Rally Cry

by William R. Forstchen

  The Methodist meeting house across the green was nearly finished; there was even a steeple waiting for the bell, which was the big cause of excitement this morning. The town hall was up as well, and the boys had even concocted a baked-bean-and-ham supper in it the night before, complete with a band, singing, and dancing.

  Kathleen had danced the evening away with him, but still there was that wall between them as if both were wary of the possible hurt the other might offer. The Suzdalians had even been drawn into the celebration, and a number of the men had female escorts for the evening.

  A sizable community of a hundred or more huts had sprung up outside the earthen walls, housing merchants and twoscore families who had moved down from the city to offer their skills and services to the regiment.

  In this quiet time, which Andrew had come to love so much, he walked down Gettysburg Street listening and thinking. The camp was as happy as could be expected. The young single men had seemed to adjust the easiest. Two had already asked for the right to marry, and he now found himself in the uncomfortable role of being something of a father, telling them to wait and let the courtship develop a little longer.

  Among the hundred and fifty or so men who were married, some with children back home, it had been far worse. A day did not go by when a grim-faced soldier did not come to him asking if there was any hope of ever seeing Maine again. He had kept up the lie, offering assurances which he doubted would be true, hoping only that in time they would come to accept whatever strange fate it was that had cast them here.

  There'd been three suicides, all of them married men, despondent over their fate. Ten others were now confined to the hospital, sitting quietly throughout the day, talking softly to themselves, or to imagined loved ones. Kathleen treated them with loving care, hoping to lure them back, but in his heart Andrew knew there was little hope; they had found a gentle world in their thoughts and would most likely dwell there for the rest of their lives.

  He pushed the thoughts aside as reveille echoed in the morning air. From the cabins curses and groans cut through the early-morning chill, and Andrew smiled at the familiar sounds. He'd always found those who could not wake up easily to be a source of amusement, realizing that to such men, a man who could awake instantly, feeling refreshed, was somehow unnatural.

  The camp came alive with the morning routines, which he watched and participated in with quiet satisfaction. With morning parade and breakfast soon out of the way, the various companies set off to their appointed tasks. New projects had sprung up almost overnight. A small quarry for limestone, opened by Company B, was now operating on the other side of the river, while H Company was nearly finished with building its first raft for the ferry service to support the operation.

  At least Tobias had found a task as well. Two weeks ago he had pulled out and sailed down the river to go explore the freshwater sea and had not been heard from since. Of course, Andrew was worried, but at the same time felt a sense of relief that the quarrelsome captain was out of his hair for a while. Anyhow the showing of the American colors would do no harm.

  "Colonel, sir. The men should be ready for you now."

  Roused from his thoughts, Andrew looked up to see Captain Mina of E Company standing before him expectantly. He looked especially dapper this morning, his dark thin mustache freshly waxed, his uniform neatly pressed.

  "Well then, John, let's go see what you've got."

  Together the two strolled out the gate to what was now called the Mill Stream Road and started up the hill. Every time he came up this way Andrew found it amazing how much farther back the forest kept retreating because of the unending harvest of wood. Rounding the first bend in the road they came past a pile of fresh-cut boards, still oozing resin. A loud continual rasping cut the crisp morning air.

  Smiling, Andrew paused for a moment to watch the sawmill in operation. If anything could remind him of Maine it was this. The building had yet to be framed, the rough logs of its skeleton still bare to the weather. There was a good head of water this morning coming down the chute and the ten-foot overshoot wheel turned easily. The driveshaft was an oak beam engaged directly to the wheel. From there a leather drive belt provided power to a five-foot circular sawblade, on the main floor of the building.

  Logs were snaked into the back of the mill, straight out of the pond which was still growing and spreading out in the narrow gorge behind the mill. Andrew watched as a team of men guided the log onto the cutting table, strapped it into place, and started to push it forward. A shower of sawdust suddenly kicked up as the blade bit in with a rasping whine.

