Crusade of Eagles Page 22

  Pulling his pistol, Martin used the butt to knock loudly on the door. After a moment he saw, through the window, a bubble of candlelight moving slowly through the house. The door was opened by a tall, thin, white-haired man.

  “May I have your name, sir?” Martin asked.

  “The name is Branch Carter. Who are you, and what do you want?” the man asked.

  “Mr. Carter, I’m Captain Cavanaugh of the Union Army. General Cox’s compliments, sir, and we will require the use of your house for a few days.”

  Fellsburg, Kansas

  A small group of horsemen appeared on the crest of the hill that overlooked the Cavanaugh farm.

  “What do you think, Sergeant Payson? Anythin’ down there worth takin’?”

  The man called Payson was wearing the tattered gray uniform of the Confederacy, as were the four riders with him.

  Payson had a puffy scar that started on his forehead, disfigured the left eye, then streaked down his cheek and jaw like a purple flash of lightning, twisting the left side of his mouth into a sneer. He stroked the scar with his finger before he replied.

  “I don’t know, Garvey. There ain’t no more’n a thin sliver of a moon out tonight, and I cain’t hardly see nothin’.”

  “There might be some chickens,” Garvey said. “Some fried chicken would taste awful good about now.”

  “Yeah, well, there’s no way to tell from here iffen they’s any chickens down there or not.”

  “If there was any, we wouldn’t be seein’ none of ’em from here,” Garvey said. “Chickens all goes to roost at night.”

  “Haw!” Payson said. He turned his head to spit a stream of tobacco. “You tell me that like I’m some city fella or somethin’. You think I don’t know chickens all goes to roost at night?”

  “No, I know you know’d that. I was just sayin’ is all.”

  “So, what are we goin’ to do, Sarge?” one of the other riders asked.

  “We’re goin’ to burn the place,” Payson said.

  “What for are we goin’ to burn the place?” one of the other riders asked.

  “You ain’t heard nothin’ ’bout how the Yankees is burnin’ all the farms in Georgia?”

  “We ain’t from Georgia, Sarge, we’re from Missouri.”

  “Yeah, well, they’ve purty much burned Sikeston, New Madrid, and Cape Girardeau, too. So you might just say we’re gettin’ even.”

  “But the folks livin’ here on this farm didn’t do none of that.”

  “If you got no stomach for it, you hadn’t ought to have joined up,” Payson said. “Come on, let’s get to it.”

  The riders rode quickly down the hill. Without any further word from Payson, a couple of them headed toward the barn, where one of them tossed a lighted torch into some dry hay. The other threw his torch up onto the shake shingles of the roof.

  For nearly two minutes the little group of riders sat silently in their saddles, staring at the barn. Then the flames began leaping into the night sky, pushing back the dark with a wavering, orange light.

  “Now we can see,” Payson said. “Take a look around. If you see any chickens, pigs, or goats, grab ’em.”

  “They’s a cow in the barn.”

  “Chickens, pigs, and goats we can carry on our saddle,” Payson said. “Cows we cain’t. Don’t be worryin’ none about no cows.”

  As the popping, snapping fire grew in heat and intensity, the horses and cow trapped inside the barn began screaming in terror. Several times the very horses the men were riding would twist and turn, and duck their heads in nervousness, frightened at being so close to the burning barn.

  Even though there were no windows in Matt’s sleeping loft, he saw the fire first. That was because he could see an orange glow in the area below the loft. Curious as to what it was, Matt climbed down the ladder, then looked through the window. He saw that the barn was totally engulfed by flames.

  “Ma! Ma!” he shouted loudly. “Ma! The barn is on fire!”

  Mary was up quickly, and she ran into the great room where Matt was looking in awe at the burning barn. She also saw several mounted men, staring at the barn.

  “God in heaven!” she said. “Who are those men?”

  “Mama! My bedroom is on fire!” Cassie shouted, running into the great room.

