Soldiers and Ghosts: How Josh Simmons Spent His Summer

Soldiers

Ghosts

Phil Gutierrez

iUniverse, Inc.

Bloomington

Soldiers and Ghosts

Copyright © 2013 Phil Gutierrez.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Certain characters in this work are historical figures, and certain events portrayed did take place. However, this is a work of fiction. All of the other characters, names, and events as well as all places, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

iUniverse books may be ordered through booksellers or by contacting:

iUniverse

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.iuniverse.com

1-800-Authors (1-800-288-4677)

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

ISBN: 978-1-4759-7081-4 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4759-7082-1 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4759-7083-8 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2013900461

iUniverse rev. date: 5/17/2013

CONTENTS

PRELUDE

THE WILDERNESS CAMPAIGN

SPOTSYLVANIA

COLD HARBOR

THE CRATER

EPILOGUE

For: Mrs. Rocio Montalvo Gutierrez

(For her unselfish help)

Maj. Daniel M. Gutierrez

(My beloved brother and mentor)

Mrs. Brigitte H. Gutierrez

(My wonderful wife, who believed in me)

"For indeed the hand of the Lord was against them: to destroy them from among the host, until they were consumed.

So it came to pass, when all the men of war were consumed and dead from among the people."

Deuteronomy 2

PRELUDE

The southern sun rose hot and angry over war torn Virginia. A river meanders lazily out of the darkness of the west on the journey to its confluence with the Rappahannock River. Together they will empty into the Chesapeake Bay and later mingle in the Atlantic Ocean.

There are no farmers, homesteaders, or stragglers visible. No slaves work the neglected fields.

There is however, a living, breathing river of blue clad men, bristling with arms and bent on death and destruction, crossing the wet, oblivious flow. This is the United States Army of the Potomac. One hundred thousand soldiers plus. They come with their artillery and supply trains. It is the largest army ever seen on American soil; looking for a fight.

Its Commander is a small, iron willed fighter named Lieutenant General Ulysses S. Grant. His subordinate commander is Major General George Meade, a veteran of many battles, including the Union victory at the Battle of Gettysburg, the year before.

The great host winds its way slowly into the woods on the south bank of the Rapidan River. The stunted trees of the re-growth forest swallow the horde with an insatiable appetite. Six weeks later, less than half of these men will still be effectives. The others will be wounded, sick, or dead. Many will remain behind in enemy territory where they will be digested in the belly of the Wilderness.

The reasons lie with the opponent facing the attacking force. There is a scrappy, ragged army of Rebels waiting in the Wilderness. They are led by one of the most remarkable military Chieftains in the history of war. He is General Robert E. Lee; affectionately called ‘Marse’ Robert by the Confederates he leads. This tactical genius, and a hungry, but very tough Army of Northern Virginia, has been consistently victorious against the Union Army since the beginning of this War Between the States. They will insure the northern army gets its fight.

The Wilderness region of Northern Virginia consists of thick stands of stunted pine and several species of deciduous trees such as the flowering dogwood, oak, and elm. Tangled about tree trunks and across red-yellow soil, spread almost impassable briar and bramble thickets. The area is called re-growth forest, after generations of woodcutters clear-cut the primordial forests, which once flourished here in an unbroken green carpet from the Atlantic coast to the Mississippi River, fifteen-hundred miles to the west. The ground is littered with detritus, leaves, bark, branches, and the trunks of dead parent trees.

Here within these seemingly impenetrable thickets, the Army of Northern Virginia licked its horrible wounds, parceled out its precious replacements and recruits, now so rare, and scrounged for forage while struggling to recover from last year’s campaigns.

The troops are lean, even gaunt, and heavily tanned. Many wear ragged clothing, although quite a few units have been issued new butternut colored uniforms. The gray cloth of early war uniforms is next to impossible to acquire in large quantities because it is largely imported from England and Europe, and the U.S. naval blockade of all major southern ports is now complete, except for very brave, but infrequent blockade-runners. However, the mismatched uniformed soldiers are tough and determined. Before the gates of Hell and despair, they refuse to be defeated.

Everything is scarce, including feed for the thousands of cavalry, artillery, staff, and wagon train draft animals: horses and mules. Their fare is largely corn on the cob, plus whatever they can graze or browse from the blasted forest and ground. The men subsist on cornmeal and fatback bacon rations. The meat is often rancid. Thus, the army tries to live off the land as much as possible; however, the countryside in this region has been long-stripped. Generosity comes from the compassionate, long-suffering people here abouts and the surrounding cities and towns, notwithstanding.

