Coyote Ugly

by Pati Nagle

  “The judge said all enemy movements are important,” said Ball.

  Buck let out a guffaw. “Only enemy movement worth seeing was that crack-fine fiddle dance Jenkins’s cavalry gave last night in your barn, Henry.”

  Ball’s expression grew yet more sour. Captain Swenk, failing to notice, said, “That was a mighty fine dance, indeed. I was surprised at how many of our ladies attended. Miss Kindle is a delightful dancer, don’t you think?”

  “She wouldn’t dance with me,” Buck said. “Only had eyes for you, Cap’n.”

  “And General Jenkins’s staff were generous hosts,” added Swenk.

  “Generous with my beer,” Ball replied.

  “Didn’t they pay you for it?”

  “In Confederate scrip. Same worthless stuff they’re giving all the merchants in town.”

  “At least they didn’t just break into the shops and help themselves,” Swenk remarked.

  “Yet,” said Ball darkly, and kicked a rock off the bank into the creek.

  The pike was now obscured from view, but the cloud of dust was plainly visible. They were approaching the neighborhood of Ball’s house and farm, which he had only recently purchased, being like Swenk a newcomer to Chambersburg. The annoyance he demonstrated at the recent infestation of Confederates was understandable to his companions. His wheat and his animals had been confiscated, Rebel pickets lived in his cornfield, and his house had been taken over by General Jenkins’s staff. Mr. Ball had consequently spent a good deal of time in town, of late, and was often to be found at Judge Lemmik’s when he was not tramping the roads and byways of Franklin County.

  The day—a Thursday afternoon late in June—was warm, and birds peeped in desultory tones as the three men walked northward. Captain Swenk was the only one of the trio who seemed at ease with the world. He smiled placidly as they reached a footbridge across the creek just short of where the waterway bent northeastward.

  The land was a blend of cultivated fields and wild, wooded areas. Mr. Ball’s farm occupied the far side of a hill across the creek; the near side was owned by a Mrs. Bannister, a widow, who was one of the ladies Captain Swenk had been courting. Her house, neatly painted white, lay just beneath the crest of the hill and was shaded by a great, ancient live oak.

  “I think,” Swenk said to his companions, “I shall stop at Widow Bannister’s a while. You go on ahead and I’ll catch up.”

  Buck and Ball exchanged a glance of knowing disapproval. “We are to share the task of counting the Rebels, are we not?” Ball said in a stiff voice. “How are we to divide the work without your presence?”

  “You two make your best count, and I’ll verify it,” Swenk replied. “That way we’ll know our information’s good.” He tipped his hat to them, smiling, and strode off across the bridge toward Bannister’s Farm.

  “We won’t see him for an hour or more,” grumbled Ball.

  “Hopeless,” Buck agreed.

  “How such a great stupid ox of a fellow ever got anywhere in the army is beyond me!”

  “Come on,” Buck said, nodding his head eastward. “Let’s go count Rebs.”

  ~

  “Good day to you, Mrs. Bannister,” called Captain Swenk, bowing as he removed his hat, his face slightly reddened by the exertion of climbing the hill to the farmhouse.

  The widow, not a handsome woman, stood on the step of her tidy home dressed in a gray gown, modest cap and stiffly starched apron, and bestowed a smile of more politeness than warmth upon her visitor. “You did not come to feed this morning,” she said.

  “I beg your pardon,” the captain said humbly. “I was unavoidably detained. I hope you sent Will to do it.”

  “I do not like sending him into the cellar with the animals. One of them might kick, and injure him,” the widow said, a slight frown creasing her brow.

  “He knows better than to expose himself to harm,” Swenk replied, smiling.

  “I am still not convinced this is the wisest course,” the widow complained.

  “But, ma’am, do you not wish to keep your horse and cow out of the Confederates’ hands? I assure you, they’ve snabbled up everything on four legs in the county.”

  “I do not like keeping Dobbin and Daisy underground, and in such close quarters with your mare,” she said.

  “They will neither of them suffer for it,” he assured her. “Have you—”

  “Captain Swenk!” cried the big live oak tree that shaded the house and yard.

