When Johnny Comes Marching Home

by Lillian M. Henry

  Chapter One

  With the 9th Pennsylvania Cavalry

  Army of the Ohio

  Somewhere near Perryville, Kentucky

  October 8, 1862

  Eighteen-year-old Asa Wallace Hickok clutched his well-worn blanket closer, eyeing the smoldering embers of his meager fire with suspicion. Horses whinnied in the darkness and the sound of heavy equipment being moved closer caused a shiver of apprehension. He and his regiment of Pennsylvania Volunteers were bivouacked on this hillside unsure of just what was going to happen next. The quiet of the late hours of the night hung eerily on his shoulders and despite the chill air a trickle of sweat ran down his back staining his already dust-covered blue serge uniform. Steam rose from the punctured tin of beans he was heating while his stomach growled. He and his comrades had slogged the muck and mire of the countryside all day long and had hunkered down now in a vain attempt to get some rest and maybe a morsel of food before the dawn. Water was scarce and the only source lay below them.

  Johnny Reb was encamped across the narrow defile caused by the creek where earlier, unknown to either side, both had stopped. Water for both men and animals was getting scarce and the warring armies had sought out the little stream not realizing the “enemy” was so close by.

  Asa spat the tobacco plug he was chewing into the cluster of dried leaves littering the ground. “Them ‘Johnnies’ in gray is callin’ us ‘Billy Yank,’” he muttered, grinning sourly at the hoots and catcalls that occasionally could be heard as the combatants settled themselves for the night. “Well, I don’t know where that name comes from. I’m sure there’s plenty of boys named ‘Billy’ here in these southern hills. Crazy these ‘Johnnies’ are, thinking they can just up and start shootin’ at a Federal fort that’s been protectin’ their coast line for years. ‘Course, I suppose those fancy Southern cotton plantation owners think they can do without us ordinary folk just fine.”

  Realizing that the two armies had stumbled across each other quite by accident while searching the drought-ridden countryside, Asa was sure the feeble flickers of their fires betrayed their location as well as those of the Rebs’ did. “Strange how here in the dark we could almost be friends and yet tomorrow we’ll be doing our best to kill each other.”

  Reaching for the ash-covered tin of beans he gingerly removed it from the embers with his bandana-wrapped hand. Grub had become harder to come by as the troops moved farther away from their supply lines. They both were trying to live off the land but lately the pickings were mighty slim. The locals were none too friendly he’d discovered. It was hard to tell which side these Kentuckians were on. He peeled back the top of the can and spooned some into his mouth with a frown. What he wouldn’t give for a dish of Grandma’s chicken stew and a decent cup of coffee. He wondered if he would ever get a taste of home again.

  A sound startled him and he hastily set his tin aside while reaching for his weapon. The rustle and scent of tobacco brought him to full alert until he heard a familiar voice whisper hoarsely, “That you brother?”

  Asa exhaled, rolling back to his hunched over sitting position as he watched the dark figure of his older brother David crawl toward him from the shadows. David handed him the remainder of his hand-rolled smoke and the two sat silently watching the last of the small fire die. The live ember on the tip of the small cigarette flared suddenly. Asa cursed and hastily stubbed it out, breaking it apart and mixing the shreds with the spent ashes. “Damn,” he muttered, “might just as well have put up a sign saying, here we are.”

  “You’re too fussy, Ace,” David chuckled. “Ole’ Johnny’s just as anxious about us seein’ him. He knows we’re here even better than we do ‘cause he probably knows where he is and we sure as hell don’t. I know I haven’t the least idea. Now,” he paused, “if we was home in our own mountains we’d be feelin’ a lot better about our situation, I’d say.” He shifted his weight and eased his back against the outcropping of rock and brush behind him. “Might as well just sit back and wait. I’ve been hearing the rumble of artillery being moved about for some time now. Morning is some time away yet but sure as shootin’ they’ll come a runnin’ at first light. If we’re lucky the sun will come up behind us and be in their faces. I swear I’m so turned around at this point I don’t know which way is up much less east or west. I reckon we should be thankful there wasn’t much of a moon tonight. Do you suppose the generals took that into consideration when they thought up this idea of our shooting each other to pieces tomorrow?” Taking a swig from his canteen, David handed it to Asa and grinned when he heard the boy’s reaction to the jolt of homemade whiskey he had just swallowed.

