run to ground. The enemy could be anywhere; consequently, they would have to take turns sleeping and standing guard. Neither man seemed ready to turn in so they sipped the last of their coffee and talked.
“God, how I hate the cold,” said Milroy. “You would think I’d be used to it, coming from Ohio. We get some real hard winters sometimes. But I hate it just the same. What’s Georgia like?”
“Not much snow as a rule. The average temperature in the winter is about forty-five degrees. It’s mighty hot in the summer though. I’d imagine it’s a little cooler in Ohio.”
“I guess it probably is. No matter though. I don’t care how hot it gets—I can take it. I just hate the cold.”
“At least the wind isn’t blowing,” said James.
“Yeah, that is a point. Nothing makes the cold worse than a hard wind.” There was a lull in the conversation then the corporal said, “You ever shoot anybody, Lieutenant?”
“No, I never have. I have been in a few scrapes when I had to threaten someone with a gun, but I never had to shoot.”
“But you’ve been shot.”
“Yes. I was hit twice in the battle I told you about and I still have to consider myself lucky. It could have been much worse.”
“What’s it feel like . . . getting shot?”
“I guess I would say that it burns considerable.”
“Yeah, I’ll bet. They don’t call it hot lead for nothin.”
“It’s an ugly feeling and it’s scary, too,” said James. “It doesn’t take a lot of bleeding to make you think you’ve lost it all.”
“Terrible thing, men shootin each other.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” James replied. “It’s even more terrible realizing that so many men are more than willing to do it.”
“I wonder if I can,” said the corporal. “Maybe it’s one of those things that when the time comes your mind just tells you to do what you gotta do. Something like a natural defense mechanism.”
“I guess that’s what it is,” James agreed.
“Still,” said Milroy. “A God fearin man is bound to have trouble with it. My farm is near a small town and my wife and I know everyone who lives there. They are all neighbors and friends; we all get along so well. When the war broke out, all the able bodied men in the community stepped right up and joined the army. We believed that we were doing it to protect one another. That’s how much we care. To tell the truth, I’d have given anything to stay home on the farm with my wife and boys. But how could I have done that? How could I let people that I care about risk their lives while I stayed safe at home in Ohio?”
James knew that it was purely unintentional; still, Milroy had pushed a dagger into his heart. In the eyes of his Southern countrymen, he would be judged as guilty of abandonment. Even though they could not say that he hadn’t risked his life; it certainly wouldn’t have been for the right cause in their eyes. But like the corporal, James had his reasons for what he was doing. He hoped that in the eyes of God they were the right reasons. Beyond that, all he could do was to pray that the war would bring about the destruction of slavery. If it didn’t, he was sure that he would never be able to live with himself.
Milroy took the first watch and then woke James around one a.m. The early morning was very still and covered with frost. The only thing that really bothered James was his feet. The high leather cavalry boots did little to keep them warm. As quietly as possible, he stamped them up and down and forced himself to think of something else.
Before long he was pondering the question Milroy had raised about whether or not he could shoot another man. James thought it strange that he had never considered that problem himself. He just assumed that men at war would shoot at each other when they had to. Thinking about it now, however, he realized that he had no desire to do it. In the past year or so, the possibility had presented itself more than once. But would he really have shot Sheriff Wilkes that time in Dry Branch, or the brute, Virgil Trask in Greenville, South Carolina? He didn’t know. He did remember telling Sheriff Wilkes that if he had the nerve, he would take Wilkes out and shoot him.
James carried a gun now and he had carried one then. James considered: If a man carries a gun, he must think he has it within himself to use it. A man carrying a gun who is unwilling to use it is just asking to get himself killed. Maybe Milroy had it pegged; when the time comes, you do what you have to do. Surely, thought James, it was a bit late to worry about it.
At seven o’clock, the sun was up and it was time to wake his companion. They broke out some hardtack, boiled some coffee to dip it in, and then saddled their horses. James led the way through the woods out to the road. They had no sooner reached it when a shot rang out, then a second, then a handful. At about two hundred yards distance James could see four horsemen coming straight at them, firing pistols as they came. They had been spotted by a Reb patrol. “Back into the woods!” James shouted, wheeling his horse around. Milroy followed him into the trees to a spot where a couple large rocks and some decaying tree tops offered protection. Grabbing their carbines as they dismounted, each man found a vantage point from which he could fire at the charging Rebels. When the riders were within fifty yards, James yelled, “Fire!” and the Yankee rifles spit lead. Two of the attackers hit the ground and lay still. So much for wondering if they could shoot the enemy, Jame
s thought. The remaining two soldiers dismounted and kept up the attack while trying to use their frightened horses as shields. James was afforded a clear shot and downed his second man. The last Rebel, realizing that he was all alone, climbed into the saddle and lingered long enough to fire a few more shots. But he stayed too long as James, firing his six shot revolver now, hit him in the chest and he fell dead. During the final fury, James hadn’t realized that Milroy had stopped shooting.
He called out to the corporal but there was no reply. Dreading what he might find, he hurried over to the spot where his new friend from Ohio had taken cover. That good man and good neighbor lay on his back, empty eyes staring at heaven. He had been shot through the neck and most likely died without time for one last thought of his wife and boys. For several minutes James was completely undone by what had happened. He felt as though his insides were frozen and it was difficult to breathe. Then he forced himself to kneel down by the body; not caring that someone might be close enough to hear him he screamed, “Damn it all, Corporal! Why the hell didn’t you stay on your farm?” Then he wept without shame until the pain and the shock subsided, and in a whisper he said, “I’m sorry, Thomas . . . you were an honorable man.” Then he put Milroy’s body on his horse, mounted Tar, and headed towards the road once again.
TWENTY
A Demoralized Army
It was late afternoon before James finally rode into the sprawling winter camp of the Army of the Potomac. He was hardly aware of the soldiers who stopped and stared as he passed by leading a horse that carried a dead body. Not that it would have had a lasting effect since most of the men in camp were fresh from the terrible slaughter just across the Rappahannock at Fredericksburg. The army was in a somber mood and James would have no trouble fitting in.
A Deeper Sense of Loyalty Page 19