Richmond is the heart and center of the Confederacy. It is this city and its inhabitants, which this Confederate Army is protecting. Goods flow into Richmond from across the Southland and the holds of any blockade-runners that manage to get through this massive Union blockade. In Richmond itself, numerous munitions and war goods factories operate as well as a huge hospital and several smaller ones. Thousands of prisoners are confined in the city and the Confederate government is seated here.

The Army of Northern Virginia (ANV) has priority over all other Confederate formations in the South, largely because the main Federal effort is centered in Virginia. Lee’s army has command authority over rebel forces in the Shenandoah Valley, from where the food for it is grown. General P.G.T. Beauregard commands the entrenchments, which encircle and defend Richmond and Petersburg, but Lee has great influence there also. There is a Yankee Army bottled up at Bermuda Hundred, by Rebels under the command of lower ranking Confederate generals. However, they answer to Lee. The army fighting in Georgia under General Johnston is a force comparable in size and strength to Lee’s Army of Northern Virginia, but if it falls, the war will go on, whereas if Lee falls, the war is lost. There are also forts and formations stationed all along the long coastlines of the Confederacy, as well as naval vessels raiding here and there. As far as the Union commanders are concerned, the key is the Army of Lee. The South is being bled white by the blockade and advancing Federal armies on all fronts. In gallant displays of loyalty and support for the troops, the citizens of these cities hold starvation parties at times, where much gaiety is faked as they collect what blankets, clothing, food, and tools they can for Robert E. Lee’s fighting host, and the other formations in the field. The leftovers go to General Beauregard’s smaller army around Petersburg, which also acts as a blocking force against invasion up the James River.

The main army, rebuilt behind its breastworks on the Rapidan River, is well armed, superbly led, strictly disciplined, and confident as always in this War Between the States. New recruits have trained all winter in snow, ice and wind, often fighting off Yankee probes. Wounds have healed, spirits renewed, for those lucky enough to have had leave. Young bodies have miraculously recuperated from incredible losses suffered during the last three years of hideous warfare.

Josh Simmons is one of those young men….

THE WILDERNESS CAMPAIGN

I

Scuttlebutt spreads fast through the ranks. Rumor has it the Yanks have begun to move. Josh can see the message on his comrades’ faces in the light of pre-dawn fires: fear, excitement, bravado. Many of these soldiers seem little more than boys who look forward with great anticipation to their first sighting of the Elephant. Others look like middle-aged men, some on the verge of being old. Some men seem filled with fear and trepidation, which wisdom born of experience has lent them. Many have become addicted to violence. All have awakened.

Private Joshua Simmons, though little more than a boy, is no green recruit. In addition to action since, he is a veteran of the Battle of Gettysburg last year. He stormed the Round Tops with General Hood’s Texans. After a horrendous defeat, the first suffered by this army, the tired survivors retreated across Pennsylvania to the border and crossed the Potomac River with ‘Marse’ Robert and the remnants of the Army of Northern Virginia. Private Joshua Simmons has no illusions about what awaits him at the end of this road.

Joshua just turned seventeen this past April, but he has long since become a hardened professional in this ghastly war between brothers that consumes arms, men, horses, and mules like the Black Death in Europe.

The sun is not yet risen, but already the men have started moving about. They have been ordered to cook their rations of cornmeal and bacon quickly, in preparation for ‘departure’. The Confederates obey efficiently and fast. There is much noise and movement in the bivouac. However, it is a controlled, well-directed frenzy. These men were well trained in drill and march; even the new boys have already been trained to respond quickly to instructions or orders. Some recruits appear nervous and stay quiet. Most Johnny Rebs act boisterous and full of braggadocio; One Rebel kin lick five Yankees!

Before dawn, Lieutenant General James Longstreet’s I Corps is on a forced march north in answer to General Lee’s summons. The Yankees have been spotted concentrating in the area of Wilderness Tavern, just east of Lee’s two other Confederate Corps. Fighting is underway.

As the grim men tread northward. Josh and many of his fellows believe the ghosts of thousands of dead soldiers haunt these woods. The dead come from Fredericksburg and Chancellorsville just last year, when General ‘Stonewall’ Jackson was mortally wounded. There were so many dead. The faces fade quickly in the mind’s eye, but the names remain forever for comrades and others, if they gained fame. The picture of the last horrific sacrifice remains; skulls and bleached bones uncovered by winter rains and snow lie scattered throughout the woods. The souls of these men remain in the woods. The woods became their new home forever, the current soldiers believe.

