GLORY II Chapter 10

Chapter 10

  "Well, I'll be soaked in whiskey!" exclaimed Private Halsey, pausing in his efforts to throw a slab of bacon down to his coworker who was standing in the bed of a large commissary wagon.  "Would you lookit that?"  He pointed down the railroad tracks in the direction of the train station no more than fifty yards away.

  "What ya looking at WB?" his partner asked, leaning out from the back of the wagon to get a better view of the station platform.  They had been unlucky enough to draw supply detail for their unit, the 72nd Ohio Infantry Regiment, and had spent the better part of two hours taking slabs of bacon and barrels of hard tack from a train boxcar to load onto a never ending line of wagons.  In the next boxcar, a detail from the 95th Illinois Regiment was doing the same.

  "Over yonder," Halsey directed from his vantage point on the high boxcar.  "They's a full bird colonel fallin' all over his self, drunk as a beer sucking pig."

  Private Albert Cashier, (Jenny Hodges), also unlucky enough to draw the detail for the 95th, overheard the loud Halsey and paused to look for the object of his outburst.  Walking, or rather, staggering down the train tracks, an officer wearing the eagles of a full colonel, his jacket open, hair ruffled, and eyes half closed in a drunken stupor, was slowly making his way.  As she watched, he caught a boot toe on the edge of a rail tie and fell crashing head first into the dirt and gravel alongside of the tracks, flinging his arms up just in the nick of time to protect his tender face.

  "Hell, that's Colonel McMillen," Corporal Hayes stated, as the drunken man managed to slowly climb back to his knees then his feet.  "Heard tell he's gonna be the new Division Commander for this here expedition."

  Albert looked at the corporal in charge of the detail with a puzzled expression then back to the staggering officer.  All she could manage in reply was, "him?"

  Her disgusted look and unfavorable question prompted Private Johnson to comment, "Reckon there ain't no rebs where we're a goin' if they send us drunks to be in charge of this here expedition.  I heard that ol’ General Sturgis hisself was drunker than a cathouse nag.  Couple of the boys saw him earlier at the Gayoso House in Memphis with both arms full of whores and both hands full of whiskey bottles."

  "I don't reckon the rebs will want to tangle with us," Private Halsey knowingly remarked.  "Word is, we'll have might near ten thousand men on this here little trip.  We even got General Ben Grierson who rode all the way through the State of Mississippi thumbin' his nose at the reb cavalry goin' with us, close on to four thousand cavalrymen to boot."

  "Don't like cavalry!" Hayes spat back.  "All they's interested in is glory huntin'.  They ain't worth a damn when it comes to fightin' against infantry.  Why, I saw a whole regiment of cavalry get whooped by one company of rebs back in ‘62.  Cavalry won't stand and fight.  They like to hit and run like a bunch of injuns.  They got the best food, best rifles, get to ride everywheres they go, but still ain't worth a plug."

  "But, they's still better'n infantry," Halsey remarked.

  "Then why in tarnation didn't you join the damn cavalry?" his partner questioned, tired of Halsey's constant griping.

  "Heads up!" barked Corporal Hayes, saluting as another colonel closely followed by a gaggle of officers walked past the wagons in the direction of the train station.  The Colonel halted in front of the drunken McMillen and reached down to help him to his feet, for he had tripped again.  In a low voice which still carried to the nearby work detail he said, “I'm Colonel Thomas, Sir, of the 93rd Indiana Regiment.  Will you please come with me and my staff, and we will take you to your headquarters."

  McMillen's answer was a loud slur.  "I got work to do Colonel, need find my Adjutant."

  "You are in no condition to work, Sir," Colonel Thomas persisted.  "I must insist you come with me now.  You can't afford to have the men see you in this drunken state."  As he spoke these words he glanced sideways at the gawking work detail not far away.  They hurriedly resumed loading the wagons in pretense of having not heard nor seen anything, something which privates were very good at.

  Albert watched out of the corner of her eye, as the drunken colonel was half helped, half carried away.  Alcoholism in the Union Army had steadily reached epidemic proportions and almost every unit was affected by it in one way or another, more so among the officers than the enlisted men.

  They were under way at last.  A major expedition had been formed under the command of Brigadier General Samuel Sturgis to strike deep into the heart of rebel-held territory.  No one knew Sturgis, other than a few who said he'd made a name for himself at the battle of Antietam, but had no significant command time since.  Some rumors indicated that they were headed out to reinforce General Sherman who was north of Atlanta.  The favorite rumor was that they were going after the mean, hard fighting, General Nathan Bedford Forrest himself.