  "How goes it this morning, Houston?"

  The captain turned around beaming, and as usual his excitement over this pet project was unlimited.

  "It's a-growing, sir," Tracy said, beckoning for Andrew to come in and have a look around. "We're rigging up a power winch line off the wheel," and leading the way he started down the ladder to the lower floor. The clatter of the wheel and the shrieking of the blade echoed like thunder as Houston pointed about and shouted.

  "One of my boys is almost finished cutting the blocks out now. If we had the right tools I'd have it done by now. But Dunlevy says he's too busy on other projects, and we should be happy about getting the blade, and that's that."

  Andrew could see Houston wanted his support to shift the blacksmith back under his command, and smiling, he shook his head.

  "Dunlevy gave you your blade—-now he's under John here for a while," and John smiled with good-natured rivalry at his friend.

  "All right. Well, at least I can tell the boys I tried," Tracy said with mock dejection. "Anyhow, we'll rig up a winch here off the main driveshaft, and when we need a new log, we hook the cable on, I push down on this lever here, which engages the gears, and in it comes, saving my boys a lot of sweat. The tough one, which won't be finished for a week yet, is mounting the cutting bed to a sprocket. Once that's in, then the boys won't have to feed the log in by hand. The sprocket will simply push the bed, with the log strapped to it, and a nice even plank will be cut out as easy as pie."

  "Good work," Andrew said enthusiastically, clapping Houston on the shoulder.

  "Now if only I could get all the water I need. It was bad enough when Fletcher got that dam of his done and started to build up a head of water and wouldn't release any down to me. But now you, John," and he pointed an accusing finger at Captain Mina. "That dam of yours is taking forever to fill. "

  "Look, do you want my products or not?" John said quickly. "You need me if you want to expand this second-fiddler operation."

  "Second fiddler is it!"

  "Gentlemen, gentlemen, please," Andrew said, holding up his hand. "We both need each other here, remember. I want John's operation with full water as quickly as possible —we all need what he can produce. Once that's done, you'll have all the water you need. All right?"

  "You heard him, John," Tracy replied. "Once that dam of yours is filled, don't hold back on me. We've all got to use the stream."

  "All right, all right, but colonel, sir, my men are waiting for you. Besides, Private Ferguson is just dying to show you his new plans."

  Refusing a hand, Andrew made his way back up the ladder and leaving the sawmill continued up the hill. A hundred yards farther up they paused for a moment to watch Fletcher's operation. Even as the mill operated a crew of carpenters of his company were busy putting up siding provided by Houston. This was one place that had to be protected from the rain.

  The millstones were small ones, less than three feet across. They were temporary affairs until a couple of boys from B Company could turn out full six-foot stones of granite, which would take at least another month.

  But for the Suzdalians it was still a wonder. Every day there was a steady stream of people, most on foot, some driving small wagons laden with bags of freshly harvested wheat, lined up outside the mill waiting for their grain to be ground into flour.

  By agreement with Andrew and Ivor the rates were simple enough—o
ne-tenth of all grain ground was kept as payment, and as a result the regiment would soon have fresh bread, for one of O'Donald's boys had been a baker and even now was supervising the construction of several ovens to handle the demands of the regiment.

  Passing on up the hill, they came out upon the latest addition to the mill stream's industries. The furnace and attached forge were small, with only a ten-foot wheel for now. But Mina was already talking about expanding it over the winter and building a great twenty-foot wheel by spring.

  Smoke was billowing out from a brick chimney, and with each turning of the wheel there was a loud rush of sparks as the bellows driven by the waterwheel pumped in a fresh draft of air.

  This project had been the most complex to date, requiring in one way or another the labor of half the regiment to get it ready. Nearly a hundred men had been busy felling wood for weeks, and following the lead of several charcoal makers from the north country of Maine had soon cooked up hundreds of bushels of charcoal of at least passable quality.