Josh cannot believe he has never been wounded, for he has certainly been in the thick of the fighting on several occasions. Combat soldiers know charmed men exist in the ranks who miraculously escape serious injury over and over. However, this luck has a way of suddenly running out without warning. Josh is cured of those feelings of invulnerability possessed by youth everywhere, of all ages. He knows death waits for him up some road, trail, field or glade. He believes his soul will arise from his shattered body and join the countless ghosts forever marching and campaigning in these thickets: The Wilderness.

By 5:00 p.m. this May 5th, I Corps is within ten miles of the front. A halt is ordered and the men go into bivouac with orders to move out again at one in the morning for the last leg. Beyond this, Josh and the others know little. Soldiers are not usually privy to High Command decisions. Theirs is but to march and fight. The men feel tired, but not exhausted. They stay fit. The important thing now is to rest and sleep. They post pickets. The Sergeant of the Guard assigns security details and the mass of troops wrap themselves in their gum blankets and fall immediately to sleep.

* * *

Last winter was bad, reviews General Lee, the ANV’s Commander. After Gettysburg and the costly fighting retreat, the Confederate Army went into a bivouac of sorts to bury what dead it was able to bring back from the battlefield, and those who succumbed later of their wounds or illness. The Army and the South treated the many thousands of wounded, refit its shattered brigades with weapons and crew served arms, and trained new replacements. In a manner of speaking, it was reborn.

The depredations suffered were next to impossible to bear, even for combat hardened young boys from small towns, cities, and farms accustomed to walking barefoot and foraging off the land. The Army of Northern Virginia prepared for battle once again.

‘Impossible to bear’ is not an exaggeration, Lee knows, in the population of white men the South is outnumbered by at least three to one. The blockade of Southern ports by the Union Navy has all but strangled importation of goods and munitions from abroad. Inland, Federal forces target every possible rail line they can reach in Dixie. The Mississippi River and most of its tributaries fell into Northern hands. A great Federal army is attacking east-southeast from Chattanooga towards Atlanta, Georgia, and the sea beyond, the objective being to cut the Southland in two, from Vicksburg to Savannah. Confederate industry, without European trade is hopelessly inferior to the North’s. In some areas, gunpowder is manufactured in caves along the cave crescent, stretching from northern Alabama and Georgia to Kentucky and North Carolina. The technology is primitive. The very Shenandoah Valley, which is the fruitful breadbasket for Confederate armies in Virginia and the civilian population centers of Richmond, Petersburg, and other sizeable cities and towns in Virginia and beyond, suffer under constant attack. Horses, mules, cattle, and pigs exist in short supply for the ANV, more so now that the Union armies occupy the rich farmlands and industrial centers in west and middle Tennessee.

Incredibly, morale of soldiers and civilians stays high! The people are in fact, full of fight. They make great sacrifices for their armies in the field and alas, for their own families. Yet, there is a growing current of desperation festering in the heart of the Confederacy.

In contrast, Lee and the officers of the ANV were amazed and impressed by the overflowing, unscarred wealth in the North, just across the border in Pennsylvania. In fact, it is not necessary to refer to a map or border post; the ravaged condition of the South is in stark contrast to the richness of the enemy. The war is waged in Dixie; Virginia is a perpetual battleground. In the mountains and the far west, Rebel guerrillas, cavalry, bushwhackers, and rogue bands of deserters, roam everywhere. Alas, after the great battles have been fought, many won by Confederates, the Yankee cancer is persistent and will not go away. The General loves his men. He worries about the immediate future.

II

Early in May, General Lee is well aware, there is already drought in Virginia. The soil has turned to hematite dust and detritus on the forest floor is crackling dry. Many streams have dried up, even though with the blush of spring over the land, wildflowers bloom in profusion on the roadsides. There exist no macadam roads. All roads lie buried beneath inches of red-yellow Virginia loam. The dust rises at the slightest agitation to choke the lungs and clog the noses, mouths, and eyes of animals and men. Only a couple of plank roads exist in reasonably good operational condition. Summer has come early to Virginia. It is unseasonably hot. The elements have conspired with the hated Yankees, hated as only brothers can hate, to torture and kill the Rebels. Rebels who dared to secede from the Union and shout unpardonable blasphemy against the Nation, its mother. These Rebels, have been the cause of much agony and suffering to their northern brethren. Now, almost a year after the fall of Vicksburg and six months after the fall of Chattanooga, Union armies again menace Virginia.

