The Horse Keeper Page 2

  Wayne suddenly realised that his own manner had been unreasonable and replied, “Whatshu name boy?”

  “Luke, sir.”

  “How old are yah Luke?”

  “Fifteen, s, sixteen next month sir.”

  Wayne wondered if the boy’s stammer was real or born of nerves.

  “Well Luke, one thing we gotta get straight for a start… I ain’t no mister and I ain’t no sir, call me Wayne. Do yah know much ‘bout horses Luke?”

  “Not much, but I wanna learn, I sure wanna own one too someday.”

  “Why did the Colonel choose yah Luke? He’s got ‘bout fifty other boys doing duties round here. Wouldn’t guarding stores and prisoners be a lot easier?”

  “I volunteered, I heard a lot about yah from some of the boys.”

  Wayne thought a while and adopted a more friendly and quieter tone. “Yeh, some of us have been together for three or four years, we all know we sure are lucky to still be here in one piece, or with pieces of us missin’.”

  Deep inside Wayne felt like the pieces of a vast jigsaw puzzle, broken and scattered. With pieces missing in an emotional swamp of turmoil, battles, hunger, thirst and fear. And soul breaking marches over unfamiliar terrain, with the ever-present enemy close.

  At night a lot of the boys would sit around a big campfire at the back of the bunkhouse exchanging stories. These gatherings had become standard practice over the months and Wayne would always attend for a few hours. He liked to listen rather than have any input, because it gave him a peculiar comfort to know he wasn’t alone.

  One of the boys who had been a brewer in another incarnation had got a regular brewery going in one of the sheds. The beer he turned out was cloudy and deceptively strong, but it was as good as anything that self-appointed experts on beer had tasted.

  General Officers had not encouraged these beer sodden gatherings, but had turned a blind eye to them. This clandestine band of brothers deserved some form of respite from a war that had turned brother against brother, friend against friend. There was no hatred for the boys in blue who were being replaced and killed wholesale by General Lee’s formidable and daring army of Northern Virginia. The hatred was in the hearts of the men who wielded the power, who pitted farm boy from Arkansas against clerk from Maine. Who spoke boldly of bloody consequences and reprisals, but would never be bold enough themselves to pick up a musket or man an artillery piece.

  Even the most humblest among these gatherings had done their piece, had parried and ridden the punches of a far bigger and better equipped army. It was of small comfort to them that the Federal armies of East and West despised and detested each other far more than they did the Johnnie Reb. It had not helped them that the Billy Yank revered and admired rebel Generals more than their own.

  Because when the armies collided in battle, in fields, over hills, in forest and swamp, every veteran knew that the opposition would fight with pugnacious ferocity.

  All in all camp life was relatively pleasant at best and bearable at worst. Guarding Federal prisoners that were to be transported to prison camps, or loading and unloading stores that had to be quickly transported up to Petersburg by wagon and rail, was a far better proposition than hard fighting. Nobody wanted to cause any unnecessary fuss or problems, or draw unwanted attention to themselves. The Federal prisoners were kept in a big, semi derelict jailhouse and most of the boys treated them well. They would exchange stories and the Union boys would all agree that they had never served under a more hard fighting and demanding General than the quiet and unassuming General Grant. Just like their Officers these boys had been suspicious of this Ulysses. S Grant, and when he was brought over from the west to take up command the question across the whole army was – Who is this Grant? When Grant had pulled out the forty big siege guns guarding Washington and put them up on front line duty, complete with their crews, and drafted all of the cavalry guarding Washington into front line infantry units, he was only starting to make his presence felt. This had delighted the army of the Potomac veterans. The rebels probably had a better insight, or endorsement on General Grant at the beginning when their own General Longstreet remarked, ‘I know Grant very well as a friend, and under no circumstances underestimate him or dismiss him.’ General Longstreet had been right, Grant was mustering an army of over a hundred thousand men and pulling in every available resource to deliver a massive knockout punch to General Lee’s Army of Northern Virginia. The punch when it came had dissolved into a series of desperate looping swings that had stunned Lee’s army, but had not quite destroyed it. It had cost Grants army over two thousand men a day for a month, a month of solid fighting on the back foot for Lee. Lee had finally been cornered in front of Petersburg after this terrible dance of death with Grant. Still threatening, still inflicting and taking horrible casualties in trenches, in forts and in winding rifle pits.

