The Way of All Soldiers (Gone For Soldiers) Read online

  The Way of All Soldiers

  By

  Jeffry S. Hepple

  Book Two of the Johnny Comes Marching Home Trilogy

  Copyright 2011, Jeffry S. Hepple ~ All rights reserved.

  Dedicated to the offspring of my offspring and their offspring: Joe, Josh, Daniel, Alex, Megan and Camden. May you always be blessed with good health, happiness, the magic of books, and the freedom bought by the sacrifices of our ancestors.

  With continued thanks to all whose support keeps me going: Geoff Thomas, Brian Palesch, Margaret Lake, Mindy Schwartz and especially Susan Trotter.

  Table of Contents

  1861, 1862, 1863

  All men are created equal

  Deleted from Thomas Jefferson’s original draft of the Declaration of Independence, at the insistence of the Georgia and North Carolina delegations:

  “He has waged cruel war against human nature itself, violating its most sacred rights of life and liberty in the persons of a distant people who never offended him, captivating & carrying them into slavery in another hemisphere, or to incur miserable death in their transportation thither. This piratical warfare, the opprobrium of INFIDEL powers, is the warfare of a CHRISTIAN king of Great Britain. Determined to keep open a market where MEN should be bought & sold, he has prostituted his negative for suppressing every legislative attempt to prohibit or to restrain this execrable commerce.”

  Later, when delegates assembled in Philadelphia to write the United States Constitution, James Madison said:

  “The real difference of interests lay not between large and small states but between the Northern and Southern states. The institution of slavery and its consequences formed a line of discrimination.”

  The compromises to slavery during the ratification of these two core documents remained an open wound that festered until its poison destroyed what were the United States of America. The war to close the wound resulted in a country that was and is The United States of America.

  July 21, 1861

  Bull Run, Virginia

  United States Congressman Charles LaGrange had Anna Van Buskirk Lagrange by the arm and was dragging her toward his carriage. Behind them, hundreds of Union troops, on foot and horseback, were rushing across the stone bridge under both cannon and small arms fire from Southern batteries and infantry. “You must come with us, Anna,” LaGrange insisted. “How could I ever explain leaving you here in the midst of a battle?”

  “No. I told you that I’m not going.” She kicked him in the shin. “Help me, Nancy.”

  Her sister-in-law, Nancy Vreeland Van Buskirk, had her own share of troubles. The Right Honorable Rupert Greene was standing beside the carriage holding her back tightly against his chest, using her breasts as hand-holds.

  The struggle was decided when two Union soldiers tried to steal the carriage. LaGrange and Greene immediately released the women, fought off the soldiers and ordered the driver to return to Washington.

  “Why did you jump out?” Nancy rubbed her sore breasts with both hands and watched the carriage merge with the mass confusion of fleeing soldiers and civilians.

  “I saw Quincy.”

  Nancy turned around and looked at the carnage beyond the creek. “Where?”

  “Crossing that creek.” Anna pointed to their right where the ground rose steeply toward the Confederate left.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.” Anna shaded her eyes and scanned the dozens of fallen men and horses, looking for her son.

  “And that’s why you jumped out? Because you saw him?”

  “You’re going to think I’m crazy.”

  A shell struck the ground in front of them, bounced over their heads and rolled on, failing to explode. “I already think we’re both crazy,” Nancy said.

  “I have a feeling that he needs me.”

  “A feeling?” Nancy looked down as something plucked at her dress. “That was a bullet.”

  “What?”

  Nancy bent over and stuck her finger into the hole in her dress. “It went right between my thighs.” She giggled. “I felt the heat.”

  Anna grabbed a skinny little soldier who was trying to run with the others and held fast to his arm. “Do you know where Colonel Sherman is?”

  “What?” He seemed too dazed to understand her question.

  Anna slapped him across the face with her free hand. “Colonel Sherman. Where is he?”

  The boy’s eyes focused on her for a second, then he pointed. “Right there. Tryin’ to run. Like ever-body else.” He jerked free, fell and got up to scuttle northward.

  “Come on, Nancy.” Anna crossed the road and walked down the grassy slope toward the creek. “That’s where Quincy crossed.” She pointed. “Can you run?”

  “I could always outrun you when we were girls,” Nancy replied. She looked at the creek. “But you were always a better swimmer.”

  “If Quincy’s horse could walk across, so can we.” Anna took off at a trot.

  ~

  Colonel William Tecumseh Sherman was bellowing at his troops and pointing across the ford toward the road to Centreville when two women, in soaking wet dresses and their hair in their faces, waded from Bull Run and started toward him. For a moment, he couldn’t believe his eyes. “You ladies get the hell out of here.” His voice was shrill. “Can’t you see there’s a war on?”

  “We’re looking for Quincy Van Buskirk,” Anna shouted back. “I’m his mother.”

  Sherman turned away for a moment, then looked back. “He’s dead. I’m sorry. So very sorry.”

  Anna didn’t react. “Where did he fall?”

  A bullet knocked Sherman’s hat off. “What?”

