Cow Hollow

“Addie! Addie! Wake up!” A heavy hand shook his shoulder as he cracked an eyelid. Gone was the wistful dream of a forest paradise containing his lovely wife and the golden rays of sunlight glancing off drops of early morning dew, replaced by the square set jaw and wild green eyes of ‘Boots’ McMillan. Addison recognized the glint in his eye and with a sigh rolled to his left side to resume his much needed slumber.

“Go away Boots. Whatever you’re scheming, leave me out of it.” Pulling his Union blue cap over his eyes, he shifted the tatty haversack he was using for a pillow and gave a wave of dismissal to the intruder, but undeterred, Boots remained.

“Come on, Addie, we ain’t none of us had a decent meal in days ‘n see there’s this farmer what brings his cow in ta the barn every night ‘n some of us fellers was gonna run him off n’ commandore his livestock to aid the Union war efforts! Trouble is, we don’t know nuthin’ bout heardin’ no cows, so we need all the help we can get!” Boots sat back on his heels, took off his cap, and wiped away the glistening droplets of sweat from where they’d formed on his brow. “Sides,” he continued, “we’re in south territree now, so that makes it ok, right Addie?” His face beamed with rampant excitement as he waited for Addison’s response.

Addison released another belabored sigh and rolled over onto his back. It was clear Boots would lend him no rest until this matter was settled. Lifting the brim of his hat, he looked Boots in the eye, “First of all, Boots, the word is ‘commandeer’, second of all, there is no herding involved with one stinkin’ cow, and thirdly, that poor farmer is not a soldier, not part of the war, and needs that cow to feed his family. Just leave it be! Our rations will come soon enough!” Addison held the other man’s befuddled gaze.

Boots simply blinked and said with a hint of pleading in his eyes, “Well…we’s still awful hungry ‘n sides, we can leave him some steaks…”

Addison was aghast, “That’s mighty generous of you, Boots, it really is, but if you’re lookin’ for permission, you’re barkin’ up the wrong tree.” Boots looked like a hungry puppy just spanked for trying to snatch a pork chop. “But,” Addison went on, “I guess someone ought to witness this disaster who can explain it at the court martial.” He rose, righting his cap on his head, and brushed some leaves and dead grass off the backside of his trousers.

Like an orphan at a rich uncle’s Christmas party, Boots sprang to his feet ready for action. “I knew I could count on good ol’ Addie!” Boots clapped a big arm around Addison’s shoulder and gave a hearty squeeze,” Ol’ Gus said you’d never go fer it, but I know’d better!”

“Old Gus; I should’ve known. This just keeps getting better and better.” Old Gus was an intractable old goat who followed the camp around hoping to see one last hoorah before taking his final dirt nap. He was too old to enlist, but too pertinacious to get rid of. The commanding officers had tried to run him off a couple of times, but he’d turn up amongst the ranks just the same a day or two later. Since he wasn’t any trouble and didn’t get in the way, they finally gave up and let him come along for the ride. He even carried his own musket, which must have dated from before the revolution and it looked younger than he did!  Shaking his head, Addison followed Boots who had already started toward the other side of camp. “And for the record, Boots,” he called “I’m not ‘going’ for anything other than observation!”

The small, dubious group of men huddled around a crude sketch in the dirt. The man holding the stick, one of the quartermaster’s men, spoke in muted tones while the others watched intently, periodically nodding in agreement. Addison had never seen him do any actual cooking, he mostly served and scrubbed, but you could tell by looking at him that he sure took eating seriously. He wasn’t an enlisted man, but rather one of the volunteers who, along with aiding the quartermaster, assisted with any other odds and ends around the camp. The rumor was, he was quite the handyman, though you’d never hear him brag about it. The rest of the group were mainly comprised of the company screwballs, the type who were good folk, but despite their best efforts, never really fit in anywhere, even with each other. By the time Addison was within earshot, they were drawing straws on who would clean and dress the animal for the quartermaster.