  Albert didn't care either way which rumor was true; she was tired of garrison life and anxious to get back to the simplicity of the field.  Life was much simpler in the field and she would be able to snatch moments of privacy, which were hard to come by in a garrison environment.  Perhaps they'd camp near Laura's farm and she'd get a chance to talk with her again.  She had really enjoyed their short time together and had often thought of Laura over the past months.
She had even heard a rumor that the rebel officer had escaped, but her Commanding Officer, Captain Schellenger, had told her not to rely too much on camp gossip.

  Almon Schellenger was a good man and a fine officer who treated the men under his command with respect and consideration.  No doubt every person in the company would protest strongly if the higher ups tried to replace him.  But that was also true about their Regimental Commander, Colonel Humphrey.  He had also proven himself to be a good commander and a fine gentleman, concerned about the men and constantly looking after their welfare.  All in all, the 95th Illinois was a well led, highly trained, experienced, very professional regiment that had seen the elephant and come back with colors flying high.

  Early that morning, they had caught a train in Memphis, been thrown into boxcars like sardines in a can with standing room only.  Fortunately, the ride had been short and when they detrained in Lafayette, Tennessee, although soaked through from the constant rain, their spirits were still high.  The camp itself was nothing but mud, mud, and more mud.
The cavalry had arrived during the afternoon and thousands of milling horses had turned the once green meadows into a quagmire of mud.  The hundreds of wagons with their mule teams had completed the process, churning the mud into soup.

  "Back to work, Albert," Corporal Hayes ordered, butting into her daydreaming.  "We ain't got all day to unload this dad-blasted boxcar.  It'll be mess time soon and I'm already hungry enough to eat a full slab of this here raw bacon."

  Returning to the repetitious task at hand, Albert was soon interrupted again by Private Halsey who, for some unknown reason, could not keep his mouth shut for more than ten seconds at a time.

  "I didn't join no cavalry on account of I don't have no horse," Halsey stated, answering an earlier question.  "Back when I joined, cavalry mounts were so hard to come by, you had to supply your own.  It's even worse now, what with the Rebs stealin' them all.  Some of them mounts I saw those cavalry boys ridin', they gonna fall down dead before they make twenty miles.  Hell, some of them are older'n me."

  "What for are you talking so much?" Halsey's detail partner asked suddenly, his question a very serious one.  "You a preacher or sumthin', or is you gonna write a book?"

  "Don't reckon I've had the callin' to serve the Lord," Halsey replied, his answer half smothered by the arrival of another train pulling into the station.  "But, as far as writin', yeah.  I keep a diary about all what happens and when this war is over, I'm going to make a book outta it."

  As the train slowly ground to a halt amid screeching wheels and bellowing steam, they were confronted with another unusual sight.

  "Well, I'll be damned," Corporal Hayes remarked before Halsey could even react to the situation, "A train load of Niggers."

The detail watched with open mouths as black sergeants ran from the train with guide-on bearers and positioned themselves about thirty paces apart in a straight line.  A command was barked and a flood of black soldiers debarked from the train like a river of black and blue tar.  Within minutes they had formed and aligned themselves into perfect company formations, standing at rigid attention.

  A black Sergeant Major standing in front of the formation did an about face, facing away from the formation.  Quickly, a white officer, a Lieutenant Colonel, marched over and stood three paces in front of the Sergeant Major.

  "Sir, the regiment is formed," the black Sergeant Major reported, offering the Colonel a crisp snappy salute.  The Colonel, after returning the salute, gave the command of, "post," and the Sergeant Major did another about face and marched briskly to a position behind the regiment.  Simultaneously, all the black First Sergeants did the same, taking up positions behind their companies.

  They were quickly replaced by white officers who stood proudly in front of the black companies.  The detail could see another regiment further down the tracks doing the same.  Each move was made very fast and with exact precision.  Within ten minutes of the train's arrival at the station, the entire colored brigade was marching in perfect formation away from the station.

  "Hell, took us the better part of an hour to debark and move out to our company sectors," Private Halsey remarked, envy bright in his eyes.

  "Best I ever seen," Corporal Hayes added, "They look like real professional soldiers."

  Halsey was not generous with his reply.  "Yeah, they do, but can they fight or will they run like scared rabbits as soon as they meet up with the rebs?"

  "Reckon we gonna find out," his partner replied, not at all impressed by the display of precision and military bearing.  "Way I see it, them niggers oughta be unloading this here train, not us white boys.  Niggers is like a mule; tough, ornery, but ain't got no lick of sense, only good for hard labor."