  “Grab as many of your clothes and get out of here, as quickly as you can!” Mary shouted, returning to her own room. Opening the chifforobe, she grabbed a handful of clothes. She saw the photograph of her parents, and she grabbed it. She started to get the picture of her and Martin, but at that moment her bedroom window exploded and the flames began licking in.

  Mary let out a little scream, then hurried back into the great room. Cassie was already there, but Matthew was still up in the loft.

  “Matthew!” Mary called. “Matthew, come down here now!”

  “Pa’s silver saddle is up here, Ma! I’m not going to let it burn!”

  “Get down here now!” Mary screamed, her voice at near-hysterical pitch.

  There was a loud thump as the saddle was pushed over the edge of the loft. Then Matt scrambled down the ladder. He was carrying a handful of his clothes, and he reached down to pick up the saddle.

  “Let’s go!” Mary shouted. “We have to get out of here now!”

  Mary opened the door and held it as Cassie and Matt rushed out. By the time they reached the front yard, they were all coughing from the smoke.

  “Anybody left in the house?” one of the men asked. He had a disfiguring scar on his face.

  “No,” Mary answered.

  Unseen by any of the men, Matt managed to cover the saddle with his and Cassie’s clothes.

  “Your man? Where is he?”

  “He’s off in the war.”

  “Which side?”

  “He ain’t on your side!” Matt shouted angrily. “And if he was here, he’d shoot you all.”

  The man with the scar on his face laughed. “I’m sure he would, boy, I’m sure he would.” He looked at Mary. “You got ’ny livestock? Any goats? Pigs? Chickens?”

  “A cow but . . .” Mary stopped and looked at the barn. “Oh, my God! The cow! The horses!”

  “Yeah, we seen the horses and the cow. What about pigs? You got ’ny pigs?”

  “No.”

  “How do you get by with no pigs or chickens or nothin’?”

  “I do laundry for people,” Mary said.

  “Payson, they ain’t nothin’ worth waitin’ around here for,” one of the other men said. He was missing half of his left ear.

  “You’re right. Come on, let’s go,” Payson said. “We’ve done our work for the night.”

  The riders turned, then galloped away into the darkness. Mary, Cassie, and Matt stood between the burning barn and the burning house, where they were illuminated, as well as warmed, by the fire.

  “Ma, they didn’t check the springhouse,” Matt said. “The chickens is down there.”

  “Thank God they didn’t check it,” Mary said.

  “Where are we going to live now?” Cassie asked.

  “In the springhouse,” Mary replied.

  “With the chickens?” Cassie asked.

  “With the chickens.”

  “If I’d’a had a gun, I would’a killed them,” Matt said.

  “Here, now, that’s a fine thing, a boy your age talking about killing someone,” Mary said.

  “I don’t care, Ma,” Matt said resolutely. “If I’d’a had a gun, I would’a killed them for sure.”

  Franklin, Tennessee

  Standing under a tree just in front of the Carter house, where General Cox had established his headquarters, Martin Cavanaugh saw a covey of quail suddenly flushed from the brush. Lifting his binoculars to his eyes, he saw a long, gray line advancing steadily toward their position.

  “Sergeant Moultrie,” Martin said.

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Give the general my compliments, and tell him the enemy is advancing.”

  “Yes, sir,
” Moultrie replied.

  “Cap’n, do we run or fight?” a lieutenant in the thin, blue line called.

  “We fight,” Martin replied. “Hold your fire until I give the word.”

  “Hold your fire until you get the word,” the lieutenant shouted, and the order was passed up and down the line.

  “Hold your fire.”

  “Hold your fire.”

  Martin continued to watch the advancing Confederates through his binoculars, and was doing so when General Cox stepped up behind him.

  “Are the men ready?” the general asked. Even as he stood there, he was lifting his suspenders over his shoulders, evidence that he had been asleep until awakened by his orderly.

  “Yes, sir. I have them holding fire until the Rebs are in range.”

  “Bring those two guns up on line!” an artillery officer shouted.