  “Where in the Holy Name of God did you come by that,” Asa sputtered, “likely to burn the roof right off my mouth! Got any more?”

  “Hah!” was the answer. “Don’t you wish, but I think I can find some tomorrow if I’m still standin’ at the end of the day.”

  Both brothers leaned back suddenly sobered by the reminder of where they were and what they were there for.

  “Shut your crazy yaps,” a voice from behind them hissed. “You idiots know voices carry in the dark almost as far as firelight does.”

  “Geez, lieutenant, they know we’re here, same as we know they’re there, been listenin’ to their caterwaulin’ for some time now. Might as well sit up and talk to each other seein’ as how a lot of us won’t be here after tomorrow.”

  “None of us will be here after tomorrow, dummy. We’ll all have moved on. One way or the other,” he added and crawled away.

  Asa and David moved closer together and stretched out with feet toward what was left of the warmth from the fire. Asa’s mind turned to home and family… Grandpa’s farm, the neighbor’s smithy, the warm sun on one’s face while plowing the fields. The whinny and sweat of the horses being shod or driven to pull the plow… the scent of himself and his big brother as they worked along with their grandfather and uncles.

  After their mother’s death their father had left his three sons and their sister, Elizabeth, with their maternal grandparents. Letting his mind go back to what seemed to be a life he could hardly recall, he smiled while he dozed when the wonderful smell of Grandma’s bread baking and those pies coming from the oven crept into his reverie. That “little man” she used to make from the pie dough scraps brought the sugary taste to his mouth and for a brief moment he was back in that kitchen watching her. He sniffed his damp sweaty uniform and the memory of the crisp, clean aroma from freshly laundered clothes drying in the sun teased his nostrils. That gentle, sweet scent full of sunshine and pure air reminded him of the lovely young woman who lived not too far up the road. Rebecca, he thought, I wonder what she is doing tonight. He looked at his brother who was gently snoring. I don’t know if she writes to him, bein’ as how he is so much older but she does write to Tom as well as me. At least that’s what he says. Is that a good sign or a bad sign? She is a generous-hearted woman. I’ll say that for her. Maybe I should have spoken for her before I left for this war? Sometimes I think maybe I am the dunce that David says I am. My tongue gets in the way whenever I try to say something that is really important to me. I guess I’ll just have to hope that she knows how I feel. Women, folks say, are good at things like that… knowing what you’re thinking even when you don’t.

  He frowned, thinking of their younger brother. He and Thomas, just a year apart in age, had grown up like twins. Neither boy remembered much about their mother or the other woman Pa had hoped would replace her. All Asa could recall was her dying too of some awful sickness and Pa just disappearing.

  Brushing his damp over-long hair from his eyes, he twisted and turned trying in vain to find a comfortable spot. A small moan escaped his lips as his thoughts went back to Rebecca and his last vision of her smiling and waving her hand stung like a blow to his stomach when he and David had clambered aboard that train that morning. Almost reaching for his older brother’s hand as he had d
one so often when they were younger, he muffled his mouth with the blanket and closed his eyes. The images of falling comrades amidst booming bursts of deadly shot and black powder from the cannons that he knew awaited them in the morning could not be dispersed. Asa bit back another small cry and determined to set his mind to something else. Stories his grandfather had told them as young children crept into his troubled thoughts and he surrendered to the memories…

  “Let me see, now,” he mused, “Grandpa used to sit and smoke while telling us what he knew about the very first Hickok to come to America. William was his name. I’m sure Pa said his name was William…came from England on some ship called the Plain Joan. How many years ago was that and what would have made him leave? Asa grinned, thinking of the Rebs calling him Billy Yank. Murmuring to himself he shifted his weight again and let his thoughts wander… Plain Joan? I wonder what he must have felt when boarding. Was he familiar with ships or was everything all strange and scary? I wonder how old he was. I never thought to ask. Grandpa never did say that I can remember. He did say something about William arriving in 1635. That’s over two-hundred years ago. I can’t even imagine what he must have thought when he got here. Was he alone, do you suppose?

