The Boys in Blue and Gray
By Chris James
Chapter Two
The town of New Market was quiet... too quiet Abe thought. Maybe there were still some Yankees around. He thought about following the river but it would be too dangerous to drift down to Quicksburg and be a target for any fool with a musket. He would have to go overland, and he couldn't do it in this uniform.
For now the VMI gray helped him stay camouflaged in the steady drizzle as he followed the tree line around the perimeter of town. He could see into the rear of the stables behind a large building, the stalls were empty. Maybe the townspeople had been warned to leave? It gave him confidence enough to creep closer.
One of the buildings had sustained artillery damage and as Abe approached he could see through the holes in the wall, a dry goods store. This was the kind of place he might find provisions and clothing, but the holes were too small for him to enter. Moving across the back he came to a door where he paused and looked around.
If he was caught inside he would be shot as a looter, or worse, he might find himself surrounded by Yankees. But once he took off the uniform Abe knew he would be considered a deserter. Did that apply to the cadets? It probably did. His hand shook as he reached for the knob on the door... and found it unlocked.
He stepped in out of the rain and stopped to listen. The only thing he heard was water dripping from holes in the roof. The store was a broad square and he spied the stacks of clothing off to his left. The shelves were marked with sizes so he quickly found work pants that would fit and a green pullover shirt.
He sat on the floor and pulled off his boots, then his pants. The new pants fit well enough and he dressed. At the last minute he decided to leave on his uniform blouse, sliding the pullover on to hide it. It gave him time to examine the scratch left by the musket ball. All it had done was leave a bloody groove in his skin.
He considered a pair of shoes but figured his boots would be better for traveling. He picked a cloth cap off the shelf to complete his disguise. Now he had the uniform to hide which he could do once he was back in the woods.
The pockets of his oilskin were deep and wide so he surveyed the shelves and picked out some canned meats and a box of crackers. At the last moment he added a bag of sweets, a gray bandana and a large cloth bag to carry his uniform. The wall mirror was cracked but the image in it showed he looked like a farm boy, exactly what he was hoping.
The musket was another matter, that and the cartridge box he carried could only be military issue. They weren't needed where he was going, but he did need a weapon. There was a short rack of muskets and shotguns but they were secured by a chain. He searched the drawers below and stopped in the third one he opened.
The pistol which lay there looked well used... someone's personal weapon. Abe had seen officers carry them, General Breckinridge had one. It was much easier to conceal than a musket, lighter too. Abe studied the box of percussion caps and the way the chambers were loaded. He could do this, but if he took it he would be a thief. If he had it when Yankees were around he could kill six of them at one time. That decided it; Abe picked up the boxes and loaded them into the cloth bag.
He was just turning to go when he saw movement out on the street through the front window. Abe dropped to the floor and crawled forward until he was behind the glass, slowly he raised up to look. A buggy with two civilian men was rolling slowly down the street and they were looking around at the buildings. They might be locals returning, they might be the law.
The buggy stopped out front and Abe knew it was time to scoot. He was out the back door in a flash and a minute later was back in the woods. He paused to catch his breath, his heart pounding in his chest. Around the corner of the building came a man and he paused, looking at the open back door.
The man reached in under his coat and pulled out a pistol, looking at the open door and then at the woods where Abe stood behind a tree. Damn, maybe there were foot prints. The man slipped through the doorway and Abe turned to fade back into the woods. He quickly found a path heading north and followed it until the trees came to an abrupt end.
Across an open field there was a road running east-west, he would have to cross that. He could stay off the roads until he came in sight of Short Mountain and then turn west towards the river. The North Fork was fordable in several places, but with all this rain he was sure that would be impossible.
The Taggert's place was on this side, he was sure old man Taggert would still have that skiff hidden in the marsh. He could borrow that to cross. The best way to see what had happened at their farm was to view the buildings from the oak grove. That was his plan; the troop of cavalry wasn't part of it.
He had just crossed the open field when he saw them in the distance and noticed the uniforms were blue. He dropped to the ground and crawled about twenty feet into a clump of bushes. The Union troopers rode slowly down the road, their eyes looking right and left at the trees and every bit of cover.
Abe realized his hiding place would be scrutinized carefully if they got suspicious, and there wasn't enough cover to hide very well. As the horses got closer he buried his face in the grass and froze in place. The sudden gunfire made him jump, but the musket balls didn't come his way, they were aimed at the cavalry.
The mounted troopers returned fire with pistols even as Abe heard the rebel yells and further shots. Damn, he'd almost walked right into the ambush. The shots tapered off and Abe saw several horses with empty saddles run by on the road. He raised his head slightly and saw the remaining troopers galloping off down the road.