The Commanding General of all Union armies in the field is a leader by the name of Lieutenant General Ulysses Simpson Grant, who is aware of this intelligence. The diminutive, scrappy Chieftain is the first three star general in the U.S. Army since the Revolutionary War. Grant has characteristically chosen to march his Headquarters in the field with the Army of the Potomac and direct its specific operations personally in order to circumvent the endemic history of Northern generals, sans initiative.

This morning these rumors of impending battle run wild. The Yanks have begun their summer campaign. More than one-hundred thousand uniformed men, all their trains, artillery, a Corps of cavalry, and five full Corps of infantry, are coming to ‘get’ ‘Marse Robert’ and his tough little army, which is not much more than half the size of the approaching host. Battle they will get. The Southern Army is very aggressive and imminently confident. No matter the status or rank of the soldiers, all realize the upcoming battles will be vicious, desperate, bloody struggles to the death. Lee places his trust in God’s hands as always, before applying his great knowledge and experience.

* * *

Josh stands just shy of five-feet seven inches in height. Due to the very poor rations at this stage of the war and the constant maneuvering, drilling, marching, and digging, he weighs no more than one hundred forty pounds. Nevertheless, he is young, healthy and whipcord tough. His suntanned, teenager’s face at first glance relays a look of fresh innocence, with his unruly mop of sandy-blond hair sticking out from under his worn kepi. In spite of this, once you look into his light-brown eyes, you come away with a different impression. Joshua has seen too much death, too much suffering. He has experienced the blunders of commanders and seen the bloody results. He does not believe that he will survive the war. Nonetheless, this is the nineteenth century in America, a very Christian era. As is typical at his age, Josh believes in Holy Providence. He does not truly understand the causes for the conflagration, except that the Blue Bellies are down here, threatening his home and family. More importantly, he has faith in his Commanders, especially General Robert E. Lee. In fact, Joshua Simmons and most of his comrades in this Army adore the General. They care deeply what he thinks of them. They will cheerfully charge the enemy and give up their lives for ‘Marse’ Robert.

Beyond this, Josh is the typical young soldier serving on this side of the socio-political issues, which brought about the war. Like the great majority of Confederate soldiers serving on all fronts of the war, neither Joshua Simmons nor his family own slaves. Never have; never will.

In his immature and youthfully emotional way, he does have some prejudices. Joshua has a temper and will occasionally fight with some comrade or other about any one of innumerable reasons soldiers find to squabble. Josh’s curiosity and independent spirit have gotten him in trouble before and it is the reason for his prior reductions in rank from corporal back to private. However, Josh’s mates know his mettle and worth as a fighting man. They consider him a valuable member of Company ‘C’ Fifth Georgia Volunteers Regiment. The boy is taken seriously and is often asked to instruct new recruits, who tend to seek out young men like themselves to talk about their hopes and fears. They are also very curious and receptive to information on how to ‘soldier’, how to fight in battle, how to survive the unsurvivable. Many feel secretly terrified.

Joshua is not an introverted or reticent youth. He likes talking to his friends and dispenses advice easily enough if asked respectfully. Josh, like his comrades, is heavily armed by nineteenth-century standards. He bears a nine-pound, Confederate Richmond Rifle-musket, which fires a .58 caliber lead bullet (called a Minie ball) and is deadly up to 400 yards in Josh’s capable hands, although most targets will be less than three hundred yards. He has learned out of dire necessity to prepare and fire his muzzle-loader rifle at the rate of four rounds per minute. That is very fast. The norm is two to three rounds per minute. In addition to his rifle, Josh has acquired a .44 cal. Colt Revolver, which he carries in his waist belt. Also on his belt, hang his rifle bayonet and a vicious looking Bowie knife. Priming caps and bullets fit in a cap box on the belt for the caps, and in the cartridge case hung from the right shoulder across the chest for easy access to rifle ammunition.

On his back is strapped a knapsack, which stores rations, extra clothing, when available, toothbrush, comb, a piece of lye soap, a work pencil, and a few sheets of wrinkled paper for letters home. When required, extra ammunition and mercury percussion caps can be added to the pack. On the march, he drapes his sleeping roll from his left shoulder down to the right hip. These days, Joshua wears a good pair of Union Army issued combat brogans. The young farmer likes going barefoot and his feet grew predictably stone hard from a lifetime of going shoeless. However, the murderous marching demanded by this army necessitates protection for the soles of the toughest feet, when possible.