  Grandpa told us there are lots of Hickoks here in America by now and about a hundred different ways to spell our name. I suppose folks back that far spelt things any way they wanted. Seems to me somebody did mention that William died about 1645 around the same time his second son Joseph was born so I guess he might have been a grown man when he arrived. He did remember that the Plain Joan had docked in Virginia, but we learned in school that folks called the whole east coast Virginia back then so I think he likely landed in Boston since Grandpa said that William settled in a place called Farmington which is not too far from there. I wonder if there were inns back then or did he have to sleep rough. I don’t suppose he had much money with him. Of course there might have been other people from the ship doing the same thing so he didn’t have to make the journey on his own. I don’t think I’d like to have been in a strange country all alone. Least here I’ve got my brother and our buddies with me in this wilderness.

  The young cavalryman shivered at the thought of facing all the dangers in a strange land without the help of familiar friends. I wonder, his troubled mind asked, might it be that folks were shooting at him from time to time? I’ve heard stories about Indian wars and all sorts of bad things goin’ on in those days. Funny how nobody passed along any stories about how it really was, it would be kind’a nice to know. I’ll bet there was wild animals for sure.

  Now that I think about it seems like Grandpa did say William wasn’t married when he left England. He must have met somebody after he arrived because somebody knew they’d had two children before William died and that his wife married somebody else whose name was Adams. I suppose they’d be half brothers or something like that to me. William’s two sons were Samuel, who folks called sargeant, and Joseph, whose son Benjamin was called deacon. A real church man he must have been, I guess, sort of like Grandpa.

  Asa grinned at the thought. It had been some time since he had darkened the door of a church. ’Course, he reminded himself, the regiment does have a chaplain who says a few words and leads us in prayer once in a while. These days it isn’t always easy to remember which day is Sunday.

  Shifting closer to the fire, Asa sat up, fumbled in the darkness for the tin of beans and spooned the remainder into his mouth. Letting his train of thought continue he began ticking off the names he could recall. Benjamin’s son, Justus, was Pa’s great grandfather. Hard to believe us Hickoks have been Americans for so long. No one now even remembers what it was like in England. I always thought it must have felt strange to be fighting folks from your own country when we were learning about the Revolution but here we are now fighting our own people. Don’t seem right somehow.

  Asa wriggled down under his blanket again, trying to ease his back and legs that were becoming cramped with the cold. Not wanting to risk any noise, he eased to a fetal position and continued to consider his litany of names...

  Sargeant Hickok must have had something to do with the militia. No doubt every man did. Folks were expected to protect their town and its people in those days. If I’m remembering right, Gramps said it was Justus’ son Asa that fought in the Revolution War. He seemed really proud of that. I guess he must be the one that Pa and me are named for…

  I remember my school teacher telling us the British called that the War of the Rebellion. I suppose the Rebs feel the same way nowadays about the government telling them what they can or can’t do. When you stop to think about it, it’s been one war after another ever since our ancestors got here. Someone is always trying to tell someone else how things should be. But, fighting for what you believe in is just something a man has to do. Maybe that’s sort of what this is all about? I really don’t know. Brothers are fighting brothers for no good reason that I can see. Preserving the Union or some such thing as that, we’re told, whatever that means. I do know our Pennsylvania Governor Curtin seemed to think our joining up right away was important. Folks say he is dead set against letting those southerners think they can just up and quit being part of these United States and startin’ up a country of their own. Old Abe says north and south need each other too much to let that happen. What was that someone said not long ago? “A house divided against itself cannot stand.” Sounds about right to me.

  A rustle in the brush caused Asa to startle and reach for his rifle. “It’s just some critter,” he heard David whisper. “I sure wish these clouds would clear. That black sky is giving me the willies. I can’t see my hand in front of my face. Every little noise sounds like some Johnnie Reb is crawling up the hill.”