The Confederate boys stepped out of the woods and rose up from their hiding places on the far side of the road. Abe saw about a dozen of them, a good sized force. He could hear the laughter as they talked about what they had just done, and then a solid thump as the body of a Yankee trooper was thrown off the road into the bushes nearby.
"Clem, this one's still alive," Someone called.
A pistol shot. "No he ain't," was the reply followed by further laughter.
"You think they got a bank up in that town?" Someone asked.
"I'm not stealing some worthless paper money, Jacob. Let's go find us somethin to eat."
There was a murmur of agreement at that. Abe lay in his hiding place for a while until he didn't hear anything else. Slowly he raised his head and saw the road was clear, but he didn't know where they had gone. One thing for sure, they weren't regular army, more like marauders and thieves.
Abe crawled cautiously towards the road and then slowly got to his feet in a crouch. He could see the Yankee body a few feet away and two more down in the ditch. That could have been his fate, and right then he decided to avoid all contact with people if he could.
He ran across the road and thru the weeds to the trees. He still had some miles to go and it might be dark before he got to the North Fork. His path meandered through the low foothills, skirting open fields whenever he could until he looked up and saw Short Mountain in the distance.
He turned to face west, keeping the mountain over his right shoulder as he headed towards the river. There were no major roads on this side of the water and that would keep him safe. Their farm was almost two miles off the pike that ran through Quicksburg. The Yankees wouldn't stray too far from the road as they retreated, but now he knew there were Rebs out there plundering the countryside.
He crossed a plowed field and cursed at the mud, but then he realized this must be part of Taggert's place and the river lay right ahead. The sun was low in the hills as he skirted the marsh land and found the skiff pulled up in the trees. Taggert's farmhouse was still out of sight as he pulled the boat down towards the water.
The Shenandoah was running high from all the rain this past week, but it was pretty shallow here and he wouldn't drown if the skiff failed. He was already wet through and through as he climbed in the little craft and took up the pole.
The current was strong as he tried not to get caught up and drift too far downstream. He only had about a hundred feet to cross but he was pushed ten times that further downstream before he hit the other side. Abe pulled the skiff up on the bank high as he could, maybe he'd get the chance to return it.
He walked through the trees to the edge of the pasture and saw the cluster of oaks off to his left. The grass in the pasture had grown tall, that meant no herd had recently been set out to graze. He skirted the open grass and entered the trees.
His great grandfather had planted this grove seventy years ago; it was one of the few high spots along the river that never flooded so the trees had all survived. Abe had played here, harvested acorns for his mother and hunted squirrels. That all seemed so long ago in another life, when in reality it was just a few years back.
Childhood here had been a mixed blessing, Abe and his brother had worked hard. He knew there had been a little sister as well but she died and almost killed his mother soon after the birth. Abe had been three at the time and he remembered the vast quiet in the house as the mid-wife went in and out of the bedroom.
He'd worked in his mother's garden until he was eight, and then his father had shown him how to work the horses. Together they had plowed the bottom field for planting and Abe remembered with pride how his father had hugged him for the effort.
Cows were another thing he had to learn about. Milking one of the beasts was back breaking work and a danger to a boy's small feet. He'd seen his father push a cow into the milking shed, the man was strength personified. Abe managed to survive because he could move faster than the cows trying to kick him.
But as he came to the edge of the grove he saw there wouldn't be any cows this year, there was no barn or milking shed anymore. In their place was a pile of ash and wood, they had both been burned to the ground. The house still stood, well part of it anyway. It looked like the front porch had been knocked off, the roof of it collapsed.
He noted that there was no laundry hanging out on the side porch, his mother always had laundry hanging there rain or shine. It didn't bode well and Abe had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. But it was getting on dark now and he sat under a young oak tree and watched the house.
If anyone was there he would see a candle, probably in the kitchen window. But half an hour after the sun set he saw no light from inside and knew his mother was gone. Surely she would leave him some message, and he knew just where to find it. For ever since he was a little boy he'd left little flowers and small presents for his mother in their secret place.
Abe walked across the pasture towards the house wondering who had burnt the barn and sheds, but then he knew it was probably the Yankees. He was almost afraid to go in the house but he needed a light to find any messages. He climbed the back steps to the house, knowing full well that the kitchen door would be unlocked.
The kitchen itself was a mess, the cupboards standing open, plates and cups scattered and broken on the floor. He did a quick survey of the house, noting that his mother's favorite quilt was gone and her closet was empty. He was damn sure any Yankee vandals wouldn't be stealing her dresses, she had packed and left.
