Casca 27: The Confederate

by Tony Roberts

The surviving Union trooper swerved and made for the captain, intent on avenging his fallen comrade. Case leaped sideways and, dropping his rifle, grabbed the man as he raised his sword high, pulling him off the horse. Both men tumbled to the ground, Case rolling twice before getting to his feet. His men had retreated under Skivenham’s commands and were getting further away, Billy yelling for him to join them fast.

  The Yankee got to his feet, glaring in fury, his saber still in his hand. “Now, Reb, you’re gonna die,” he snarled and lunged. Case jumped backwards, unarmed, and looked for something to defend himself with. He spied the fallen cavalryman and his saber which was lying by the corpse. The surviving Union trooper slashed again and Case felt a burning down his shoulder and side as the keen blade scored through his jacket and into his flesh.

  “Agh, another damned scar!” Case exclaimed and picked up the fallen sword. Now he turned and faced the angry Federal. “That wasn’t nice,” he told him.

  “I’ll be nastier to you in a minute,” the Federal replied, waving his blade at Case, wondering how good he’d be with a saber. If he knew he would have turned and fled. Case gripped the weapon and drew in a deep breath. Ahhh, a blade! This is more like it. He smiled, fondly remembering the comfortable feel of a bladed weapon in his hand, and began advancing on the puzzled Union man. Why would this damned Reb be smiling? Case’s first attack was vicious, spearing for the gut, and the trooper only just deflected it aside. Worry filled his face; he’d never faced an attack like that before! Case wasted no time and feinted for the neck, changing sweep in mid-air and half-turning on one leg, bringing the blade low. The Union man’s defense was hilt highest, blade down, and too late realized the blow was not coming for his head.

  He cried out in terror but Case kept on swinging, the point of the saber entering the body just above the left hip and tearing up into the stomach, destroying the pancreas in the process. The trooper gagged and clutched the deep wound. Case let go of the saber and it clattered to the ground, leaving the doomed Yankee sinking to his knees, hot blood running out onto his hands. “See you, Yankee,” he said and ran off towards his men, now fifty yards distant.

  Case remembered the blow and examined his jacket. It was red with blood and neatly cut down the left from the rear of his shoulder to halfway down his side. The wound would be sealing up but it burned like hell and he slowed, grimacing. Best show he was hurt.

  “Hey Sarge, you wounded!” Furlong exclaimed, seeing the cut.

  “Flesh wound, Randy,” Case said, reaching the cheering men. “It’ll be fine, just looks bad.”

  “Hell, Sarge, didn’t know you were good with the saber!” Wendell exclaimed with surprise. “You cut that bastard up good and proper!”

  “I got lucky,” Case said briefly, then looked round for a gun. Wordlessly, Billy handed him the one Case had dropped. Case grinned and began reloading. Captain Skivenham looked over his shoulder and saw a line of Confederates making their way hurriedly off to the north-west. “Come on,” he urged, “over there!”

  The men stumbled after him, stomachs tightening and feet blistering. They still had a long way to go before they could get relief from either. They rejoined the army and as they followed in the wake of the rag-tag units ahead of them, passed a graven-faced Lee, sat astride his horse on the roadside. He looked at General Longstreet who was next to him and exclaimed: “my God, has the army dissolved?”

  They had lost a quarter of their strength at Sayler’s Creek, and now Grant’s forces closed in for the kill.

  The march along the Lynchburg Road was a nightmare of pain and hunger. Units had virtually ceased to exist and many generals had been taken back at the battle. Colonel Skinner rode up and checked how many were left from ‘J’ Company. He shook his head. “Captain,” he said sadly, “you have the largest number of any of my companies. The regiment is down to thirty men. You have nearly half of them.”

  Skivenham didn’t know what to say. He looked sideways at Lieutenant Wyatt who had survived capture and had led the rest of the company to safety, although he’d lost seven taken prisoner. Skinner rode off to report to his commanding officer, although he didn’t know who that would be for Lee had just dismissed Pickett.

  “Who’s in charge of us now?” Billy asked, his Minié rifle over his shoulder.