  “Lieutenant, how do you want the guns loaded? Shell, shot, or canister?” the sergeant of one of the gun crews shouted.

  “Grape!” the artillery officer replied. “A double-charge of grape.”

  “Lieutenant, a double-charge of grape won’t carry much beyond that lane there,” the sergeant pointed out.

  “Then that’s where we’ll do our killin’,” the lieutenant replied.

  “Where are all those Rebs coming from?” Martin asked. “I thought we’d killed nearly all of them by now.”

  “You’ve seen how a bobcat will fight when it’s cornered, haven’t you?” General Cox said. He pointed toward the advancing gray line. “Well, that’s what we have here. The Rebs know it’s nearly over for them, so they’re going to fight harder than ever.”

  One of the Confederate soldiers fired then, and the minie ball from his rifle whizzed by, passing between Martin and the general before plunking into the front of the house.

  “I think they are within range, Mr. Cavanaugh,” General Cox said. “You may give the order to return fire.”

  “Fire!” Martin shouted.

  Martin’s order did not have to repeated up and down the line. As soon as the first man fired, it was all the signal required and, within seconds, a fusillade rattled up and down the Federal line.

  Despite the withering fire of the Federal line, to include the double-charged grape shot of the two cannons that had been brought up to the line, the Confederates continued their advance, quickly closing the distance between them. After that, the fighting was hand to hand and fiendishly savage. Soldiers of both sides were bayoneted and clubbed to death in the Carter yard. Martin, having emptied his pistol, picked up the rifle from fallen soldier and bayoneted a young Confederate officer on the front steps of the Carter house.

  The men, their faces blackened with gunpowder, screamed and cursed as they clubbed, stabbed, choked, and punched each other. The battle was made even more hellacious because the smoke from the cannons and guns was so thick that it was impossible to tell friend from foe.

  During the five hours of fighting, the twenty-three members of the Carter family, including women and children, took refuge in their basement. There, they huddled together, listening to the terrible din of the war outside, cowering to the screams of dying and wounded men as well as the crash and roar of musketry and cannon fire.

  Sixty-seven-year-old Branch Carter, the man who had answered the door after Martin’s knock the night before, was the head of the family. He had sent three of his sons off to fight for the Confederacy and one of them, Tod Carter, who was serving as an aide for General T .B. Smith, was killed within sight of his childhood home.

  The battle raged on for five hours. Then, during the night, the Federal forces withdrew to Nashville. Martin would learn, later, that the casualties at Franklin were even higher than they had been at Shiloh, two and a half years earlier.

  Fellsburg, Kansas

  “How old are you, boy?” R. D. Clayton asked.

  “I’m eleven,” Matt answered. He was lying, he was only nine years old, but he was big for nine.

  R. D. Clayton, who owned the livery stable, stroked the stubble on his chin as he looked at Matt. “You’re a mite small for a boy of eleven,” he said.

  “I can do the work,” Matt insisted.

  “You sure? I’ve got twenty stalls, and they have to be mucked every day. I got hay that needs to be pitched, tack to be moved about. And if you’re goin’ to be workin’ for me, I plan on gettin’ my money’s worth out of you.”

  “I can do the work,” Matt repeated.

  Clayton sighed. “I heard about you folks gettin’ your farm burned out. Your mama gettin’ along all right, is she?”

  “The tubs and such that Ma uses for doin’ the wash was out back. They wasn’t burned none,” Matt said.

  “That’s good, that’s good,” Clayton said. “You’re goin’ to school, ain’t you?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “What time does school start?”

  “It starts at eight. Gets out at three.”

  “All right, I’ll take a chance on you. I’ll expect you here by six in the mornin’. You can work till it’s time to go to school. Then you come back and work from three till eight ever’ night. The pay is fifty cents a day. Is that all right with you?”

  “Yes, sir!” Matt said with a broad smile.

  “You work on Saturdays too, that’ll be three dollars a week. I reckon that’ll help your mamma quite a bit.”