Back down in the kitchen he opened the pantry and pulled the storm lantern down off the upper shelf, taking the small box of matches with it. His father had put that up there since all farmers had midnight emergencies and they had to know where to find a light. Abe struck a match and lit the wick, lowering the glass as it flared enough to light the room.
Maybe it was too much light, he knew it could be seen for quite a distance at night, but he wouldn't leave it on for long. He'd dropped his load by the back door and now he reached into the cloth bag and pulled out the pistol. He knew it was loaded and ready for use; there was no telling who might be up and about tonight.
Abe left the porch and walked around the side of the house towards his mother's garden. There he could see shapes looming in the darkness, and saw the bench his father had built. A farmer had to be handy with his hands and mind, Joshua Wheelwright was both. He knew his wife and children spent hours working that garden to put food on the table so he had built a place for them to rest.
The bench was big enough to fit all of them and so it ran a good six feet or more. Sturdy legs, a solid back, and a smooth plank seat. Looking at it a person might not know its secret; the seat folded up and gave his mother a place to store her gardening tools. Her tool chest became their secret place and she always remarked that the garden fairies must have left her flowers again when she knew it was Abe.
He held the lantern over the seat and found the knothole with his finger. The seat lifted right up and he saw her tools with a small package wrapped in oilskin. He grabbed the bundle and headed back to the house. It would not do to show the light much longer so he went back in the pantry.
Abe leaned on the wall and slid down to the step stool his mother kept there. The package was tied with a string and he pulled the knot apart allowing the oilskin to open in his hands. There were five twenty dollar gold coins and some worthless Confederate bills, all which might come in handy. But the letter lay on top and he unfolded it to read:
Dear Abe,
Today is May the second in the year of our Lord 1864.
I left the house after the Yankees came and burned the barn. They took the cattle and horses and then pulled down the porch roof for spite. I know you'll find this and I hope God has kept you safe. Mr. Haney and his young wife are headed for Fredericksburg and I'm hitching a ride to Culpeper with them. I'll be at my sister's if you need me.
I left you these few coins and I have a few more for myself, maybe you can use the bills to start a fire if needed. I figure if you get to read this that you've left the school, I just want you to know I understand. You be careful out there, I don't expect you'll stay by the farm, ain't much use in that now.
Martin Willows was in town, said your father was off in Richmond. At least the Lord has protected him. I still have no word about Jessie. I will pray for all of you every day and hope you will write to me once this conflict is over and the mail starts moving again.
May the Lord bless and keep you well.
Momma
The last few lines were blurred as the tears filled his eyes and coursed down Abe's cheeks. The news about his father was good and he was glad his mother was headed to safety; she was probably in Culpeper already. But he feared for Jess, especially after all he'd seen.
He wiped his cheeks with the sleeve of his pullover and realized he was sitting there wet and uncomfortable. Staying in the house was a risk, but there was only one way in now, the front door was blocked by the fallen roof. Abe got up and barricaded the back door with the kitchen table before he undressed.
He hung his clothes on the kitchen chairs, wishing he'd had the foresight to start a fire in the stove. But smoke could be smelled for miles; he didn't want to chance that. He put out the lantern and climbed the stairs to his bedroom where he found some dry clothes. Then he lay down on the bed with the pistol beside him. He'd shared this bed with Jess, was it only two years ago?
As a brother he'd been a good companion, he'd learned a lot from Jess... and that made Abe think of Charlie. They'd had no news about Jess, would Charlie's family hear about their son? Probably not right away, but he supposed that eventually the Institute would write them.
He wondered if the cadets were back sleeping beside the road tonight. He'd seen a lot of wounded on the field along with a few bodies. Abe folded his hands across his chest like he always had as a little boy, and he prayed for the Lord to give Charlie and the others comfort.
He remembered the sight of the boy laying there and the tears came once again. He remembered saying that he loved Charlie. The face that had sat across the table from him day after day, the silly games the boy liked to play. There was everything to love about Charlie and in some small way he thought the boy had feelings for him.
It was more than what they'd done out in the woods. It had started before that. He recalled Charlie watching him as they did their schoolwork, remembered trying to figure out what was in those eyes. No, what they did in the woods was just the culmination of a lot of feelings that had developed between them, good feelings.
In all the weeks that followed their secret moment of sex play Abe's thoughts had returned to that moment as he eased his urges in private. He had enjoyed the feel of Charlie's head on his shoulder, it was intimate, exciting. The boy's breath on his neck, the groans of pleasure were all exciting. And best of all Abe knew he had caused that pleasure just as Charlie had given it all back to him.