  The men of B Company had worked across the river, cutting limestone with the few tools available, crushing it with hammers to serve as a flux which would draw off the nonmetallic parts of the ore to form a brittle glasslike slag.

  Finally there'd been the mining of the ore. A site had been located farther up in the hills, and fifty more men had labored intensively using the few picks available to cut the ore into workable chunks and then haul it back down the hill.

  Others had worked at building the dam, which now was nearly twelve feet high and would finally rise to twenty-two feet to power the larger wheel already planned to replace the temporary ten-foot one now in place.

  Still others had helped to fashion the bellows from two whole cowhides, and the huge earthen ramp to the top of the furnace, where the crushed lime, charcoal, and ore were dumped in for the cooking-down to the final product.

  The Suzdalians at least had brick kilns located upriver from the town, and in trade for ten dozen bushels of Fletcher's wheat and several thousand board feet from the sawmill a sufficient quality had been purchased, transported downriver, and packed up to the hill to make the furnace.

  Andrew had already noticed a creeping inflation starting to set in as far as prices went with the Suzdalians, and he resolved that a brick kiln would be a major priority, since there was always a need to supply the mills, and the growing town of Fort Lincoln.

  "We're ready when you are, sirs," one of Mina's men called as the officers approached.

  A regular delegation was waiting for them, including representatives from the Methodist committee, who after intense negotiations had finally won approval for the first casting to be used as a bell for their chapel.

  Today's runoff would be modest; Mina had calculated it to be about five hundred pounds of iron, which as soon as it had cooled would be turned over to Dunlevy and his crew of apprentices. A mold for the bell had been fashioned from clay, and when enough iron had been amassed it would be remelted and poured in.

  As Andrew looked around he realized that nearly half the regiment was here, since so many had participated in getting this project started. Their pride and excitement was evident in their looks of eager anticipation as Andrew approached.

  "Colonel, sir," a grimy private said, stepping forward and saluting, "me and the boys working this here mill would appreciate a couple of words from you."

  Andrew looked over at John, who smiled broadly. It was a common joke with the regiment that the professor, whose job before the war had been talking, somehow got tongue-tied when asked to give a speech to the men.

  Andrew looked around at the men and smiled good-naturedly.

  "I'm proud of all of you," he said. "Proud that you're Union men tested in battle, the finest regiment in the Army of the Potomac," and with that the men cheered at the mention of that most famed army of the war.

  "I'm proud as well that you're Mainers, the best from the finest state in all New England," and with that an appreciative growl went up from the ranks, peppered with witticisms about their neighboring states to the south.

  "This mill will be the foundation from which other projects will spring that will be the envy of this world."

  He looked about and suddenly realized that he had unwittingly slighted the men working on other projects.

  "Not to mention the sawyers, miners, and heaven knows what other projects you boys are cooking up," he said hurriedly, and the crowd laughed appreciatively.

  "All right, then, enough of the speechifying and let's see what we've got here."

  With a ceremonial flourish, John stepped forward and handed Andrew an iron pole and pointed at the clay plug at the base of the kiln. Feeling somewhat clumsy with his one hand, Andrew grasped the pole and thrust it at the plug. After several attempts the clay broke, and as if by magic a hot river of metal poured out into the rough troughs laid out in a bed of sand at the foot of the furnace.

  A loud cheer went up as hundreds of pounds of molten metal flowed out, shimmering and sparkling, the heat so intense that Andrew held his hand up to protect his face from the glare.

  Beaming with pride, John could not contain his excitement and jumped up and down, until the runoff finally trickled to a stop.

  "All right, load her up again!" John shouted. "Let's have a ton of this beautiful stuff by tomorrow!"

  John looked about and finally spotted the man he wanted.

  "Ferguson, come over here."

