Casca 27: The Confederate

by Tony Roberts

  Siddeley was having trouble getting Quiller to move so Dunkley moved in to help. Case slapped Billy round the head again as he reached him and pushed him towards the next junction. “Ow!” Billy looked at Case in an aggrieved manner.

  “You deserve a damn sight more! Count yourself lucky, boy. Now start apologizing to the others, especially to poor Quiller there.” Case reloaded again and walked backwards, waiting to see if the Yankees appeared before his men reached safety. They would be at the Rising Sun by now. The Mississippians would have to take them on; they were after all there to do that. Case and his men had come for what they wanted, now it was time to get out of there. Seven men could do precious little against an entire regiment.

  Shots began blasting out in both directions as the attacking soldiers came face to face with the Confederate defenders, and smoke filled the street corner. Case made sure his men were safely out of the way before following them, still walking backwards and watching for any pursuit. None came.

  They climbed up the western outskirts of the town and finally took George Street that cleared the town over the canal and reached Marye’s Heights, the top of the ridge that overlooked the town. Here there stood a sunken road, bounded by a stone wall. Hundreds of Rebel soldiers were digging in here ready for the fight. Case heard Irish accents here as well as Southern ones. “What lot are you?” he asked a bearded corporal who was directing grumbling men preparing the defenses.

  “Georgia regiment,” the corporal replied, eyeing Case and his men through squinted eyes. He wasn’t sure whether they were supposed to be there or not. “Irish brigade. What brigade you from?”

  “Kemper’s. Virginia.”

  “Getting’ hot down there?”

  “Yeah.” Case turned to look down the open ground to the town’s edge. The land sloped steeply and was bare of any cover. It was a killing ground. “Looks like you’ll have some fun when Yankee comes out to play.”

  The Georgian corporal grinned, his tobacco stained teeth brown and crooked. “We sure hope so. Us Georgian boys’ll give those buggers somethin’ to remember!”

  Case nodded and moved off after the slowly moving members of his squad. Quiller was moaning loudly about his wound while Dunkley was complaining at carrying the man. Case shook his head and caught up with them, his eyes roving over the massed Confederate troops gathered and ready to take whatever was to be thrown at them. They looked very well dug in and it would be hell for any attacker to even reach them, let alone carry the defenses.

  Captain Skivenham greeted their return, shrewdly remarking the fact seven had returned from six going out. Case shrugged. “You must’ve miscounted, Captain.”

  “Probably, Sergeant.” Skivenham nodded at Quiller. “Wounded in action? Didn’t think Yankee had yet crossed south of the town.”

  “Lucky shot, Captain. Bullets flying all over the place down there. Think he’ll be okay. Surgeon will patch him up.”

  “Yes that’s likely,” Skivenham agreed. “We’re to form a reserve in the coming battle, so we’re not expected to take up positions at the front. From what I’ve been told Burnside is taking his time massing his troops, just like at Sharpsburg. Think they’ll prevail?”

  Case shook his head. “Can’t see it, Captain. Too steep a slope, too open and too many defenders. They’ll be massacred.”

  Skivenham nodded slowly. “Go get some food, then report back to your unit. Punishment duty is over. Colonel Williams has forgiven you and your men.”

  Case grinned. “He’d rather us fight Yankee than each other.”

  “That’s it. And besides, I pointed out we need men like you in any battle.”

  Case shrugged and followed his men to the camp canteen, and the watery stew that was on offer. He sat on a log that served as a bench next to the others who were similarly tucking in. Dunkley and Quiller were at the surgeons, and would return to their platoon afterwards. “Billy, I don’t want you going anywhere without my permission again or I’ll break your legs. Understand?”

  Billy nodded, his eyes down. All thought of arguing had been knocked out of him. Munz swallowed one spoonful of stew and wiped his mouth on a sleeve. “Anyhows, Rosie’ll be fine. She’ll be there when we retake the town. Jus’ you see.”