But that memory had been stolen, shot down by those damn Yankee bastards. Abe would find it hard to think of Charlie without seeing death. The feeling he'd gotten as he shot that Yankee in the back, the satisfaction of seeing him fall. That was even before he knew Charlie was dead.
He didn't have to shoot the man, they were running away. But there had been a thrill in knowing he'd probably killed the bastard. And as Abe stared up at the ceiling he knew in his heart he would kill again, only this time it would be for Charlie.
'Revenge is mine, sayith the Lord.' Abe had heard that a few times in church, but now it had a new meaning. It wasn't good to seek revenge for small transgressions, but Charlie was dead. He saw that saying in a different light now; he would be doing God's work to kill Yankees.
Abe was warm and dry for the first time in a week, and tired... he was so damn tired. Sleep came unannounced, his mind shut down to allow the feelings to go away. Here in the bed of his childhood Abe found comfort even as he knew that he was on his own now.
The transition from night to dawn went unnoticed in the gray light that filtered down through the rain swollen clouds. But by sunrise the clouds had given up their last ounce of water and the sun began to work its magic.
Abe sensed the light and snapped awake. This was the first time he'd awakened in silence for a long time, there were no drums to rouse him. The light through the curtains told him it was an hour past sunrise; he had to get away from the house.
He dressed out and pulled his VMI uniform from the bag. Rather than hide it he hung it proudly in his mother's closet. If she returned it would announce he was no longer at the school, and then he stood the musket against the wall beside it. Abe was sure if he needed a rifle again he would get one, maybe even one of those breechloaders Charlie had talked about.
The pantry held nothing much, the looters had taken all the food worth eating. Abe found a small sack of cornmeal and then remembered his mother's version of hardtack. The tin was still hidden away under her bed and Abe smiled, this would last him a month if needed.
He looked through the house one last time and found nothing of use, nothing he wanted to carry... where? That was the issue, where was he going? He planned to fight Yankees, that was for sure, but he didn't know where he was needed.
Maybe he could head for Richmond, but he knew that was a foolish move. The distance was too great, he had no horse, and even if he did it was more than likely that some Reb marauder would try to steal it from him. No, he was here in the valley and it would be here he would fight.
Abe was sure Breckinridge's forces were headed north to make sure the Yankees were thrown back across the Potomac. He should head north and find them. He'd been as far as Winchester before with his father; the army ought to be up there somewhere. How far could they move in just a day?
Abe unblocked the kitchen door and stopped to look around one last time. He wouldn't be coming back here, he knew that now. This war had changed his life, and the lives of everyone he knew. Someone would move in here, rebuild the house, the barn and go on farming. The land was good and after the war... Abe just knew it wouldn't be him. This had been a place of childhood, a place where he'd grown up. But he was a man now and the last few days had proven that. He stepped out on the porch and shut the door.
Abe wasn't planning to slink through fields and woods all the way to Strasburg; it was eighty miles or more by road. Breckinridge would be between him and the Yankees, small comfort if he ran into a bunch of those marauders. But he had to go by road or spend weeks getting there, the road it was.
His walk down the lane towards the road convinced him that a lot of people must have abandoned their homes and run off to safety. The business of farming in the valley had come to a halt, the armies of both sides had taken what they needed and burnt the rest.
The road north looked deserted and so Abe walked right down the middle, careful not to daydream, his ears alert for any sound. He supposed it was an hour later when he heard sounds coming up from behind and he stepped off the road into the bushes. A squad of four Confederate troopers sped by heading just where Abe was sure to find the army.
Another hour and there was sound behind him, this time a wagon loaded with household goods. Abe couldn't figure out why they were headed north, they ought to take the pass and go east away from the conflict. He didn't bother to leave the road this time as the family pulled up alongside.
"Good morning," Abe called out and the man looked over at him. The woman was sitting there with a double barreled shotgun across her lap pointed in his direction. Abe gazed up at the woman who had her two small children sitting on a rolled up mattress behind the driver's seat.
"Morning there," The man said. "You know where you're going?"
"Strasburg, Yankees burned the farm," Abe said.
The woman shook her head and the man said something to her quietly. "You need a ride?" The man asked.
"I do, but I don't want to concern your missus," Abe said.
"Well... it's just a young man your age... we've seen some deserters back in New Market," The man said.
"I fought back there, I was with Breckinridge," Abe said, so far that was all a part of the truth. "Got wounded, separated from my company... I know they have to be in Strasburg by now."
"They told you to walk?" The woman asked.
"No ma'am, I just lit on out of there by myself. Won't be any supply wagons heading north for a while, I'm trying to catch up to my company."