  “We’ll claim his body,” Nancy panted as they reached him. “Where is he?” She picked up Sherman’s hat and handed it to him.

  Sherman pointed. “On that road where it circles around the hill. Wait. I’ll gather some men and help you.”

  “No,” Anna said firmly. “You get your survivors out of here. We’ll manage. The Rebels won’t kill us.”

  He looked less than confident, but he knew she was right. His responsibility was to his brigade. “I’ll come later if I can.”

  “No. Go on, now.” Anna shooed him and began plodding up the hill, holding her wet skirts in both hands, with Nancy right behind her. The Rebel cannon fire was continuing, but it was concentrated on the fleeing Union troops and passing harmlessly over their heads.

  July 21, 1861

  Northeast of Washington, D.C.

  Quincy Van Buskirk’s head was pounding. He was being tossed about like a cork in the sea. He couldn’t see. Something sticky was in his eyes and he pawed at them attempting to clear his vision.

  “Don’t do that. I can’t tell how badly you’re wounded yet.” Anna caught his wrists.

  “Mother?” he asked, uncertainly.

  “Yes. It’s me. Stay still.”

  “Am I dead?” He struggled free of her grip and once again tried to wipe at his eyes.

  “Stop that.” Anna tried to hold his hands. “No, you’re not dead.”

  “Is it really you?” He twisted free again.

  “Stay still and keep your dirty hands away from your eyes.” She pulled his hands down from his face.

  “But I can’t see.”

  “You’re not blind. You have a head wound and the blood’s stuck your eyelashes shut.”

  He broke away from Anna again, but this time managed to get his right eye open. Above him, he saw a dark sky with stars blinking through tree branches. “I’m not blind.”

  “I just told you that,” she said sharply.

  “Where are we?”

&nbs
p; “Almost back to Washington. We had to detour around the city and come in from the north to avoid all the madness. The soldiers were stealing horses, carriages, anything that would get them away from the artillery bombardment.”

  “I don’t understand,” Quincy said. “How did I end up with you?”

  “Nancy and I were on a picnic with a congressman and his lawyer.”

  “What?”

  “We came to have a picnic and watch the great Union Army of General McDowell rout the rebels and march triumphantly to Richmond.”

  “What?”

  “We were on a picnic, Quincy. Is your hearing damaged?”

  “A picnic? On a battlefield?”

  “I know,” she said with a chuckle. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

  “Where am I hit?”

  “Your head.”

  “How bad is it?”

  “I’m not sure. There’s no blood in your ears so I don’t think the bullet penetrated your skull. But I really can’t be certain until I can get you someplace with a lamp and some clean water.”

  “Wouldn’t I be dead if it penetrated my skull?”

  “Not necessarily. They don’t know much about head wounds or how the brain works. Aunt Nan used to talk about a man that had a Ho-Chunk tomahawk in his head. She said he walked around like normal for years.”

  “And then what?”

  “He dropped dead very suddenly with no warning. But if you’re not dead now you’ll probably make it for a while.”

  “What time is it, Mother?”

  “About 7:00 or 8:00, I think. It hasn’t been full dark for long. Why?”

  “Is it still the 21st?”

  “Yes.”

  “How long was I out?”

  “You’ve been in and out, and sometimes incoherent.”

  “I can’t remember what happened. There’s something wrong with my memory.”

  “You probably have a concussion. Your memory will come back.”

  “I need to know how much time elapsed,” he said forcefully. “How long was I out?” He tried to sit up.

  She pushed him back down. “Okay, okay. Calm down. Do you know what time it was when you were hit?”

  “No.”

  “What’s the last thing you remember? The time, I mean.”

  “I remember it being an hour or so before sunset, I think.”

  “Then we found you about an hour later. There was still some heavy fighting going on.”

  “How, in God’s name, did you find me?” he asked.

  “God had nothing to do with it. You were very easy to find. Right in the middle of the road.”

  “But how did you know where to look?”

  “I asked where I might find Colonel Sherman and when I found him, he told me where you’d fallen. He also said that you were dead, by the way. Nancy and I went to collect your dead body and were happy to find that you were still among the quick.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Don’t mention it.”

  “Do you have any water?”

  “Not a drop,” Anna replied. “But we’re not far from the hotel now.”

  “Help me sit up.”

  “Why?”

  “So I can see where we are.”

  “I just told you where we are. Stay still.”

  His eyes wandered as far as he could see. “What is this conveyance that we’re riding in?”

  “It’s a one-horse produce cart,” Anna said. “I traded my great-grandmother’s diamond ring for it with a farmer. He can buy a new farm with the proceeds, if he gets its full value.”

  Quincy tried to sit up again.

  Anna held him down. “Just lie back and relax. We’re almost there.”

  “Who’s driving?”

  “Nancy,” Anna said.

  “Nancy? Aunt Nancy? Nancy Vreeland Van Buskirk?”

  “Yes, Quincy. Please calm down.”

  “I’m here,” Nancy stood up so he could see her over the front of the cart and she showed him the reins in her hands. “We’re almost there.”

  “What are you doing in Washington?” He looked panicky.