  “No idea,” Case said. “Heard General Ambrose Hill died back at Petersburg. Killed by a couple of Yankees as he tried to lead his men to safety. He’ll be missed.”

  “Ain’t many left,” Munz observed, then lapsed back into silence. They marched all day and the next, and somehow kept ahead of the pursuit, but their luck couldn’t last forever and as they neared the Appomattox Court House the army came to a halt and literally fell down by the wayside. Word came passing back that Yankee cavalry had been seen ahead.

  Case took shelter underneath an oak tree and pushed his hat over his eyes. The generals would have to decide what to do next. In the meantime he was taking a nap and nothing except fire, plague or pestilence was to disturb him. Unless it was a dealing out of rations. Billy fell onto the rich damp grass nearby and screwed his eyes shut. “I’m starving,” he complained. Nobody answered him; they were all in the same state. Furlong sat against a smaller tree and dragged out a dog-eared leather bound book and flipped it open. He’d often stop to read some book and had done so for as long as the others could remember. Wendell pulled off his fraying boots and examined his white blisters, pulling a sour face. Corporal Collins wiped his forehead and lay on one elbow, looking at the sprawled men of the army on the edges of the road. “Think we can fight our way through?”

  “Maybe, if there’s only cavalry,” Case said. “Not if there’s infantry.”

  They watched as the groups of soldiers either went to sleep, brewed up chicory drinks or chewed on the stale corn which was all they had left. After a few hours a staff officer came walking down the line together with Colonel Skinner. Skinner called Skivenham and Wyatt over, while the staff officer took a good look at the men lying in an untidy group. Then the four turned about and walked off, leaving the men puzzling over that.

  “I heard Brigadier General Terry was captured at Sayler’s Creek,” Collins said suddenly. “Seems like Colonel Skinner is in charge then, eh?”

  “At this rate you’ll be a Colonel, Corp,” Wendell said. “And me, well I’ll be a Major General.”

  “You’ll lead us into the Appomattox River,” Furlong noted, still reading his book. Wendell laughed ironically and turned his back on Furlong. A few minutes later a stirring passed through the lines of men by the roadside and the order to stand was heard. With no officer with them Case took over, sighing deeply. “Okay boys, let’s see what the fuss is.” A couple of Majors came running up along the road, followed by a squad of soldiers. “Form line, advance to the east!”

  A groan went up but the men picked themselves up and wearily readied their firearms. Captain Skivenham came running back towards them, Wyatt a little way behind. “Scouts report Meade’s army is coming up from the east. We’ve got to stop them.”

  Case grabbed the captain’s arm, stopping his run. “What did they want with you, sir?”

  “General Lee wanted to know how many of us were left. He asked if you were still with us. Seemed pleased you were, Sergeant.” He looked up at the darkening sky. “It’ll be night soon; can’t see any action taking place today. Might be tomorrow, though. Things are bad, Sergeant,” he looked levelly at Case. “We’re just about surrounded. General Lee’s going to try to break out towards Lynchburg tomorrow. The supplies here have been captured by the enemy. It’s our last chance.”

  Case nodded. He guessed things were serious; the loss of men and desertions had hurt the army badly. He had no idea how many were now left to fight, but they would be hugely outnumbered.

  * * *

  The following day the action began with a crackling of distant rifle fire, but it soon died down and the men were ordered to stand down. Case looked behind him to the south-west where the
Court House stood amongst thickly set trees, and the woods beyond. The shooting had come from there. Colonel Skinner soon appeared and ordered the men to rest and wait. Case cracked his shoulders and propped his rifle against a sapling. “Well, guess that’s it, then.”

  “What d’you mean, Sarge?” Billy asked, his eyes wide.

  “It’s over. The attack failed, for some reason over there,” he jerked a thumb behind him. “We’re surrounded and nowhere to go. We’ve no food, very little ammunition and just about at the end of our endurance.”

  The men scowled and stared in the direction of the Court House. It was in Union hands and the line of blue could be seen, even from their position. Eyes met and wondered what would happen now. What happened shortly afterwards was that Colonel Skinner came riding up and announced a truce had been called and no fighting was to take place. The men were to wait for further orders. “You know what day it is?” Corporal Collins said suddenly, standing staring towards the north where a church could be seen amongst more trees.