  “Willie! Come down from there this instant!” the widow called to the tree. A rustling of leaves preceded the arrival upon the ground of a grubby ten-year-old boy who immediately flung himself upon Captain Swenk, soiling the sleeve of that gentleman’s coat.

  “Hello, Will!” the captain said, beaming upon his youthful admirer.

  “General Jenkins went out riding this morning!”

  “Oh, he did?”

  “How could you know that?” demanded the widow.

  Will glanced at the captain, then said, “I can see Mr. Ball’s place from up there,” and pointed to the oak. “The General had a big black hat with a feather in it, and a big long beard.”

  “Don’t point, Willie. It’s rude,” said his mother in an irritable tone. “I wish you will not climb that tree.”

  “Oh, it’s a fine old tree,” said Captain Swenk. “Must be one of the oldest in the county. How could he not climb it?”

  “His sister has begun to copy him,” the widow complained. “I live in fear of her falling and breaking her head.”

  “Where is little Katie?” asked the captain, smiling as he produced a small box from the depths of his coat pocket. “I’ve brought her some crayons.”

  The widow’s face relaxed somewhat, and she said, “That was kind of you. I suppose you want some coffee? Well, come inside.”

  A smile curved up one corner of the captain’s mouth, which gave him a somewhat foolish appearance. He looked down at Will and winked, then ruffled his hair, and the two of them followed Widow Bannister into the house.

  ~

  Judge Lemmik always poured the best beer in Chambersburg, and Buck always strove to do it justice. Henry Ball sat next to him at Lemmik’s parlor table with a half-empty tankard before him and a slight frown creasing his brow. The judge, an energetic man who seemed unencumbered by his three-score years, set a full crockery pitcher in the center of the table, closed the parlor door against unwanted intrusion, and seated himself.

  “I have some bad news, gentlemen,” he said, graciously including Buck in the description.

  “Withers was caught?” asked Ball.

  The judge nodded. “I’ve just heard General Jenkins has a new prisoner at his headquarters. I must assume it is he.”

  Ball grimaced. “I suppose you want me to go home and learn what I can?”

  “No, I doubt you’d find out anything more, and we don’t want to draw their attention.” The judge took off his spectacles and began to polish them. “That makes three couriers captured since Wednesday. Either the Confederate pickets have suddenly become much more efficient—”

  “No sign of that,” Buck offered, refreshing his tankard from the pitcher.

  “Or we’re being spied upon,” Ball concluded.

  “I’m afraid so,” the judge said.

  Buck looked around at the door, which was shut, and the windows, which looked out onto the judge’s peaceful garden, where the last sun was gilding the leaves of the rosebushes. Having concluded this survey without discovering any spies, he returned his attention to the beer.

  “Shall I try to get through?” Ball offered.

  “No,” the judge said. “The news Withers was carrying is stale now. The Rebels are preparing to move, from the looks of it. We’ll wait until we have something decisive to send.” He poured beer into a small horn cup and took a sip. “What did you learn today?”

  “That column kept marching north on the Harrisburg pike,” Ball said. “They had artillery, but we don’t know how many gun
s. If Swenk had been with us we might have done more—”

  “He went off a-courting again,” Buck supplied, swirling his beer around. “Danged if I know what he sees in that Widow Bannister. Got a face like a mule.”

  “It is admirable in Captain Swenk to pay attention to a widow with children,” the judge said kindly. “Not every man would consider courting such.”

  “Not any man, other’n Swenk,” said Buck.

  Henry Ball shifted in his seat. “Should we not be discussing our plans?”

  “We should indeed,” said the judge. “This infantry column—were you able to identify the units?”

  “Alabama, we think,” said Ball.

  “Saw D.H. Hill riding with them,” said Buck, setting his tankard down and wiping his mouth on his sleeve.

  “It was General Rodes, not Hill,” Ball said in an annoyed tone.

  “I’m pretty sure it was Hill—”

  “And how far did they go?” the judge asked.

  Buck looked at his partner and shrugged.

  “Green Village,” Ball said. “Maybe as far as Shippensburg.”

  Sounds of an arrival in the house penetrated the door, precipitating a pause in the discussion. Buck set down the pitcher and put a hand to the butt of his pistol. All three men tensed as the parlor door opened.