  “Yes, sir!” Matt said again. “Thank you, Mr. Clayton. You won’t be sorry.”

  “Be here at six tomorrow morning,” Clayton said.

  “Oh, sweetheart, I don’t know,” Mary said when Matt hurried home to tell her the news. “That means you’ll be working from dark to dark. Why, when will you rest?”

  “I’ll rest in school, Ma,” Matt said. “You and Cassie are doing all the work now, it ain’t—”

  “Isn’t,” Mary said.

  “It isn’t right,” Matt corrected, “that you and Cassie do all the work and I not do any of it.”

  “You’ve been holding up your end,” Mary said.

  “Yes, ma’am, when we had a cow and horses. I took care of ’em. But they was killed in the fire, and now there ain’t . . . isn’t . . . anything left for me to do around the farm. So I may as well earn whatever I can to help out.”

  Mary put her arms around Matt and pulled him to her. “Oh, my dear, sweet child,” she said. Seeing Cassie nearby, she held an arm out to invite the young girl over as well; then she embraced both of them. “I don’t know what I would have done without the two of you,” she said. “Oh, will this cruel war never end?”

  Nashville, Tennessee, eight months later

  “Captain Cavanaugh, please inform all regimental commanders to muster the corps,” General Cox said. “I have news of our situation.”

  “Very good, General,” Martin replied.

  General Lee had surrendered at Appomattox and since that time, the Twenty-third Corps had been in bivouac just outside Nashville. For the last several weeks, rumors had run rampant as to what was to happen next. There were many who insisted that they were going to be sent somewhere in the South to administer martial law in the rebellious states. Others said they were going to be held right here in Nashville for at least six more months in order to be on hand to quell any Rebel troops who had not yet surrendered.

  Martin wanted to ask the general what was the purpose of the muster, but he held the question, realizing that General Cox wanted to tell everyone at the same time.

  It took less than half an hour for the corps to be mustered, and because Martin was on the general’s staff, he didn’t have to join the formation. That enabled him to look out over the assembly. The Twenty-third Corps had suffered terrible losses during the war, but now they were all here, formed in regimental, then battalion, then company formation. Flags rippled in the warm breeze and the brass buttons glistened on the dark blue uniforms.

  “Captain Cavanaugh, would you publish the orders please?” General Cox said, handing a sheet of paper to Martin.

 
“Attention to orders!” Martin called, and commands and supplemental commands rippled down through the formation until everyone was standing at attention.

  Martin read the orders.

  “Effective on this date, July 26, 1865, The Twenty-third Corps, Army of Ohio, is hereby dissolved. All officers and men are released from active service and authorized to return to their homes. The government and the people of the United States of America thank you for your service.”

  After the reading of the orders, the men remained at attention, and Martin looked over at General Cox.

  “Officers and men,” General Cox called out. “It has been my distinct honor and privilege to serve with you. I now bid you good-bye. You are free to go. Commanders, dismiss your command.”

  Now, at last, the meaning of the orders seemed to sink in, and one man in the front rank took his hat off and threw it high into the air.

  “Huzzah!” he said.

  His shout was quickly joined by the others, and almost instantly the Twenty-third Corps, which, but a moment earlier, had been row upon row of human statues, lost all military cohesiveness. Now it was nothing but thousands of blue-clad men milling about, shouting for joy.

  “What are you going to do now, General?” Martin asked.

  Cox shook his head. “I’m not a general anymore, Martin. I’m a citizen, just like everyone else. And I’m going back home to run for governor of Ohio.”

  Martin laughed. “That’s not exactly like everyone else,” he said. “I doubt very many of us will be running for governor.”

  “What are you going to do?” Cox asked.

  “I’m going home,” Martin said. “I have a wife, son, daughter, and a farm.”

  Cox stuck out his hand.

  “Thank you for your service, Martin,” he said. “It was citizens like you, farmers, merchants, schoolteachers, and the like, who saved our Union.”

  Chapter Two