  “Well,” Asa whispered back,” if you can’t sleep either, we might just as well sit up and keep each other company. Won’t make no difference how sleepy we are when the guns start going off. If one of those ‘screamin- meemies’ has our names on it, won’t matter ‘cause we’ll never even hear it. Isn’t that what the old-timers say? You never hear the one that gets you?”

  David grinned at his brother’s attempt at bravado but admitted to feeling a cold fist grabbing his stomach and a lump in his throat that didn’t want to go away.

  Slowly the cold spread from his stomach to his neck and hands. The gray mist swirled in the valley below drifting upward from the rutted fields where today’s battle would be fought. He and Asa stirred from their crouched positions attempting to ease the stiffness in their legs and arms. A low rumble, felt more than heard, alerted them to the beginning of movement as the dawning of the day drew close.

  “That’s artillery, Davey,” Asa muttered through his chattering teeth. “Them big guns ’ill start speaking ‘fore too much longer.” He peered through the shadows wondering if the enemy was awake and preparing for battle as well.

  A rustle at their backs caused both to turn abruptly. David gripped his rifle in his hands and froze. Asa rolled to his knees before straightening his back and climbing to his feet. “Mornin’ Lieutenant,” he grinned. “You best be careful sneakin’ up like that. There’s some folks wouldn’t recognize that scent of tobaccy that announces your arrival.” And those smelly boots and clothes, he added under his breath. Likely I don’t smell much better, he admitted to himself.

  “Roundup your squad and report, Hickok, we need those horses tacked up and ready to ride within the next twenty minutes. You hear the ‘bears’ begin to growl you make tracks, understand?”

  “Understood, sir. Just make sure you got them guns aimed in the right direction. Horses don’t much like bein’ sprayed with gunshot while chomping their chow. Question, if you don’t mind, sir, do we get our chow this morning or has the kitchen already moved to the rear?”

  “Company E of the Ninth Cavalry is not to be fed until this little fracas is over.” The young officer grinned. “No sense wastin’ good vittles until we see which way the win
d is blowin’.”

  “Yes sir,” Asa answered, not bothering to hide his sarcasm, “Horses fed, men go hungry, makes sense to me.”

  The lieutenant frowned but decided no disrespect was intended. Before he could retreat a thunderous blast shook the mountainside. The ‘bears’ had spoken and a dozen others were growling in turn. “Boom, Boom, Boom,” one after the other the big guns blasted the early morning mists to wispy strands sending multiple segments of the opposite hillside sky high. Asa and David stood stiff with awe watching the shattered pieces rain down on whatever lay beneath them. “Merciful God,” David breathed, “that must have killed a hundred men.”

  The brothers snatched their gear and high-tailed it up their side of the sloping terrain hoping to not be caught by the answering salvo. The artillery barrage went on for what seemed like an eternity. The sun was high over head by the time the bugles sounded for an advance. Waves of armed men from both sides took the field while horses screamed and pranced about under the officers trying to direct the attack. Asa’s heart almost stopped as he watched the carnage. Relatively safe behind the lines he tended to the excited animals in his care. When the time came to bring the cannon forward into the field the heavy draft horses and mules needed to be ready. Knowing how vulnerable the innocent creatures were to the bombs and bullets, he tried his best to keep calm and see to their needs.

  Well into the afternoon the bombardment ceased and a hush fell over the embattled ground. Scores of blood-soaked uniforms, both blue and gray with their inhabitants wounded or lifeless, lay amidst the muck and mud of the no longer grassy field. Sick with revulsion and worry for his brother and their friends, Asa cleansed the surviving animals and tended to their injuries as best he could. He refused to let his mind even think, much less hear the sounds from the battlefield. Almost senseless with fatigue and worry he startled like a hunted rabbit when he felt a hand on his shoulder and a familiar voice. ‘Well, little brother,” David rasped, “we made it, thanks be to the Almighty. He must have something more in store for us that we have survived this.” He handed Asa a mug of murky liquid that he claimed was coffee and the two sank down on a nearby pile of moldy horse blankets. Neither man spoke. The tepid liquid soothed their ragged throats. Each offered up his prayer of thanks in silence while staring with haunted eyes into the gathering darkness of a night they had not expected to see.