  “Your Uncle Robert is in the Army,” Anna said. “Nancy was lonely at Van Buskirk Point and came to stay with me.”

  Quincy started to say something but the one visible eye in his blood-caked face rolled back in his head.

  “He’s out again,” Anna said in a frightened voice.

  “Maybe we should take him back to the hospital,” Nancy said.

  “No. Did you see that place? There were men dying on the front steps. Quincy’ll be better off with us and a private doctor. Just hurry.”

  July 22, 1861

  Near Manassas, Virginia

  Johnny Van Buskirk rode into a clearing where a Confederate major and six enlisted men were standing over two bound and bloody black-men. “Excuse me, sir. What’s going on here?”

  The Major gave him an unfriendly look. “We’re fixin’ to hang these two runaway niggers. Move on.”

  “By what authority?” Johnny took his feet out of the stirrups and put his right hand on the hilt of his sword.

  The Major walked toward him. “You sound like a Yankee.”

  “I’m a Texan who went to college in New York and my question stands. What authority do you have to execute civilians?”

  The Major stepped closer and put his hand on his holstered pistol. “You better git before I decide to hang you along side of ‘em, nigger lover.”

  Johnny kicked him under the chin and slid off the back of his horse, drawing his sword with his right hand and his pistol with his left as he gained his feet. “You men cut those prisoners free,” he said, putting the point of his sword against the downed Major’s throat and aiming the pistol toward his subordinates.

  The enlisted men looked from Johnny to their stacked weapons.

  “I wager that I can skewer your officer and shoot most of you before you can get to those rifles.” Johnny pushed the sword, breaking the Major’s skin. “Tell them to cut those prisoners free. Now.”

  “Do it,” the Major croaked.

  Johnny waited until the two black men were deep in the woods, then he walked around his horse.

  “You’re gonna pay for this,” the Major snarled.

  “Probably.” Johnny swung onto his horse and kicked him into a gallop as the soldiers scrambled to untangle their weapons from their stacking swivels. He was in the trees before the first rifle was fired.

  ~

  “The decision has been left up to me by General Beauregard, but I am frankly in a quandary.” General Thomas Jackson paced in front of his tent. His left hand had been shot through during the battle and he was holding it up beside his face, palm forward like a man swearing an oath. “Major Kemp was undoubtedly about to perform an illegal act, but military law does not permit subordinates to attack their superiors under any circumstances.”

  “Major Kemp only technically outranks Major Van Buskirk, sir,” Jeb Stuart replied. “Time in service is Kemp’s only claim to superiority.”

  Jackson stopped pacing. “Major Van Buskirk?”

  “Yes, sir,” Stuart said. “I promoted Captain Van Buskirk to the rank of major on the battlefield yesterday, after he rallied retreating infantry and turned the tide of a crucial skirmish.”

  “I have received no such orders from you, Colonel,” Jackson said in a warning tone.

  Stuart shrugged. “They were sent with my after-action report, General.” He looked expectantly at Johnny for a moment, then back at Jackson. “The promotion was both legal and effective from the moment I signed it on the battlefield. My word is sufficient proof.”

  Jackson considered Stuart’s words for a moment before he answered. “Very well, Colonel. If that is your contention, we will dispense with the charge of assaulting a superior commissioned officer.” He walked toward the two men. “But there is still the other issue of freeing the contrabands.”

  “He was outnumbered six to one, sir,” Stuart i
nsisted. “He could hardly arrest the runaways under the circumstances.”

  “Anything to add to that, Major?” Jackson asked.

  “Yes, sir,” Johnny replied. “The truth is that arresting those men never entered my head. My only thought was to prevent them from being murdered.”

  Jackson fixed his eyes intently upon Johnny. “Are you aware that I provide basic education and religious training to Negroes at my home, Major?”

  “No, sir,” Johnny said, a bit perplexed by the comment.

  “Well I do,” Jackson continued forcefully. He waited a moment and when Johnny didn’t reply he added, “I just wanted you to know that I am not to be counted with the likes of Major Kemp.”

  “I would never have done so, sir,” Johnny said.

  Jackson began to pace, still holding his hand above his shoulders. “I gather that you are opposed to slavery, Major Van Buskirk.”

  “That’s correct, sir. I consider it an abominable practice.”

  “May I ask why a man who feels so strongly against slavery would join the confederacy?”

  “This war isn’t about slavery, sir,” Johnny replied. “It’s about States’ Rights. If it was about slavery, I’d be on the other side.”

  “The North will almost certainly try to turn it into a war over slavery. How will you react when that happens?”

  “That will depend upon the reaction of the Confederacy, sir. If the Confederate Government ever contends that the reason for secession was to preserve slavery, I’ll be obligated to change sides.”

  “I think that I can safely assure you that such an event will never occur,” Jackson said.

  “Then my loyalty to the South should never be in question, sir,” Johnny replied. “I am, after all, a Texan. We Texans have pride in our state that is quite parallel to the pride of Virginians for Virginia. It may also be important to note that Texas seceded before Virginia.”