  Captain Swenk strolled in, smiling benignly. The housekeeper, Mrs. Ellis, cast the judge a wry look behind the captain’s back and came in to set about lighting the fire.

  “Afternoon, Judge. Afternoon, boys,” said Swenk. “Say, I never could find you again.”

  Judge Lemmik got up to fetch the captain a tankard. Swenk made himself comfortable in the judge’s armchair by the fireplace, and accepted the beer with a nod of thanks. He stretched out his feet to the blaze Mrs. Ellis had struck, and gave her a kindly smile as she arose from the hearth. She sniffed, and took herself off, closing the door.

  “We weren’t hard to find,” Ball said dryly. “Your afternoon must have been taken up with other business.”

  “Well, that’s true enough, I suppose,” said the captain, grinning. He pulled at his beer, set it carefully on the slate hearth, and withdrew a sheet of notepaper from his breast pocket. “Here you are, Judge,” he said.

  Judge Lemmik perused the page with interest. “Twenty-four regiments under Rodes and Johnson—3rd Alabama, 6th Alabama, 12th Alabama—you’re sure this is accurate?”

  “Should be.”

  The judge sat down at the table, one finger tapping its polished surface as he read through the notes. “Very good, very good,” he murmured.

  “Did the Widow Bannister tell you that?” demanded Ball.

  “No,” said Swenk with a pleasant smile. “She doesn’t care for armies. Thinks they’re a nuisance.”

  The judge folded the page. “You’ve done very well, Captain, but I think we shall wait to see what tomorrow brings. Most of Lee’s army is still to the south of us. Perhaps tomorrow we’ll learn whether they are headed towards Harrisburg or York.”

  “The units that passed today went toward Harrisburg,” Ball pointed out.

  “But they went into bivouac,” said Swenk. “They could turn right around tomorrow and head for Gettysburg.”

  “We must learn where the bulk of the army will go,” said the judge. “If it’s Harrisburg, we know they’ll attack Philadelphia. If Gettysburg, they’re after Baltimore and the capital. As soon as we know which, we must get word to Couch’s headquarters, and quickly. Tomorrow or the next day should tell.”

  Swenk finished his beer, and stood up. “I’ll be going along, then, if you don’t need me. I have an invitation to supper.”

  “We’ll meet again in the morning,” the judge agreed, shaking the captain’s hand. “I’ll see you out.”

  The door closed behind them. Ball stared at it, frowning thoughtfully.

  “It was Hill,” said Buck, reaching for the beer.

  ~

  Friday dawned cloudy and quiet. There were few soldiers to be seen in the town, so the three observers struck southward to a hilltop overlooking the road to Greencastle.

  Captain Swenk had brought a pair of field glasses, which he and Mr. Ball passed back and forth like drunkards sharing a flask. Buck sat with his back against an oak, alternately watching his companions and the glowering clouds.

  “Could be Heth,” Swenk said, handing off the glasses. “We could tell for sure if we got a bit closer.”

  “Too risky,” said Ball. “They’re coming this way anyway, might as well wait.”

  “That’s right,” Buck said, stifling a yawn. “Judge told us not to take chances, on account of too many men have been caught. He thinks there’s a Reb spy in Chambersburg.”

  Ball shot him a withering glance. “We’ve had hundreds of Rebels through Chambersburg. A spy would be rather superfluous.”

  “But he said—”

  “It’s getting on,” Swenk said, putting the glasses away. “I think we’ve learned what we can for now.”

  “Good,” said Buck, getting to his feet. “I’m ready for breakfast.”

  They turned their steps northward, back toward town, descending the hill to the road through a meadow of daisies. Captain Swenk delayed them for five minutes while he collected a couple dozen of the bright-eyed flowers, to the disgust of his companions.

  “The Reb spy could be setting our men up,” Buck told Ball while they watched Swenk’s operations. “First they caught Barnes, and then Byrd, and then Withers—”

  “Withers went up the railroad tracks,” Ball said. “He was caught because he was plain stupid.”

  “Judge is right to be careful,” Buck insisted. “Could be all of us are in terrible danger. Spy could be fixing to capture us all!” His eyes glowed at this thought.