  Grant had been at Lee’s throat like a frenzied terrier for six weeks, and nobody had thought on either side that it could get any worse after Gettysburg.

  It had got worse, far worse, and Lee for once had been briefly duped by Grant when Grant funnelled his entire army over river crossings into a soldiers worse nightmare called the Wilderness. The Wilderness was a vast expanse of second growth trees and dense thickets, riddled with deep ravines, masked by thick bushes. A man had to cut through a tangle of brambles and creepers just to make a few yards. It was the last place on earth that a General would try to manoeuvre a gigantic army, complete with artillery and cavalry. But Grant’s plan had been to jump Lee by surprise and force him into a stand up battle in the open, which could only end in defeat for Lee’s army of only around sixty thousand. It might of worked as Grant’s Officers guided their men onto the only road that cut through the centre of the fourteen mile long and six mile wide tangle. But Lee had soon realised what was happening and he had ploughed his entire army straight into the Wilderness to hammer Grant before he could get his far superior artillery through. This is where the General’s horse had been blown clean from underneath him, and Wayne remembered the unfortunate incident as clearly as yesterday and would sometimes ponder it amongst others as he lay on his bunk at night.

  It had been the Generals final battle and everybody who survived it could not believe how the old man had not been killed outright. Wayne’s division had been one of the first to collide into union soldiers as they groped their way through a tangle of underbrush and saplings. The union boys had been taken by surprise and had frantically tried to fall into some semblance of a battle formation. But the battle worn rebels had quickly taken the initiative and swept forward firing and reloading their muskets as fast as possible. More Federals had come bursting through the trees and shouts of – ‘See you in hell Johnnie reb and see you in hell Billy yank’ – began to be drowned out by the roar of massed musketry. The scene had soon become an inferno of blazing muskets, smoke and the sickening stab of bayonets into taut flesh. Wayne was firing and reloading his musket like a demon, and was wondering if they had careered into a whole union corps.

  Unfortunately they had, and were beginning to clasp hands in the dark to take the first fumbling steps in the dance of death. Nobody knew what had actually happened until long afterwards, because everybody from General down to private was fighting blind.

  Union General George Getty had virtually crashed into Confederate General A.P. Hill in the dark woods, taking both of them by surprise. As they began to swap desperate punches, the famous General Hancock had quickly brought his corps up to support Getty who was outnumbered and being pushed back. Wayne’s corps had hit Hancock’s massed right flank, who were turning towards them and putting up a deadly fire.

  The boom of field cannon joined the fray and shot and canister began to split and fell trees all around the terrified soldiers. All around, Wayne’s comrades were being shot and decapitated and his stomach was churning over with fear and nausea. They were being beaten badly now and outnumbered two to one, as they tried to rally.

  Suddenly the G
eneral had burst onto the scene, leading a batch of reserve troops. He was astride his horse, galloping around waving his hat like a demented rodeo showman. Through the flames, smoke and thunderous noise, two separate battle lines began to take shape, blazing away at each other without let-up. Wayne could feel himself being caressed either side by the welcome shoulders of his comrades. Then, without warning the ugly nose of an artillery piece protruded from between two trees and blew the General’s horse clean from underneath him, ripping a hole in the ranks behind him. Wayne had looked on in amazement, as the General appeared to hang in mid air for a few seconds, then drop heavily onto his feet in the underbrush. He staggered around as if he was doing a peculiar bow-legged barn dance, then slumped against a tree and slowly slid down, falling prostrate. Everybody thought that he must be dead from the sheer impact, but incredibly the old man rolled over and tried to stand up.

  Now it became a desperate lunge to try to rescue the General and deny the Federals of their prize. A few boys ran forward and were promptly cut down as if they had been swiped by a scythe.

  From behind Wayne, boys were coming in and around returning a deadly fire, which was ripping into the massed Federals, cutting them to smithereens. But the weight of numbers was too great and Wayne began to feel the cold caress of being flanked from both sides, as the Federals began to envelop them.

  Suddenly the musketry burst into an ear bursting crescendo and Wayne felt that the jaws of death were about to bite him. Then as if by some miracle the Union musketry turned slowly to its own left flank and the unmistakable sound of the rebel yell came sweeping through the trees like a furious banshee. General Longstreet had arrived with his hard fighting Texan brigade and the odds were suddenly evened out.