  “April 9th,” Furlong said, looking up.

  “Palm Sunday,” Collins said, nodding at the church spire. “Think we ought to make a prayer or two.”

  Case smiled and walked off a little way. He left the men to pray. He had no time for such things, having rejected religions many years ago. He’d spent so long chasing new religions in the past, hoping each new one heralded the arrival of Jesus and the Second Coming, only to be constantly disappointed. Islam, Lutheranism, Anglican Protestantism. All he found were more wars and death. No returning Jesus. So he avoided religions if he could. Each to their own but he’d had enough of them.

  Captain Skivenham appeared and stood alongside Case for a while. Both were looking towards the group of building that marked the settlement of Appomattox Court House. “Lee’s signing the surrender there,” Skivenham suddenly said. “Heard it from one of Longstreet’s aides. It’s over, Sergeant.”

  Case looked at Skivenham. He breathed in deeply, shut his eyes and arched his head backwards. Ahhh, it’s all over! He breathed out, relaxed and nodded. “Well, sir, you survived. What will you do now?”

  “Return to Richmond and pick up the pieces, I suppose. You?”

  Case looked at the distant horizon to the west. “Follow my destiny, Captain, wherever that may take me.” He looked at Skivenham. “By the way, Captain, what did you do with the Spencer?”

  Skivenham laughed briefly. “Lost it back at Sayler’s Creek. In the madness of the Yankee attack I dropped the damned thing. No doubt it’ll have been picked up by someone and used again.”

  They shook hands and separated, each going to their own place amongst the men. Word soon got round and the soldiers felt a sense of loss. What they would now all do they didn’t know, for they would find their homes damaged or even destroyed; their families maybe gone or reduced, friends dead, the countryside unrecognizable.

  But they had themselves survived four years of conflict, and some broke down and wept. Now they faced an uncertain future.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  So the Army of Northern Virginia surrendered. The day after the surrender had been signed, the officers were given a slip to complete the names of their men upon them and sign it. That way all the men of the unit, through their officers, would give their word they would not take up arms against the Union again.

  The slips were handed in and parole slips came back by return. Every man was given one to fill in their names and their rank. Case looked at the yellow slip dated April 10th, 1865. It stated the bearer was allowed free access to return to their home unmolested and remain there undisturbed. He signed his name and unit and put it inside his ripped jacket. He eyed the insignia and stripes. It would have to be discarded fairly soon, but he would keep the trousers and hat. He liked his slouch hat.

  Billy filled his out too. “Does this mean we can go home now?”

  “Not yet, Billy, but soon. We got to hand over our arms first. Can’t have us walking all over Virginia with guns, can we? We can go home but our guns can’t.”

  “But the Minié, Sarge! It’s General Lee’s!” Billy shook the gun at him.

  Case stroked the gun. It had been with him and lately Billy ever since Case had brought it out of Mexico in 1846. It wasn’t stamped ‘CSA’ like most of the Confederate weaponry. “Maybe we can be allowed to keep this. I’ll go find out.” He took the gun and loped off towards the south where the divisional command tent stood. There was a rounded hillock close to the road and as Case was passing a company of Georgians, busy taking their first rations since Petersburg, he spied General Lee on horseback on top of the rise. Even as he approached the group of men, a second group arrived and with a start Case recognized General Ulysses S. Grant. Older than when he’d last seen him, now bearded, but he’d seen Grant’s engraving in the papers recently so he knew him by sight.

  Case stopped at the foot of the hillock and stood rubbing his bristly chin. A shave, that’s what he needed besides a good meal! He certainly wouldn’t be appreciated up there with the two army commanders as they exchanged pleasantries. The staff officers stood to the sides, watching as Lee and Grant spoke. Suddenly Lee looked down the hill in middle of saying something and spied Case. He expressed surprise, then turned to Grant and the Union commander looked his way too. Lee bent to one of his aides and the man came galloping down the slope to Case. He saluted so Case did likewise. “General Lee’s compliments, Sergeant,” the man said, “he desires your attendance at the hilltop.”