  Ball didn’t appear to share his enthusiasm. He leaned in to Buck and said in a fierce whisper, “That spy may be closer than you think!” He jerked his head toward Swenk—who strode unconcerned through the daisies—and frowned his young companion into silence.

  Buck fixed his gaze on the captain with a look of new appreciation. He whispered back, “Swenk’s a spy, and hoodwinked us all? Well, what a stunner!”

  Ball put a cautionary finger to his lips. Captain Swenk appeared not to have heard.

  “I don’t know,” Buck added, still whispering. “Fellow who walks about picking daisies with a big, silly smirk on his face—just don’t seem right for a spy.”

  “Won’t they be pretty, bound up in a blue ribbon?” Swenk asked, displaying the bouquet as he returned.

  “Quite,” said Ball in a sour tone. “Shall we go? It’s beginning to rain.”

  He strode off without waiting for an answer. Buck looked at the captain, who was watching Ball’s departure with a bemused expression. With a shrug, Buck fell in with his comrade as they hurried back to town.

  ~

  By Saturday morning Chambersburg was swarming with Rebels. Captain Swenk and the Widow Bannister stood together atop the courthouse steps among the crowd of citizens who had come out to watch the Rebel army pass.

  Below them a column of Confederate infantry poured into town from the south, passing through the Diamond at the center of town in a continuous stream. Now and then they raised a cheer of “Hurrah for the Southern Confederacy.” The townspeople made no answer, merely watching, exchanging words of apprehension in lowered tones.

  “Mrs. McAlexander entertained four of their officers to dinner last night,” said Mrs. Bannister, disapproval in her voice.

  “She may be trying to ensure her family’s safety,” said the Reverend Biggs, who stood nearby. “After all, her husband is not at home.”

  “If she thinks harboring the enemy will ensure her protection she is sadly mistaken,” pronounced Mrs. Bannister.

  “It is better than being robbed,” said the captain with a shrug.

  “We will all be robbed sooner or later,” complained Dr. Lengham. “They’ve taken all the sheets from the hotels for their wounded. N
o doubt they’ll want ours next.”

  Miss Katie Bannister, who had reached all the dignity of six years, tugged at Captain Swenk’s trousers. He picked her up, cradling her in powerful arms.

  “I drew you another picture,” she said, proffering a slightly crumpled page.

  Swenk took it, balancing the child on one hip while he admired her artwork. “That’s beautiful, Katie. What a pretty flag.”

  “That one was the prettiest,” Katie agreed. “I saw a man with a peg-leg,” she added.

  “A peg-leg? Was he a pirate?”

  Miss Bannister gravely shook her head. “He was a ‘federate.”

  “Katie Bannister!” cried her mother, becoming aware of her presence. “Where is your brother?”

  “Up there,” Katie said, looking up toward the cupola atop the courthouse. The widow, the minister, and Captain Swenk all followed her gaze. Mrs. Bannister emitted a muffled cry of dismay.

  “I’ll fetch him down, shall I?” the captain offered. He kissed Katie’s cheek, gently set her on her feet, and strode into the building.

  “A kind and considerate man, Captain Swenk,” said the minister, nodding approval.

  “He talks too much,” the widow told him, “but he is well enough, I suppose. Katie, your apron is smudged.”

  ~

  Buck leaned against the wall of Hoke’s store, not quite succeeding at appearing nonchalant. Henry Ball stood nearby with his hands buried deep in his pockets, watching the sea of Rebels continue to wash through the Diamond.

  Officers on horseback, leading columns of weary infantry, were beginning to give way to artillery and wagons full of supplies. It was not as colorful as the annual 4th of July parade—which would take place next week and in which Buck, wearing Parson Biggs’ second-best wig, was to portray George Washington—but it was much, much bigger.

  “Is that General Lee?” Buck whispered in a tone of awe.

  Ball looked up at the mounted officer entering the Diamond, a man of erect carriage and silvered beard, wearing a black felt hat and a heavy caped overcoat, and riding a gray horse. “Has to be,” he admitted.

  The column behind General Lee halted right on the pike while the general moved forward to consult with one of his subordinates. This man, also mounted, had a long, reddish beard and made a crisp salute.