  From out of the crowd, a slight form appeared, smiling nervously. His glasses made his pale-blue eyes appear owl-like, giving the man an almost ridiculous appearance. Andrew had always liked the man, even though more often than not he was in the infirmary, the hard rigors of campaigning simply too much for his body. Several times he had expected to see Jim's name stricken from the roll, but a week later he'd come dragging back, ever eager to try again. He had offered Jim an easier job behind the lines with the quartermaster, but the private had always refused.

  Here, however, he had come into his own, his student days studying engineering before the war now making him one of the more valuable men in the regiment.

  "Shall we take a look, private?" John asked.

  His head bobbing up and down, Jim pointed to a rough cabin next to the mill and led the way, the two officers following.

  Stepping into the darkness, Jim lit a couple of pine sticks that were so heavy in resin they burned as brightly as candles. Pointing over to a table, Ferguson rolled out a sheet of paper, which had become available only the week before from the small paper-making operation located back at the fort.

  Andrew leaned over the diagrams and could not help but shake his head.

  "Are you serious, Jim?" Andrew asked quietly.

  "Of course I am, sir. I'm always serious about such things."

  "But a railroad? Why would we even need one?" Andrew asked.

  "Why not?" Mina replied enthusiastically. "Ferguson here's got it all figured out. It'll be a narrow-gauge line of two and a half feet, saving a lot of effort on grading and tracks. The line would start at Fort Lincoln and come up the Mill Stream Road, then continue on up past here and then to where the ore supply is. Since it would be a light gauge we could use wooden tracks covered with iron straps to get started. I figure we'll only need twenty tons of iron a mile that way.

  "The line could haul lime flux, bricks, anything we wanted. from the river on up. At the top it could haul charcoal and ore down to the mill, and then run lumber and finished iron back to the river again."

  "It'll take a lot of work," Andrew said quietly.

  "I've got that figured already," John replied quickly. "Actually, not that many of our boys would be tied up. I was talking to Kal only yesterday about it—he claims he's got some relatives that'd make excellent gang bosses. Now that the harvest is coming in there'd be several landholders who'd loan out their peasants as laborers. We could pay for them with the regiment's half of the lumber and some of the Franklin stoves I'm planning to turn out from the found
ry."

  "Kal, get in here!" Andrew roared.

  As if waiting to be called, the peasant showed up in the doorway.

  "What is this about you being a gang boss?"

  "Colonel, sir," Kal said smiling disarmingly, "it'll be simple enough. I'll subcontract the work out to several of my cousins."

  "Subcontract? Just where the hell did you hear that phrase?"

  Kal looked around innocently.

  "You asked me to learn my English well."

  "All right. And I take it you're learning a little capitalism on the side?"

  "Well, I am collecting a small payment from the men I'll recruit to help with the grading and cutting of lumber for ties."

  "You mean a kickback, don't you?" Andrew asked, struggling to keep control and not burst out laughing.

  "I prefer to call it a consideration."

  Shaking his head, Andrew looked back at Ferguson.

  "What about power? You'll use horses, I take it?"

  Ferguson broke into a grin.

  "Steam power, sir—a regular locomotive," and as he spoke he rolled out a set of plans for the engine.

  "How in heaven's name do you plan to pull that one off?"

  "Sir, we have two engineers in the regiment, Kevin Malady and Kurt Bowen, both of I Company, and a couple of firemen as well. I've already been over the Ogunquifs engine from one end to the other, and I must confess to having learned a little something about such things before I joined the army.

  "We'll need to expand the foundry, putting in a couple of tilt hammers, an engine lathe and a reheat furnace for steel. I figured it out, and inside of a month they could be operating. In three months the track will be laid, the engine turned out, along with a couple of flat cars and hoppers, and the MFL S Railroad will be ready to run."

  "MFL S?" Andrew asked, unable to contain his curiosity.

  "Maine, Fort Lincoln, and Suzdal Railroad."

  "Suzdal?"

  "Why, of course, sir—that's the next step, to run a line up the river road straight into downtown Suzdal."

  "One thing at a time, Ferguson, one thing at a time."