In Joshua’s pocket, most importantly to him, is the folding knife Pa gave him three years ago. He also has a large Cat’s Eye ‘lucky marble’, from years ago. His adolescence is still fresh in his mind.

Josh dreams of youth this night. A pretty, golden haired girl runs through waving fields of alfalfa, timothy and grain on his family’s two hundred acre farm east of Atlanta. She laughs and turns in slow motion, smiling at Josh who tries in vain to catch up with her, because she is always just out of range. Enigmatically, the sad face of Nathaniel, Josh’s younger brother who succumbed from pneumonia the first year of the war, superimposes itself over the running girl, silently screaming; Josh, watch out! Watch Out! The young soldier tosses in his blanket, unseen, and unnoticed. He dreams dreams of sun-drenched Sundays, swinging from a rope into the family pond fed by a cold, sparkling spring. They were nourished and tanned, and oh so young. The lad is an innocent, a virgin in love, an old man in war.

Josh’s father is in his county’s militia. He will almost certainly see action as General Sherman’s Army of The Tennessee drives to Savannah on its sweep to the sea. In Josh’s continuing dreams, Pa is hardworking, gentle and funny, and entirely true to real life. Israel Simmons is no tyrant.

Josh loves his father and family. Nevertheless, he left his family angered, alarmed, and frightened when he impulsively ran away at the age of fifteen, making his way north to join the Army of Northern Virginia. Youngsters from all over the South joined the armies either singly or with local units. It just seemed like a great adventure. The recruiters would not turn down an eager boy if he was of good size, healthy, and there. Horrendous losses had to be replaced.

* * *

Pickets guard their posts. The Army wrapped in blankets, slumbers. At thirty minutes past midnight, Sergeant Carter, an old man of nineteen, shakes the squad of ten infantrymen awake. Cook your bacon boys, an’ heat some coffee if ya got it. We move out at one, he whispers out of habit. Sergeant Carter is also a veteran of Gettysburg, still recovering from a minie ball wound in the thigh. Thank god, the ball did not nick an artery, break a thighbone, or ricochet upwards into the torso. He sustained a flesh wound, which bled profusely, but avoided infection. Only his youth and luck saved him from the common fate of amputation. He still limps slightly as he moves from man to man.

The men groan and mutter quiet complaints, but rouse themselves quickly nevertheless, as they must. They roll their blankets and wrap them around their torsos. The men stumble around the small fires, kept alive while they slept, by the squad’s two rotating sentries during the night. There is already a coffee tin hot on the coals. They quickly fry a quarter pound of fatback bacon apiece; dry it between a split biscuit, and wash it down with a half cup of rare coffee, or water. As he sips his coffee and chews a twig to clean his teeth, Josh, affectionately watches the men with whom he serves. Of course, he knows little of their background.

First Lieutenant Robert Ackerson, however, is very familiar with the histories of the men in his Company. He was commissioned from the ranks at Fredericksburg, a rarity, and is probably the best officer in the regiment. The man looks like an officer, dark-haired, dark-eyed, and self-educated. Lt. Ackerson is a wide-shouldered, slender-hipped, westerner from around Waco, Texas. It is rumored he was a gun-fighter of sorts. Well, he is a gun-fighter now for sure, and a fine soldier. The Commanding Officer is an expert at map reading and land navigation: critical skills in a command position. If he had a formal education, there is little doubt he would command a battalion or even a regiment by now. After he’d been attached to the Texas Brigade, the Lieutenant came down from brigade to replace the last Company Commander, who was killed at Knoxville last winter,

He knows Sergeant Remington Carter the squad leader, is a good man and a tough soldier. The man is compassionate but can be deadly. He disciplines his squad but does not denigrate them, as is the practice in so many armies. The soldiers in the Confederate Army are different from the conscript soldiers in European armies, or the hostile force from the North, for that matter. The Rebels fight because they want to fight. They do not need browbeating, nor will they tolerate it.

Sgt. Carter’s main function is to insure the men understand their mission, and trains them to complete it. They must know the drum, bugle, and verbal commands needed to coordinate the movement of large infantry formations in battle and on the march in company, battalion, and regimental strength. He is responsible for insuring his men carry the appropriate ammunition and food rations. He also takes roll call throughout the day. He must personally hand the list to the First Sergeant or the Commanding Officer. His own presence is also under surveillance. It is not unusual for scared youngsters to simply disappear, no matter what their rank; until after Gettysburg that is, when ‘Marse’ Robert reluctantly resorted to firing squads. To desert means death these days. Fortunately, most of these men do not harbor those intentions at this time, unlike their opponents in the Blue Belly mobs to the north, they think.