  “Of course. I’ll be up right away.” Case followed in the wake of the officer and felt a little out of place as he approached the collection of generals and senior officers. Lee smiled tiredly at his approach while Grant fixed him with a penetrating stare. Case arrived and stood up straight, the rifle in the correct parade position upright. He snapped a salute. “General, Sergeant Lonnergan reporting as requested, sir.”

  “Relax, Sergeant,” Lee said softly. “Pleased you came through the war, even if it wasn’t unscathed!”

  Case glanced at his left shoulder and side. The jacket was flapping open and the dried blood visible. “Flesh wound, sir. Compliments of one of General Sheridan’s men.”

  “And the man concerned, Sergeant?” Grant asked in a deep voice.

  “Ah, well he came off worst, sir,” Case smiled weakly. He decided to be bold. “Long time since we talked, General.”

  Grant’s eyes twinkled. “So it is. I made you corporal at Monterey, if memory serves.”

  “Yes sir! And General Lee here made me sergeant at Richmond. Oh, that reminds me, sir,” he faced Lee. “This rifle; it’s yours. The one you gave me in Mexico.”

  Lee laughed briefly. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he exclaimed. “You keep it, Sergeant. With General Grant’s permission, of course.”

  Grant nodded. He was feeling generous. He’d finally got what he’d been striving for, and he could afford to be magnanimous. He held out a hand to one of his aides and the man passed a notebook. Grant scribbled something on it, signed it with a flourish and tore the page off before handing it to Case. “Present this to the officer at the ceremony when your arms are to be surrendered. He’ll honor this.”

  Case thanked him. Grant touched the brim of his black hat. “We must be off on our duties now Sergeant.”

  Lee nodded and Case bade the general farewell and descended, leaving Lee and Grant to discuss their business further. When Case got back to the unit he found rations had been doled out to them too. Billy had Case’s. “Did you get permission?”

  Case handed Billy the note. The young man stared at it then up at Case. “Signed by General Grant himself? This isn’t a joke, is it, Sarge?” The other came crowding round, eager to see Grant’s signature. As they stared at the paper, Case took the food Billy had saved for him and ate it slowly, savoring the taste. Undoubtedly any eating establishment would turn their noses up at it but to Case it was wonderful. This was part of Grant’s generosity, letting the starving army eat prior to the surr
ender.

  The ceremony itself didn’t happen until the Wednesday. By that time the mood had fluctuated amongst the men from wanting to resume hostilities now they had a full belly to wanting to go home as soon as they could. The officers gathered the disparate units into their proper regiments and lined them up ready to hand over their weapons and flags, as well as other accoutrements not proper to civilians which was, after all, what they were now classed as. Case unstitched the stripes from his jacket and cut off the epaulettes. From somewhere he got cotton thread and managed to patch up the slash down his jacket so that at least he had something to protect him from the cold.

  The sky was overcast as they slowly trudged forward towards the place. Union soldiers lined the route, standing respectfully with their arms at the salute which, Case thought, was a decent touch. Confederates reluctantly gave up their arms and flags which they’d followed for years. Just ahead of Case walked the flag bearer with the ‘1st Va’ insignia sewn on it. The original had been taken at Gettysburg but this one had been with them since that time.

  Colonel Skinner presented the paper with the names of the regiment on them, and the receiving Federal officer scanned it, then frowned. He counted the men and compared it to the list he had been given. He was about to say something when Captain Skivenham stepped forward and gave the man a second piece of paper and the Yankee looked up in surprise, then shrugged and waved the captain and his men along to the side of the brick building where thousands of rifles and dozens of flags lay already. Case heard muffled sobs from some of the men, overcome with the emotion of the moment and a few had bowed heads in the despair of defeat.

  He glanced at the onlooking victors and saw one or two had tears in their eyes too. Clearly the whole thing was getting to them as well. Others fought hard to keep their emotions in check but it was a struggle. After all, they had fought long and hard and to see their enemy, which he guessed they respected in the way soldiers do to a fellow soldier, being brought so low and dejected, got to them. Ahead of him a soldier from ‘B’ Company tenderly put the flag against the wall and kissed it before turning away. It was too much and he broke down and was led away by a buddy, wracked with tears.