  Billy nodded again and Case grunted. Hopefully the boy would learn a lesson. He turned his mind to the coming battle. The Rebels were in a strong position. He couldn’t see how they could lose, unless something unexpected happened. To him, Burnside had delayed too long and now faced an impossible task. Case swallowed the thin, tasteless stew and grimaced. Another battle was coming, another twist in this war.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Edward Siddeley bent over the turning lathe again and pressed the pedal. The chisel he held sent sparks from the whirling piece of metal held in the machine and some filings spattered against his goggles. He stopped, straightened and removed the goggles. A brief inspection of the piece brought a grunt from the old man. The door to his workshop opened and a figure appeared in the doorway, limping severely.

  Siddeley examined the newcomer. A young man, tall. He was using a stout cane, quite a unique one, no mass produced cheap one there. “Good morning,” Siddeley greeted him.

  “Morning,” the tall man replied. He was wearing an old gray floppy hat and now he recognized it as a Confederate one. Wounded soldier, obviously. “You Edward Siddeley.”

  It was a statement, not a question. Siddeley nodded. “You have the advantage of me, sir.”

  “Michael White. Former buddy of your son,” he replied.

  “Oh, heck! Pleased to meet you, Michael!” Siddeley rushed round and took the young man’s hand. “Of course! You were wounded at the Second Manassas; Joe wrote me.”

  White leaned against a table, glad to rest off the wooden leg he was still trying to get used to. Hurt like hell but at least he could get about. “I got a letter from Case – Sergeant Lonnergan.”

  “Oh yes, I did too. Concerning the disappearance of his woman, the McGuire girl. Bad business. I’ve been doing some asking around for him about that already. What did he say in the letter you got?”

  “We should team up and ask folk here if they’ve seen either her or her sister, or both together. I got descriptions here and we could get an artist to draw them both.”

  “That’ll cost money,” Siddeley warned, “and things are too tight here to spend money out on some artist right now.”

  White shrugged. “Okay, but we can get leaflets made up. I know someone in the printing business; I made him a nice table before the war and I guess he can do something for me in return.”

  “That’s great! You a carpenter? Well, you must’ve made that stick.”

  “And my new leg,” White tapped his false one. “Glad to do something for a change. Sitting at home moping about my wound ain’t doing me any good. Got plenty of time to do some searching and stuff; not much work at the moment.”

  “Well I got plenty, but no helping hands! I’ll do what I can. I know a fair number of people and I’ll get them to hand the leaflets round and stick them in their shops. Between the two of us we should cover a fair part of Richmond.”

  White straightened, grimacing as the pain flared up. “That’ll be great! I’ll put some up round my workshop and the neighbors there too. We should come up with somebody who’ll have seen something!”

  * * *

  The firing went on, and on, and on. Case sat with his regiment well behind the front line and watched as clouds of smoke billowed out from those shooting down on the attacking Union troops. Cannons blasted canister at the advancing soldiers, cutting down swathes, but still the blue coated men came on in waves. And in waves they died.

  “God!” Billy gasped, looking wide-eyed at the spectacle. “How many more of them will come? Don’t they ever give up?”

  “Not until all of them have tasted the futility of advancing against Old Pete’s defenses,” Case replied dryly. “All you’d need is to put the generals out front and tell them to take
our lines. That’d stop the attack.”

  They were waiting in a group on the edge of a wood with the Telegraph Road behind them and a hill to their left. The hill obscured much of what was going on back towards Fredericksburg but directly ahead the land sloped towards the railroad and beyond that the lines of Federal troops waited, waiting for what, none of the watching men knew. The attack was clearly going on to the left from the town, and to the right more Yankees were moving up to attack Jackson’s men dug in around a wood. In the center, right opposite Kemper’s Brigade and the other units under General Pickett, nothing moved.

  “We ain’t going to get involved in the battle,” Siddeley complained, frowning. He desperately wanted to kill the enemy, but again the generals were denying him. “It’s not fair!”

  “Patience, Joe,” Munz rumbled. He was unconcerned, whittling on a twig.