Fifth Georgia Volunteers were decimated at Gettysburg, Ackerson recalls. The remnants stayed with the Texans under General Gregg in Major General Field’s division of General Longstreet’s I Corps. This Corps consists of seventeen-thousand effectives, their artillery, cavalry, and Corps train. The Corps has just recently returned from Tennessee, where it fought at Chickamauga and Knoxville. The Georgia regiment was detailed to remain in Virginia with the main body of the Rebel army, but when I Corps returned last February, Fifth Georgia reattached to the Texas Brigade, a powerful, veteran formation who always fight well. Additionally, Fifth Georgia Volunteers became a welcome reinforcement for the Texans.

On the other side of the little campfire, squats Caleb Smith. By this Army’s standards, Caleb is ancient, 48 years old, he thinks. He has been with the Company since last February and is an unknown quantity as of yet. He lost two sons at the Battle of Shiloh and left his Mississippi town to reap revenge. How he ended up with this Texas Brigade is a mystery.

To the right of Caleb sits Private Romulus Sanders. Romulus is a tall, gangly looking soldier. His is a long, thin face under a scraggly, black beard. The uniform is ill fitting and worn. He takes being barefoot naturally, having been that way most of his life. His feet grew rock hard as have many Rebels’. Romulus received an ultimatum from a magistrate in Atlanta’s Superior Court for knife fighting in one of the few taverns still open in that troubled city. How he avoided the numerous sweeps for recruits is unknown; on the other hand, it is common knowledge he was once a sailor.

Unlike the lieutenant, Josh only knows he has the dubious distinction of being the last man to have fist-fought with him. As a result, Romulus now sucks air through the new space in his upper front teeth created by the power of a straight right hand. An hour later, they laughed it off and shared a corncob pipe filled with sweet Virginia tobacco. Fighting comes easy to this youngster. Josh knows he likes the knife as he watches him honing the keen edge of the big blade lovingly. Let’s see how he reacts when he sees the elephant for the first time. That time is drawing ever nearer. Josh can feel it in the pit of his stomach; the air is thick with anticipation.

Carlos Boulez sits on his haunches beside the fire and reaches for the battered coffee pot. Ackerson watches him from under the rim of his headgear. This is a Cajun youngster who walked up from Louisiana to join this Army. Why he did not join General Joe Johnston’s force close to home is ambiguous. He could have joined the Louisiana Tigers, a unit with a fierce reputation. For his own reasons, he chose to do it this way. Like Josh, he was at Gettysburg and many of the lessor actions since then.

Boulez is a strapping young man of twenty-four years. Of French extraction, he fancies himself a lover and probably is. He is as blond as a Teuton, and a terrific fighter. He does not seek rank and only strives to though fight and survive.

Private Isaiah William’s people own a plantation near Savannah. He could have had a commission but refused. When he plays his cornet, wrapped in cheesecloth and stored in his haversack, he casts a spell over all who hear him. However, he refuses to play in the regimental band.

Isaiah hates Blue Bellies and blacks, Ackerson knows, but not necessarily in that order. This man with the angry red complexion, bears watching. He has some money though, and is generous to those he considers comrades.

Most outfits are under strength. The Confederacy’s smaller population and the war’s attrition make it impossible to replace losses one for one. The South is being bled of its manhood, he summarizes.

See to your weapons boys and fall in on the road behind Company B! Come on men move quickly. Douse that fire, orders the Lieutenant.

Sgt. Carter supervises his men after the order. The soldiers form in columns of four, massed along the Catharpin Road, facing north. Officers ride by quietly, except for the squeaking of saddles and livery.

From the dark, First Lieutenant Ackerson speaks out again, Keep it closed up boys, and make sure your rifles stay free of dust. This is the last leg; we are headed for Wilderness Tavern. The Blue Bellies assaulted General Lee’s force there. Let’s move it out!

Flankers fan out. The rapid march north continues.

As Josh steps along behind ‘ole man’ Smith, he checks his equipment. His rifle-musket has powder and a minie bullet in the barrel, but Josh has not capped the well over the breech. Accidental firings must not occur.

Joshua lays his rifle on his left shoulder and steels himself for the miles ahead, and what awaits him at the end. He takes a disciplined sip from his canteen an hour later. The forced march pushes on.

Another torturous hour