Читать книгу Settling The Score - George McLane Wood - Страница 15

Chapter Nine

At last their bloody battle was over. What few rebels who were left standing had dropped their weapons and had thrown up their hands. General Travis’s Union forces had carried the day. While the enemy soldiers were being grouped for processing, officer’s call was resounded. Jeff left an exhilarant Sergeant Smith in charge who was now praising his twenty battle weary warriors.

“Gentlemen, accept my congratulations,” expressed an excited General Travis. “You should be proud of yourselves. This battle was a decisive victory for us. General Grant will hear of your valor today, I promise you. The enemy here has been soundly defeated. Well done! Well done! Now see to your men and don’t forget to express my humble thank you to our troops for a job well done.” The general was indeed exuberant and flowery with his speech, Jeff noticed.

As Jeff turned to leave, he was told to stay; the general wanted to talk to him.

“Yes, sir, Gen’ral?”

“Lieutenant, I watched you and your troopers from the hill this morning. Where did you and your men get your training?”

“We trained ourselves, Gen’ral.”

“Wha…I can’t believe it! How did you go about your training? I mean what motivates you to fight in such an unorthodox way?”

“We fight to stay alive, Gen’ral, and to confuse our enemy while we’re killing ’em. A moving target, especially on horseback, is harder to hit than one that’s stationery, so we elect to always keep moving, never stopping till the fighting’s over. We trained our horses to obey us by using our knees, Gen’ral, just like the Indians do. We all carry three to four pistols each, sir, and we’re firing two pistols at the same time. We’re aiming to kill as many of our enemy as quickly as we can.”

“Yes, I observed you and your troop’s actions this morning. Well done, Lieutenant! Well done. You are an ingenious fighter, mister, so keep up the good work. There’s a battle that may begin between two opposing forces not far from where I want to be in seventy-two hours. It’ll very well decide who will win this damnable war; that is if we get to participate in it, of course. And you, young man, you may very well earn yourself a chest of medals. You’re dismissed, Lieutenant.”

One of the bloodiest engagements fought in the Shenandoah Valley had taken place on June 5, 1864, as the Battle of Piedmont, a Union victory that allowed the Union Army to occupy Staunton and destroy many of the facilities that supported the Confederate war effort. Augusta County had suffered again during General Philip H. Sheridan’s burning, which destroyed many farms and killed virtually all the farm animals.

General Travis, his infantry, and Jeff’s twenty troopers didn’t make it in time to fight that last battle. The Battle of Appomattox was fought on the morning of April 9, 1865, and was one of the last battles of the Civil War. It was the final engagement of Confederate States Army General Robert E. Lee and his Army of Northern Virginia before it surrendered to Union Army General Ulysses S. Grant. Union infantry and cavalry forces under General Philip Sheridan had pursued and cut off the Confederates’ retreat at the central Virginia village of Appomattox Courthouse.

General Lee launched a last-ditch attack to break through the Union forces to his front, assuming the Union force consisted entirely of lightly armed cavalry. When he realized the cavalry was backed up by two federal infantry, now with his further avenue of retreat and escape cut off, Lee had no choice but to surrender his army to Grant. The signing of the surrender documents occurred in the parlor of the Wilmer McLean house on the afternoon of April 9, 1865.

General Travis’s Union Army arrived in the village of Appomattox, Virginia, Tuesday morning, April 11, 1865. The general was disappointed he’d missed the last battle. Jeff and Sergeant Smith were glad the war was over. They made it through the bloody war with all but two of their original troopers and that part was sad, and they’d missed the signing of the surrender on Sunday, April 9, but they’d get to watch the formal ceremony of surrender on Wednesday.

Sergeant Smith was eager to muster out. He wanted to see some other places besides Virginia. Jeff wanted to go find the tree where he’d buried his fortune, then find his papa’s grave and take his bones back to bury beside his mama on their farm, which now he knew lay in West Virginia. Jeff and his cavalry troops were bivouacked for the night with the rest of the Union troops.

The formal ceremony was held Wednesday, April 12. A parade and the stacking of arms was led by the Southern Maj. Gen. John B. Gordon to Federal Brig. Gen. Joshua Chamberlain of Maine. It marked the disbandment of the Army of Northern Virginia with the parole of its nearly twenty-eight thousand remaining Confederate soldiers, who were free to return home without their major weapons but allowing them to keep their horses and the officers could retain their horses and their sidearms (swords and pistols). That benevolent gesture would effectively end the war in Virginia.

By June 1865, all the armies of the South would be disbanded, and the American Civil War between the North and the South would be officially over.

Jeff had said somber goodbyes to his twenty troopers, some troopers teared up, and others gritted their teeth and clasped others’ arms as they bid their saddle friends goodbye. Jeff bumped into his former sergeant, Jorn Murphy, that day. He’d just been mustered out of the Union Army. Jeff was ready to head back to West Virginia.

“Where you headed, Jeff?”

“West Virginia, Sergeant! I’m going home. I have a small farm there. Whereabouts are you headed?”

“Me, I’m headed straight for Texas, gonna find me some land there, gonna get me a cattle ranch. I’ll be seeing you someday, Jeff, m’boy,” Murphy said as he saluted.

“So long, Jorn, I’ll be seein’ you.”

General Travis had asked Jeff to stay in the cavalry and go fight Indians with him out west. Jeff told him no, that he’d had some important duties he had to attend to. The general was disappointed, but he’d get over it, Jeff figured.

Jeff headed east, riding his cavalry trained gelding, taking his time. He was free, with no responsibilities. He wanted first to find that oak tree in South Carolina. He wandered through the countryside looking at trees for several weeks. He’d been disoriented that day he reckoned. Jeff finally was able to get his bearings straight. He looked again at his compass. Yeah, he was closer now. Up this road farther, I believe. There, just beyond the fork in this road. I’m here? Yeah. Now, where are you, mighty oak tree? Jeff rode around several oak trees, looking. There you are. Jeff finally spotted the tree with his initials carved into the trunk. He stepped off his bay and, behind the trunk, knelt and dug into the soft, loamy soil. He opened the metal strongbox pulled up five cloth bags and packed them in his saddlebags. He’d buy himself a packhorse in that yonder village tomorrow and spare his faithful old friend the extra weight.

The sun was almost down. Jeff decided to spend the night where he was. He gathered some wood, lit a small fire, and brewed himself some coffee. His supper was a can of beans, with a crisp red apple he’d plucked from its tree on his journey to locate the oak tree. Tomorrow he’d start on his journey looking for his papa’s bones. Right now, he was hound-dog-tired; he’d been in his saddle since before sunup. His horse had finished eating his oats and was sleeping; the tired gelding’s head was hanging almost to the ground. Jeff fisted one .44 Colt, rolled into his blanket, and was softly snoring in less than two minutes.