  "I don't remember the 95th ever looking that sharp," Albert finally cut in.  "Not even when paradin' in front of the families back home."

  The man paid no attention to her remark and continued.  "Likely as not, they think they're gonna get whooped iffen they don't look right purty."

  Albert wasn't convinced by the man's prejudicial viewpoint.  She had looked at the faces and into the eyes of the colored soldiers as they marched past.  What she had seen was pride and determination, not the ignorance of a field slave.  These men were soldiers, real soldiers, men she would not care to go up against in battle.

  These thoughts occupied her mind until they were finally relieved by another detail half an hour later.  From her height advantage on the high railcar, she scanned the vicinity around her.  As far as she could see to her right along the railroad tracks there was nothing but wagons, hundreds of them.  And, to her left, the cavalry camp was alive with activity, thousands of horse soldiers grooming their mounts, thousands of horses snorting and bucking and farting in the stale evening air.  The place smelled of leather, sour sweat, and horse manure, combined with tobacco, coffee, and the occasional spirited aroma of whiskey.  To her rear, in a large field on the other side of the tracks, the infantry had settled in for the night, their shebang's covering acres and acres, their cooking fires permeating the air with wood smoke and burning fatback.

  "You coming down from up thar, or not?" Corporal Hayes asked, anxious to get back to camp and fill his grumbling belly.  As she climbed down from the rail car, she noticed Halsey of the 72nd Ohio staring at her with a strange expression on his face.  Before she passed out of range of his irritating voice, she heard him remark, "I thank that Illinois boy's kinda strange George, I swear he acts like a girl at times."

  "Mayhap he's one of them funny guys," George answered, the expression on his face conveying his obvious distaste.

  The next day, June 2nd, she was up at the crack of dawn.  Like most soldiers, at least the smart ones, instead of moping around the campfire until late hours, she had gone to bed fairly early.  Therefore, at first light crawling out of the bedroll was no difficulty.  The sky was overcast and it looked like it was going to do some more serious raining.  The spring so far this year had been an extremely wet one.  It was her turn at squad cooking duty and she added more wood to build up the hot coals, then filled and prepared the bent coffeepot.

  Coffee, for some reason, was the first thing everyone reached for as soon as they rolled out of their fart sacks.  As a reward for the backbreaking work they'd done unloading the rail cars the day before, the commissary sergeant had slipped each one of them a half side of bacon when no officer was around.  This had made her a hero in the eyes of her fellow squad members.  Food was always a sore point in the view of the infantryman, they never seemed to get enough of it and very often what they wound up with was barely edible at the time.

  The entire morning was spent lounging around the squad area.  No call to muster even came until almost noon, and then it was a simple roll call to account for everyone.  That something was going on was evident by the scurrying back and forth by swarms of staff officers, each looking deadly serious with his bundle of papers and preoccupied stare.  Old General Sturgis had arrived by train around 8 a.m. and was met by a sober Colonel McMillen and a score of staff officers.  Though sober, their red eyes and pained faces broadcast the fact that both were suffering from severe hangovers.

  Finally, around four in the afternoon, Captain Schellenger called the company together for a general briefing of the situation.  This was something that was rarely done by most officers.  The majority felt that privates had no need to know what was happening, all they needed to know was to follow orders, anything else would just clutter their minds.  This was another reason their captain was so highly regarded.

  "The General has organized us into two divisions, one of infantry and another of cavalry," Captain Schellenger stated.  "General Benjamin Grierson commands the cavalry division with two brigades.  The first brigade is under the command of Colonel Waring, the second under Colonel Winslow.  Colonel McMillen is in command of the infantry division with three brigades.  First brigade is under Colonel Wilkin, second is under Colonel Hoge, and the third brigade is commanded by Colonel Bouton, which is made up of the African soldiers."

  "We have been assigned to the second brigade under Colonel Hoge.  The second brigade will consist of Colonel Campbell's 81st Illinois, Lt. Colonel Sidwell's 108th Illinois, Lt. Colonel Clarke's 113th Illinois, Colonel McKeaig's 120th Illinois, Captain Chapman's four artillery pieces, and our own regiment, the 95th Illinois under Colonel Humphrey.  All total there will be around 12 infantry regiments and eight or nine cavalry regiments, over 20 artillery pieces, and around 250 supply wagons."

  "A mighty big force just to go out for a Sunday stroll," one of the sergeants stated.  "We goin' to reinforce Billy Sherman or we goin' down to kick old Forrest's butt?"  His spur of the moment remark brought a spattering of laughter from the company.