“Jimmy, that’s when you grab ‘eem, put the sack over his head, knock ‘eem clean out cold, and tie ‘eem up in the barn.” Shivers, the man with the stick, so named due to his frequent night terrors from which he would often wake shaking, held Jimmy’s gaze momentarily before Jimmy stared down at the dirt in front of him as if searching for a piece to a puzzle which he knew he should have already solved. That’s when Shivers, Shivs for short, glanced up at Addison with a look of perplexity, then regarded Boots in askance, “How’d you get ‘eem to…”

Boots held up his hand to interrupt, “He’s just here to observerate.” He interjected, choking on his last word as if he were trying to say it around a mouth full of marbles, then he gave Shivs an exaggerated sly wink and popped a squat next to Jimmy who, by the look on his face, was still bemusing over his part in the plan.

Addison rolled his eyes, “The word is observate!” Catching his error before it had even cleared his lips, Addison winced as he smashed his fist into his forehead, “O-b-s-e-r-v-e.” he carefully enunciated, “Dammit! I should be asleep!”

Looking back to Addison, Shivs said to Boots, “Told you not to wake ‘eem.” Then, with a shrug, he turned his attention back to the perplexed Jimmy. “Now, Jim, when you tie ‘eem up, you wanna use a…”

“But I don’t understand, Shivs, what am I supposed to knock him out with?” Jimmy asked with such sincere innocence that everyone simply stared at him in silence until Shivers, with a perturbed look of annoyance, reached out and smacked him in the head with the knobby stick he’d been holding, and then threw it in the dirt at Jimmy’s feet. Rubbing his head and checking for signs of blood, he reached down and picked up the stick. Holding it up in front of his eyes for examination, he smiled and nodded at Shivs in agreement. That’s when Old Gus, who’d sat in silence next to Jimmy the whole time, cracked a wide toothless grin, and then coughed out a wheezy chuckle, which soon tumbled into contagious laughter that avalanched through the whole group leaving them wet cheeked and breathless.

***

After yet another meal of split rations and weak coffee, Shivs came around to collect utensils giving each man involved in his covert operation a nod and a wink, intended as a signal to meet at the edge of a nearby cornfield in thirty minutes at dusk. Each man returned the wink and nod as they added their tins to Shivs’ growing stack. Addison rose to his feet, stretching his back. Noticing the fires growing brighter and the sky dimmer, he embarked at a slow stroll toward the edge of camp noticing some of the men in his company along the way. Henry Carpenter, from Lansing, stooped on a stump pulling out his harmonica. He began playing a soft hymn, “Onward Christian Soldiers.” Thomas Barker, of Maple Grove, stretched out on a patch of grass to read a letter from home. After struggling to see which was better, firelight or the tangerine glow lining the fading sky, his eyes eagerly scanned the page. Addison watched long enough to see the man shake with both titters and tears before moving along. As he passed the officers’ tent, he saw Major Cutcheon, a Yipsilanti man, looking over field reports and studying a dog-eared map. Addison wondered where they’d march to next. Wherever it was, he hoped there were rations waiting for them when they got there. Tents would be nice too. The combination of hunger and sleeping in the elements was stewing a restive air among the men. Stopping at the edge of camp, he pulled his pipe and a small pouch of tobacco from his breast pocket. Staring off at the graying horizon he filled the bowl, packed it in tight, and then lit it with a few quick puffs of thick white smoke. It curled around his head, bluing against the sable night sky as it rose, then faded into the cooling late evening air as he contemplated what the next few months might bring. He wondered how many of the men he’d just passed would be amongst the files who’d be marching home. Then he wondered if he would be amongst those files. He imagined the reaction of his dear wife, Phoebe. Then he thought of his children. Before he could wipe the tear that streaked down his cheek, wetting his thick, black beard, a large hand clapped his shoulder so hard he nearly dropped the pipe from between his teeth.

“C’mon, Addie, it’s time!” With Boots’ hand still on his shoulder, Addison had no choice but to walk along beside him as he continued his stride toward the cornfield in the near distance. Turning his attention in that direction, he could see the silhouettes of the rest of the group. There would be six in all; apparently, that’s the troop size required to capture one lone cow. Addison shook his head as Boots rushed him along to the meeting point. If nothing else, he hoped this would at least be entertaining.