  “Bah! That lot over there are slaughtering the bastards yet we’re stuck here picking our noses! Why don’t they send us over there to lend our support? Those boys by the Heights must be tired shooting that much, or running out of bullets.”

  Case leaned on the barrel of his rifle and pushed his hat back. “If we’re needed they’ll send for us. No point in frothing at the mouth, Joe.” Case judged things had been going on almost non-stop for two hours at least. It had started around midday, after the fog had burned off. Since then the shooting had gone on unabated. Whatever else was happening, the Confederate line to the north was still holding.

  General James L. Kemper was standing by the Telegraph Road with his regimental commanders, commenting on the battle, when a rider came galloping up, paper in hand. He saluted swiftly and passed Kemper the sheet. The regimental Colonels crowded round, curiously. “Well gentlemen,” Kemper commented, smoothing his black beard slowly, “compliments of General Pickett. We are to move north to support Cobb’s men at the stone wall in face of sustained assaults by the enemy.” He turned and nodded to the messenger who wheeled about and galloped off. “Gentlemen, get the men ready to march along the road and reassemble by Marye’s House.”

  The regiment sprang into life. Case pushed Siddeley as he went by him. “Now look what you’ve done! Spoiled a damned good sleep.”

  The men laughed and in good spirits they moved off, some barefoot, others almost as bad along the Telegraph Road. They walked – nobody could say they marched – along the road towards the highest point the Confederates were dug in on. The sound of shooting grew as they neared the house and clouds of smoke floated up into the chill air. They moved off the road to the left, away from the shooting, and then swung in so they came at the house from the west. Now they were heading straight for the battle. Colonel Williams stood close to the house directing the various companies to left or right. Most went to the left but ‘J’ company was one of the few sent right.

  They came out from behind the house and the whole scene suddenly jumped into view. There was the sunken road right in front of the house and beyond it, at the crest of the rise from Fredericksburg, stood the stone wall Case and his buddies had seen earlier. Behind this the Rebels stood three deep, pouring fire into the valiantly struggling Union lines that came up the hill. Cannon stood in one or two places, sending clouds of lead balls and canister into the unprotected Yankees as well, and piles of bodies lay on the slope that led up. None had gotten any closer than thirty yards.

  “Good God!” Furlong gasped, echoing all of their feelings.

  “Those poor bastards,” Case commented, “why the hell doesn’t that damned fool call it off?” He led his men to their indicated position, on the front of the rise the house stood on, behind the men from Georgia who kept on firing from the safety of the stone wall. Very few Rebels had been hit.

  Captain Skivenham came running up, making sure they were in position. “Give support fire to the Georgians down there; their ammunition is running low. If Yankee keeps this up they’ll need us to keep them back!”

  “Okay lads, ready!” Case ordered and began loading. His eye took in the situation downhill, across the open slope that led down to the canal and the outskirts of town. More Union troops were massing and another assault was imminent. He cursed the stupidity of the Union senior command, sending brave men to certain death. It was obvious it was a failure, yet they still kept throwing men uselessly against a storm of fire.

  Siddeley, two men down from Case, chuckled and was obviously going to enjoy the whole experience. Billy was silently going about his business, his mind on Rosie and hoping to hell she was okay down there. The rest looked okay to Case so he concentrated on gauging distances and where to shoot. “Right,” he said calmly but loud enough for his men to hear. He turned and looked over them to the grand façade of the house. The central part had four pseudo Roman columns supporting the entrance portico, and a large front door with a semi-circular glassed window above it. A wing stood back on either side and a few trees offered shelter in the gardens. He looked down at the expectant men. “No fancy business today; just shoot at the Yankees, give our Georgian buddies support fire. Keep your aim above the wall, I don’t want any Georgian complaining about Rebel shot up their ass!”

  The men laughed. Case grinned. He pointed at the approaching line of blue. “There are your enemy. Brave men, but you’ve got to stop them from reaching the wall. I know you can do it. Good shooting!”