  Now it was the Federals turn to be pushed back or flanked, and Wayne, covered with the others, so that a couple of boys could run forward and pull the grateful General to safety. All the old man could say was, ‘Thanks boys, just keep after em…’

  The boys had a great deal of affection for the General and when he was replaced by a younger man, who the high command in all their wisdom thought may bring something new and innovative to the war, the boys had been bitterly disappointed.

  Major General Clegg who replaced him was indeed gallant, brave and daring, but sadly he had been killed by a sharpshooter at Cold Harbor. His replacement had found himself trying to patch up a fraying and hole ridden division whose dead veterans simply could not be replaced. But by this time Wayne had finally been caught by a red-hot musket ball in front of Spotsylvania courthouse.

  This was another episode that haunted him as he lay on his bunk at night. Even worse it would appear as a nightmare, intermingled with countless other shadowy dreams and wrench him screaming from his sleep. He could remember every detail and feel every event, because it was constantly with him, cajoling and snapping at him mercilessly.

  He had been well within his own lines helping to move twenty-six field pieces from the horseshoe, which was soon to become the bloody angle.

  General Lee had suspected an attack somewhere else and had thought it safe enough to take away these pieces, as the lines that met at this point at right angles were so heavily fortified that it would be sheer suicide to try and carry them. But this is precisely where the mysterious General Grant had planned to strike, in force.

  The dawn was breaking and a fine drizzle had began to fall as Wayne looked down from the heights onto the diverging lines. The sloping ground with an abatis craftily placed at different points to impede any line of attack would indeed be extremely difficult to attack successfully. Thankfully for the Confederates they had managed to beat the Federals to this crucial point that was the main turnpike down to Richmond.

  It had been a desperate race, and when the two armies had fought two days and nights to a standstill; turning a full semicircle in the first steps of the dance in the murky Wilderness woods, both Generals wondered what the other one would do next.

  Grant had been the first to move. He had mustered his Generals in the night and orders were given to put their battered brigades on the road, and this time they were moving south. When Lee had got wind of the move, he quickly gave orders to head him off, at all costs. This had come across as a bad surprise to the boys, because every union General before had moved their shattered armies north, after clashing with the monolithic Lee. Thankfully a massive fisticuffs between two rival union cavalry corps, which lasted a full two hours gave Lee enough time to get the edge on Grant.

  When they had finally got their troops in place Wayne found himself digging in with all of the rest, frantically building fieldworks; working through sheer exhaustion. Another stand up fight was inevitable and stout, impregnable fortifications would be the only way to repel the onslaught. The onslaught would come rapidly, in blind fury.

  The first snapping sounds of picket line fire had caught Wayne’s attention, but had not unduly alarmed him. As the sound became more frequent and heavy, Wayne had begun to wonder if a decoy attack was being made on the horseshoe, to force Lee to reinforce it, while the main attack was conducted somewhere else along the lines.

  But his adrenaline began to churn around in his stomach, as the familiar sound of massed musketry began to herald the arrival of a main attack coming their way. The Colonel had been looking down on the scene, trying to see what was going on through drizzle through his binoculars. Finally he slipped his binoculars back into their pouch and his words would haunt Wayne forever.

  “Right boys, load your muskets before moving down. We’re in for a hellova’ fight.”

  Automatically Wayne slipped into place of the double line battle formation. His usual place on the extreme left flank of the front line. He could remember each barked order, every clear word, as he had a thousand times before. – ‘Right boys, load muskets, front rank open up six feet apart, to give clear line of fire to the rear rank. Forward march’ –

  As they slowly swept down from the heights Wayne could hear the familiar tune of, ‘The Campbell’s Are Coming’ – coming from the far off left flank of the union lines and he immediately knew that would be the actual decoy attack. He was right, as they came into the rear of the horseshoe the boys in front were laying on a heavy fire from all angles, trying to avoid the panic stricken rebel pickets who were being pursued back to their own lines. Daylight had began to creep across the fields and Wayne could see the faded blue uniforms of the union boys, bobbing and weaving, loading and firing, ducking and diving. They were being cut to shreds, before getting within a hundred yards of the horseshoe. Bodies were already piling up, between and on every bristling abatis and spiked fence. Wayne vaguely thought to himself that this was pure unadulterated murder. But still the Federals came charging forward, battle flags waving resolutely. Wayne knew by the way they were zig-zagging and dropping to the ground to dodge the salvos, they were facing Potomac veterans, possibly Sedgwick’s, Warrens or Hancock’s boys. Some of the rebel boys began to gasp in horror, because the attack was being pressed home despite the causalities and futility of it.