When Addison and Boots arrived, Shivs was instructing the rest of the group, “Everyone remembers the plan, right? We surround ‘em, Jimmy cracks the old man in the head with his stick…” Jimmy rubbed his head at the mention of the stick, which drew another chesty chuckle from Old Gus. “…That’s when we all close in on the cow before she has a chance to run. Oscar, you’ll shoot her from the north side and Norman, you’ll shoot her from the south side.”

Addison rolled his eyes in disbelief, “They’ll be lucky if they don’t shoot each other! Neither one of ‘em can hit the broad side of a barn at high noon from inside the damn barn, much less a black angus cow in the dark!” After several moments of menacing glares from six sets of eyes, Addison shrugged his shoulders in surrender and motioned them to carry on. “You’re right. I’m just here to observe.”

While Jimmy’s tyin’ up the farmer in the barn,” Shivs continued, “the rest of us’ll be guttin ‘n cuttin’. Any questions?” Shivs looked to each man in the group. When his gaze landed on Jimmy, he sheepishly raised his hand. “Cut it out, Jimmy, yer not in school ya damned idiot! What is it?”

“Tell me again why we hafta tie him up in the barn?” Shivs swelled with vexation and Jimmy covered his head expecting another blow to his already tender skull, but it never came. Shivs calmed himself with a long, deep breath.

“We ain’t tyin’ ‘eem up, you are and it don’t matter as ta why, just do it you mule headed pea brain! Any other questions?”

Looking like a ten-year-old boy who’d just peed himself, Jimmy shook his head and gave a nearly inaudible, “no.”

“Good. Now let’s get movin’!” The group, except for Addison, moved as an entity toward the small farmhouse across the nearby road. It almost appeared as though they were marching into a real battle. Then one of them pulled out a small Union flag while another started tapping out a cadence on his thigh. That’s when Addison knew this would just be too good to pass up. He set off in the direction of the quiet gulch in which the little farm lay, with the occasional wisp of smoke drifting up from his pipe, still firmly clutched between his lips.

The scene at the farmhouse was quiet. The still calm of the night, which had become quite dark, save for the light of the stars, had completely enveloped the slight dwelling making it appear quite lonely and secluded. Addison stood on a knoll overlooking the property. From there he reckoned he’d be able to witness this folly through its inevitably disastrous end. He couldn’t help but smirk as in the distance he made out the muted figure of Shivs motioning ‘his men’ into position around the poor, unsuspecting farmer’s humble homestead. Addison truly felt sorry for the man. He likely had sons who’d already run off to fight for Lee and ‘state’s rats’, or as it was pronounced in the north, state’s rights. So, there he was, left to farm his land and make due on his own, not knowing if his sons would ever return to aid in the revival of his already suffering livelihood. Just moments after the last of the attack party slipped into place, as if on cue, the farmer exited his front door, buttoning his trousers and pulling his suspenders up over his shoulders, and made his way toward the pasture. Judging by the slight waddle in his stride, his wife was a good cook. Addison wondered if perhaps they should have plotted to abduct her instead of the cow. After a short journey to a small fenced in pasture less than a hundred yards from his house, he retrieved the stark black bovine and embarked on their traditional evening journey across the gulch to the barn at the base of the hillside opposite the house. Addison glanced over at Shivs who was frantically motioning to Jimmy to wait. After a quick look in Jimmy’s direction, it was clear he wasn’t getting the message. And thus it began.

Before the farmer got twenty feet from the pasture, Jimmy was running full tilt toward him, stick held high above his head. Oddly enough, when the farmer turned to face his attacker, Jimmy released what sounded to Addison like a rebel yell. Without missing a beat, the plump, aged farmer calmly sidestepped the crazed intruder and extended a foot. Jimmy went sprawling at the cow’s feet who didn’t look disturbed by the incident in the least. Unfortunately for Jimmy, he was at the business end of the cow, which promptly conducted said business, much to his disdain. As he scrambled to get out from under the heifer’s raised tail, the farmer sprinted into the barn, then darted out, pitchfork in hand. Wiping a clod of muck from his eye and scuttling to his feet, Jimmy saw the approaching farmer with his pitchfork leveled at Jimmy’s chest and he turned tail toward a small stand of nearby trees, his retreat hastier than his attack. That’s when a shot rang out from the dark. What followed could only be described as pandemonium.