  The men cheered and raised their rifled muskets. Case stepped back into his place and raised his firearm too. Peering down the length of the barrel he made out the shape of the advancing men, wondering which was the officer. It was too gloomy and smoky to make him out properly at that range.

  Colonel Peter Allabach of the 2nd Brigade of the 3rd Division of V Corps was under no illusions as to what waited for him and his men at the top of the hill. The mass of bodies that carpeted the slopes was testimony to that. But orders were orders and he led his men up through the mass of moaning, feebly moving and still men lying all over the field. The Pennsylvanians under him had seen four months service, and now was to be their baptism under fire.

  Case watched as the advancing men closed the distance, then saw the Georgians raise their weapons. A volley rippled out and smoke billowed up in a huge cloud. “Right boys, let them have it!” Case barked. He had picked out a man but he had been hit by the Georgians fire, so without making a proper aim, discharged into the staggering line of men. The familiar smell of rotten eggs from the powder came to him as he blindly reached into his cartridge case to pull out the next cartridge, and he half shut his eyes against the acrid smoke that issued from his gun. The line rattled as guns were reloaded, and the Union line half turned and forced its way across their line of fire towards the stone wall to the south. They were sitting ducks. Case half-heartedly reloaded and aimed at the line of twisting, staggering, falling men in blue. They were about a hundred yards off and packed together in a mass. The edges were unraveling, men falling as shot hit them, and he fired into a knot of men.

  He cursed and wiped his eyes. This wasn’t a battle; it was a massacre. He was a soldier, not a butcher. The Georgians below and to the right were still blasting away, knocking over row upon row of Yankees, the exultant Southerners three deep, so that they were unleashing a continuous fire. Case allowed his gun to slide through his fingers and the butt came to rest on the ground by his feet. Siddeley glanced in surprise at him, then squinted down the barrel of his firearm and let loose another shot.

  “They’ve had enough,” Case commented, seeing the decimated Northern troops turn and run. Siddeley laughed in glee and rammed another ball down the barrel. Case turned his head. “Enough, Joe. They’re running.”

  “They all deserve to die,” Siddeley replied and raised his gun. As the finger tightened on the trigger, Case knocked the barrel up and the shot flew harmlessly into the air. “What?”

  “Enough. They’re running. We’re soldiers, Joe, not slaughterers. I’ll fight men who want to fight, but not those who have had enough.”

  Siddeley pulled his gun away ang
rily and stared down the hill. A fresh pile of bodies had been added to those already there and the sound of groaning and sobbing men carried clearly to them. “Okay boys, stand down.” Case looked at the sky; night was coming and he doubted another attack would come. The Yankees had broken against the lines of Rebels and the butcher’s bill was high.

  Captain Skivenham came along in good humor. “They’ve had enough boys, well done! You can stand down.” The men cheered and congratulated each other. Case sat down and began cleaning his rifled musket. So much for the battle; they’d seen more action getting Billy out of Fredericksburg than here. “Sergeant, get the men ready to return to camp. I doubt we’ll be needed anymore today.”

  “Yes, Captain,” Case stood up and saluted. He felt depressed. He had felt more and more out of sorts and finally had guessed it was all to do with Liz. Billy’s fixation with Rosie had reminded him of his own woman and the fact she was missing. He desperately wanted to return to Richmond and find out something. Surely something would turn up!

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “Damn it!” Smith smashed his fist into the table top. Ann jumped, startled. “Damn that Lonnergan!”

  “What is it, John?” Ann asked, a hand over her heart. Her nerves weren’t what they had been. Too much had been going on and still was. The tension in the house was getting too much for her.

  Smith hunched over, like a trapped animal; this wasn’t what he had planned! He held in his fist a crumpled sheet of paper that had been pushed through the letterbox that morning. “Take a look at this,” he threw the paper over to her, thinking furiously. Ann saw the huge black banner headline word, MISSING and beneath it her name and Liz’s, together with a sketchy description of each of them. She gasped and put her free hand to her mouth. “Oh, good God above!”