  "Privileged information, for officers only.  But, seein' as how you are going to be the ones who are gonna do the fighting, I think you have a right to know.  General Sherman's worried that old Forrest will get behind his supply lines up in Tennessee and raise hell.  Our job, from what I gather, is to find Forrest and whip him or at least keep him so busy he won't have time to leave Mississippi."

  "Heard tell old Bedford Forrest is one real mean cuss," a private remarked.  "Don't give a hoot who he takes on in a fight even if they's twice his number."

  "Well, with our large force we ought to be able to give him a run for his money," Captain Schellenger replied.  "We have some of the best fighting units in the entire Union Army right here with us.  Not only that, we have a lot of the new repeating rifles, which give us an even greater advantage.  We should be able to take on a force of rebs two or three times our size and whoop them."

  "Problem is, we got too damn many different kinds of repeating rifles," a sergeant commented.  "Hell, I've seen Merrils, Sharps, Gallaghers, Spencers, Stars, Colts, Burnsides, Cosmopolitans, and the nigras still got them old antiques.  Shore as hell wouldn't want to be the ordinance sergeant for this mixed up outfit."

  "What about the nigras?" a private asked. "They gonna fight or is they gonna be house boys for the officers?"

  "Colonel Bouton said they were itching for a fight.  They even made up little badges to wear that read, "Remember Fort Pillow."  Some say the rebs shot nigras down in cold blood after the fighting was done at Fort Pillow just north of here a few months ago.  These African soldiers are out for revenge.  Also promised to give the rebs no quarter if they catch 'em."

  "Reckon those rebs'll run like hell when they see a thousand niggers coming at em," the same private remarked.  "Especially niggers with real sharp pig stickers."  His remark sparked a sudden gale of laughter among the men.  Albert was one of the few who did not join in.  She knew the black soldiers were deadly serious, but she also kept up with whatever news came down concerning the war effort.  General Nathan Bedford Forrest was not a commander to trifle with.  It was a shame that he and General Bobby Lee and so many other great generals were on the other side.  If the Union had them, or officers like them, this never-ending war would have been won a long time ago.

  As soon as they were dismissed, most of the men wandered over to their squad areas to relax or repair worn equipment.  Some, including Albert, went to watch the cavalry depart.  General Grierson had received orders to move out by five that afternoon, even though it was still raining and the roads were hip deep in mud.  The cavalry troopers did not look like they were enjoying themselves.  Mud thrown up by the horse's hooves covered most of them from head to foot, and to top it all off, most of the mud was liberally mixed with fresh horse manure.

  The next morning it was the infantry's turn to experience the pitfalls of Mother Nature.  Although it had continually drizzled rain the day before, on the morning of the third of June it became a steady downpour.  Colonel Wilkin's first brigade took the lead and Albert grinned as Private Halsey sloshed past with the 72nd Ohio.  He was barefooted, electing to save wear and tear on his shoes, and the mud and manure was up to his knees.  Naturally, his mouth was already going ninety miles an hour with just about every other word a cuss word.

  The second brigade filed into line as soon as all elements of the first had passed.  Unfortunately for the third brigade, the Negroes of the 55th and 59th colored infantry, they had been assigned the nasty task of guarding the supply wagons that brought up the rear of the expedition.

  Not only did the rain continue to pour down in torrents, the road steadily turned into a quagmire barely passable for men on foot.  The teamsters and colored infantry had it even worse for they had over 250 heavily loaded wagons to push through the mud, which often was deeper than the wheel wells and clung to the spokes like wet flour, building up and almost bottoming out the wagons.  It took a supreme effort to keep the wagons moving even at a slow crawl.

  All day the rain continued and all throughout the long day the men forged steadily ahead, wet, miserable, hungry and exhausted.  At dusk, the two infantry brigades halted for the night on high ground near the small town of Lamar, Mississippi.  The black brigade and the wagons had dropped several miles behind and were still fighting to cross the low ground around Clear Creek.  Finally, around eleven that night Colonel Bouton decided his men had had enough of manhandling the heavy supply wagons and gave the order to halt on a patch of high ground about four miles northwest of the other two brigades.

  Most of the infantrymen were too exhausted to even eat their rations that evening, but fell asleep as soon as their over-abused bodies found a hard spot to lie.  Even Private Halsey wrote in his diary that night,” It is the hardest day and night I have seen in the war except one at Corinth in ‘63." The incessant rain continued to beat down until late on the morning of the 4th.