Shivs was shaking his fists in silent rage. Jimmy reached the nearest tree and began climbing frantically, even though the trunk would never support his weight beyond five vertical feet. The cow jolted to attention and raced straight toward the camp, which drew fire from both Oscar and Norman simultaneously. Boots was closing the gap between him and the farmer, who had hit the dirt at the first shot. Old Gus was on his knees holding his sides from the pain of laughter. Apparently, Gus had tagged along for the same reason as Addison. The travesty didn’t end there. The cow, at a dead run toward camp, passed Addison without notice, charging through the camp and anything in its path along the way, which happened to include the officer’s tent. Oscar and Norman, sights set on their target and not much else, reloaded while taking chase after the cow and periodically knelt to fire another ball, then back on their feet to pursue their game while packing in the next round. Looking back toward the farmhouse, Addison saw the farmer reclaim his pitchfork and take chase after a very scared Boots off into the dark of night. That’s when Addison also noticed the farmer’s wife who was now standing at the front door in her frilly nightdress, cap, and slippers with a musket in her hands looking for anything worth firing at. It’s a good thing poor eyesight had robbed her of most of her night vision. Addison decided it was time to make his way back to camp before someone thought he had something to do with this debacle.

The camp was a perfect picture of chaos and disaster. Men were scrambling to arms; Colonel Williams was barking orders as Lt. Colonel Smith and Major Cutcheon emerged from the disheveled tent, which the cow had made short work of laying to ruin. Rumors of surrounding enemy troops were flaring through the camp like wildfire and a bugle was sounding the command to assemble ranks. That’s when Addison decided it was time to inform Colonel Williams that there was no impending danger and the men could stand down. Before he could move his feet, Shivs trudged by him, a big round bundle of exasperated disbelief. He was muttering something to himself about the best-laid plans going to waste and bungling idiots. He reached the Colonel before Addison and was already confessing his blunder. Even in the dim, dancing orange light of nearby fires, he could see the Colonel’s face turn seven shades of red as Shivs, now near tears, carefully outlined his picture perfect plan and how it quickly went awry. That’s when a winded Boots appeared at Addison’s side.

“Whooohooooo! Addie, did ya see me tear in ta that farmer! He’ll think twice afore messin’ with a yank agin, won’t he?” The look on Boots’ face was almost convincing.

“I reckon he will, Boots; I reckon he will.” Addison replied with a smirk.

Boots’ cheer was enough to catch the Colonel’s eye, that’s when he stopped Shivs, who was now all but pleading for his life, in mid-sentence and started shouting orders for the men to stand down explaining it was a false alarm. He leveled his gaze at Shivs. I’ll deal with you in the morning! As for any other involved parties,” his gaze now scanning everyone who’d stopped to listen, which was essentially anyone within earshot, “they’d better be front and center in ten minutes!” A frozen crowd of faces began looking to one another starting to wonder who, exactly, was involved in this muddle. “Dismissed!” Colonel Williams spun on his left heel, turning to his second and third in command. After a few hushed words, the three moved away from the dispersing crowd for a more private conversation.

That’s when Addison noticed, just out of reach of firelight, two large masses of troops moving in quickly from two separate directions. A winded messenger ran to the Colonel and shouted, “I’ve been sent to inform you there were two battalions close enough to dispatch to your aid and two more will be here within the day! Where are the Rebs coming from, sir, so I can inform my commanding officer?”

Dumbfounded the Colonel just buried his face in his hands and shook his head before pulling the messenger aside to inform him of the ensuing buffoonery.  Addison looked to see if Old Gus was around to witness this final insult to injury, but he was nowhere to be found. Addison figured he’d finally gotten his last hoorah and headed home or died of laughter somewhere on the battleground of Cow Hollow. Either way, he had a much better night ahead of him than the Colonel.