  Wayne could see loaded muskets being passed up to the boys on the defences, then being fired and handed back and other ones being passed up in quick succession.

  Occasionally a boy would drop from the defences, with blood pouring from his face or head. But this was a one sided fight and Wayne was thinking that surely they cannot carry on, but they did. The Colonel had ordered them to stay forty yards back from the nose of the horseshoe, just in case it was breached. More boys began to drop from the defences all around and were quickly replaced. By now the sloping ground before the horseshoe was littered with the dead and wounded, and still they kept coming, piling in from behind. Now the faded blue uniforms were gone and boys in crisp new blue regalia came marching in, in perfect drill formation. These were unfortunate artillery boys who had been drafted into the infantry and had no idea of how the old infantry had long thrown away this line of attack. As they came into the open, shoulder to shoulder they were like
sitting ducks. They did not have enough time to release even one effective salvo before being cut down by blazing, concentrated musket fire.

  By now some of the detached artillery pieces had been brought back onto the horseshoe and the result they had as they let rip with canister and shot was devastating. Wayne was glancing around, taking stock of the expressions on the other boys’ faces and they were silently reflecting his own thoughts; surely they cannot carry on.

  Unbelievably the union boys were clambering and climbing over piled up bodies that were disintegrating and falling apart with shot. The blue wave kept rolling forward and suddenly they were pouring into the first lines of trenches. Frenzied stabbing and clubbing ensued and the boys up on the defences were given orders to fix bayonets. The Colonel quickly followed suit, – ‘Right boys fix bayonets and stand by.’ – The bloodthirsty brawl grew, then began to finally roll up onto the defences. The terrible cry of the desperate and dying rose as the stabbing and point blank musket fire desecrated tortured body and soul. Wayne watched in stunned silence as the union boys began to sweep up towards them. The Colonel waited until they were about twenty yards away and then shouted, – ‘FIRE’ – The first wave was instantly shattered, leaving only a few who staggered forward, that were soon dispatched by bayonet and sword. The second wave swept forward and the boys in the rear fired off their salvos, with the same result.

  Now from either flank the rebels that were positioned in higher redoubts began firing down onto the Federal assault, which was now being crushed by its own massed reinforcements. Wayne’s lines were busy working their ramrods and inflicting as much damage as possible with their red-hot muskets. But the wave of blue clad boys was coming over so thick and fast that they had to be overrun. Wayne could hear movement from behind and gratefully knew that they were being backed up rapidly.

  Then without warning the shouts of, LEE! LEE! LEE! Came sweeping down from behind and a strange calm came over Wayne and he could sense that the rest of the boys could feel it. Now the old man was in charge, his presence could be clearly felt. But could he pull them out of this one, this time? The Colonel could obviously feel it too, because he casually moved to the front, lifted his sword and roared the words – ‘CHARGE.’ – Wayne’s line ran down to engage the enemy, who were firing straight at them. To the left and right of him boys were being shot dead on their feet as they ran, dropping heavily in the blood soaked mud. Wayne was one of the first to clash with the union boys, plunging his bayonet deep into the chest of a bearded, bear-like man. He felt sick and nauseated with every fibre of his being as he watched the man’s eyes flicker and die. He pulled the bayonet free and thrust it savagely into the side of a tall, slim youth who was grappling with one of the boys. The youth who was probably a placid clerk or store worker in his former life, groaned in agony and toppled forward, dying in horrible pain. The rear rank rushed into the fray, firing, impaling and swinging their muskets like clubs. But the Federals were putting up a furious fight and were firing and stabbing at them with uncontrollable aggression. The defences had now been breached in several places and blue clad soldiers were swarming around islands of grey clad ones on and around the defences. The Colonel ordered the remainder of them to pull back, as the position could not be held. This is when Wayne felt his musket butt jar sharply in his hands as a musket ball struck it, then a sharp pain in his thigh as it rebounded straight down into his leg. He fell forward and slid around in the mud, before falling face down.