  The cavalry fared not much better.  After they'd left around five p.m. on the afternoon of the second, they’d only made it as far as the intersection of the State Line and Early Grove Roads, about three miles west of the small town of Moscow, Tennessee, and a mere nine miles from their starting point at Lafayette.  It took them the entire day of the third to make it as far as Salem, Mississippi, the boyhood home of the man they were after, General Nathan Bedford Forrest.

  Around noon on the 4th of June, the sun finally came out and started drying the mud with a vengeance.  It took the third brigade half the day to catch up with the first two brigades, fighting through thickening mud and steaming ground.

  Colonel McMillen thankfully called a halt around eleven a.m. so the exhausted soldiers could have a decent meal and dry some clothing.  But, as soon as the commissary officer had dispensed their rations, the slow steady march continued.  It was the second brigade's turn to take the lead and Albert smiled again when she saw Private Halsey's dour face as she marched past him.

  The sun was now out in full force and the roads dried rapidly.  Spirits were beginning to heighten, so to keep up morale, General Sturgis halted the infantry at Robinson's Plantation while he and his staff went on ahead to spend the night at the widow Spight's house a few miles from the town of Salem.  He had already sent orders ahead to General Grierson to halt the cavalry at Salem so the infantry could catch up.  Consequently, the two cavalry brigades had off the entire day of the 4th except for the foraging parties sent out to find forage for the horses.  These parties were necessarily large because two men from the 6th Indiana Artillery were killed by rebel guerrillas when they went too far from the main force in search of forage.

  That night, thanks to the generosity of Private Halsey and several others from the 72nd Ohio, Albert and her squad dined on thick juicy prime rib and tender ribs roasted over a slow fire.  It appeared that a private from Halsey's platoon had shot a local farmer's cow and feasted his squad on fresh liver and steaks.  For reasons unknown to her, Halsey had handed Albert a twenty-pound strip of prime rib and told her to fatten himself up.

  On the morning of the 5th, the infantry finally caught up with the cavalry, which was camped a few miles from Salem, and while they were allowed to put up their tents early, the cavalry was ordered to move out by four that afternoon.  Everyone's mood had been somewhat soured because Colonel McMillen had ordered his Provost Marshall to post guards at each civilian's farm to prevent the men from getting sticky fingers, or as they put it, prevent them from foraging and pillaging.  Most likely one too many cows had been killed and the farmers were in an uproar.

  The official foraging parties were free to take everything or anything the poor civilians had except for a few days food.  The guards were also told to keep the colored soldiers away from the civilian homes, not even to let them draw water from the wells to fill their canteens.  This made Colonel Bouton angry, but when he confronted Colonel McMillen, all he would say was that the nigra soldiers did not need to visit homes for water because there was plenty in the rivers and streams.

  The cavalry made it as far as Dunbar's Mill, near the intersection of the Saulsbury-Ripley, Salem-Ruckersville Roads and made camp for the night.  Then early on the morning of Monday, June 6th, they made it as far as the small town of Ruckersville in Tippah County.

  The infantry moved out at 4 a.m. on the 6th, with the second brigade bringing up the rear.  Once again the rain started with a cloudburst and downpours throughout the day turned the roads into muddy soup again.  They made little progress and camped that night near the widow Childer's house, just off the Ripley-Saulsbury Road.  That evening, Private Halsey wrote in his diary, "The roads are in terrible condition.  I have marched for two days barefoot and am footsore."

It was around nine a.m. on the morning of the 7th, before they finally got moving again.  The terrain was very hilly but at least the continuous rain had stopped.  The colored brigade once again had the wagon train with the first brigade in the lead and Albert's brigade in the center of march.

  Around one in the afternoon, Albert recognized the area they were going through, known locally as Muddy Creek.  She could even see the spot where she and Laura had hidden during their lengthy talk.  She was surprised and angered just moments later to see the burned-out shell of what had to be Laura's home nestled in a wide burned circle.  Some idiot officer had taken revenge on a preacher and his family by burning them out.

  She felt cold inside, but the march continued on for another four miles or so and halted at a place called the Crowder Plantation about four miles north of the small town of Ripley.  The second and third brigades camped while the first brigade marched on to occupy Ripley.  It had been reported earlier that Colonel Winslow's cavalry had skirmished with rebel cavalry just south of that small town and General Sturgis wanted to have infantry protection in the event the
Confederates moved back towards Ripley.

  Albert was not aware that a young freckle-face, buck-toothed, lieutenant was getting the chewing out of his life for his part in burning the Tyree farm.