The man pointed. "There's room in the back of the wagon, we'll take you most of the way."
Abe doffed his hat and smiled. "Thank you kindly."
The ride was slow, but it beat walking. He rode facing the rear, probably the best vantage point to keep in case there was trouble. He had no doubt the woman would shoot if provoked, but that was only two shots, just about enough to start something without finishing it.
Abe could tell the armies had been this way, there was debris scattered on the road and in the ditches. Abandoned equipment, a broken wagon wheel, bits of clothing... he could only imagine which side had left these things.
He was looking down at the wagon ruts when they rolled across a kepi lying in the road. In a quick move Abe jumped off the wagon, retrieved it and then with a hop slid back on the moving wagon. The hat was in good condition, a cavalry officer had dropped it. He pulled off his cloth hat and put the kepi on his head.
"Sure you want to wear that?" A voice said behind him. Abe turned to see the boy had crawled back and stood between two large chests.
"I don't know... this one is pretty fancy," Abe said. "Probably belonged to an officer."
"Where's your uniform?" The boy asked.
"I left it home; it had holes in it from where the Yankees shot me."
"You don't look wounded." And Abe realized the boy was right, his story didn't hold water.
"They shot me in the arm, just a flesh wound. I'm just glad they missed the rest of me," Abe said.
The boy was about seven, he'd likely seen entirely too much these past few years. "Are you hungry?" The boy asked.
Abe dug in his coat pocket and pulled out the bag of sweets. "I'm not, but boys like you always are. Go show this to your mother and ask if you can have some."
The boy took the bag and crawled back forward, that's when Abe saw the horsemen on the road behind them. There were four of them, and they looked like that bunch who'd ambushed the Yankee cavalry.
"Pull over," Abe yelled. "We have bad company behind us."
The wagon was too loaded to run away, but if the men wanted a fight they would get one. Abe dug in his bag and pulled the pistol into his hand. The wagon pulled over to the side which would allow the riders to go by if they were peaceful. But he saw a couple of the men reach for their guns and knew this wasn't going to be nice.
He jumped off the wagon when the men were about fifty yards away, the pistol came with him. The man had the shotgun, the woman an old looking musket.
"Get down behind that mattress," he told the kids and they did as they were told.
"Who are they?" The man asked. Abe didn't even know his name.
"Marauders, I saw them ambush a Yankee patrol on their way to loot New Market."
But there had been twice as many then. Maybe the law had taken care of a few of them. The men rode closer and one of them raised his pistol, but the woman fired the musket first and knocked him off the horse. The others wheeled their horses to a stop, a big mistake. The men got off a few wild shots and then lost the advantage when their horses kept moving around and spoiling their aim.
The shotgun went off and Abe sighted down the barrel of the pistol at one of the other men. He cocked the hammer and squeezed. The pistol kicked and his shot went high, the second one did not. His target fell off the horse as the shotgun blasted again and another man fell.
The remaining fool turned and fired a lucky shot. Abe felt the ball clip his ear and he ducked, aiming at the man and shooting him square in the face.
In less than a minute they had shot down four marauders, a hefty score. Abe smiled and looked up at the man in the wagon.
"Abe Wheelwright," He said, holding out his hand.
"Jake Tisdale," The man replied, and they shook. "You're bleeding... I never had much luck with a pistol."
"You did just fine with that shotgun, but your missus did ... " Abe stopped there; the woman had blood running down her arm.
Her wound wasn't serious, but they staunched the flow of blood and bandaged her carefully. Jake examined Abe's ear and declared that his earlobe was now a bit shorter. They wrapped Abe's bandanna around his head to stop the bleeding.
The kids sat wide eyed as Jake and Abe walked back to the men they'd shot and examined them carefully. They pitched the dead men off the road and then Abe saw the lone horse standing there, the others had run off.
"Whoa there," Abe said quietly. He could see the wild look in the horse's eyes, it was scared to death. Abe stroked its neck and felt the poor beast shiver. Neither the horse nor saddle were military issue, this one had been stolen somewhere.
They collected the weapons and Jake tossed the pistols off into the muddy water in the ditch. Abe pulled the sidearm holster off one of the dead men, it would be better to carry his pistol openly now.
"I imagine you'd enjoy having your own horse now," Jake said.
"I will, it will make my trip a lot easier."
"Thank you for what you've done," Jake said, looking over at the wagon. "Those men might have... "
"But they didn't," Abe said, "You stood up to them. I imagine you'll only see army patrols from here on out, just be careful."
"God bless you and keep you safe," Jake said, and they shook hands again.
Abe mounted the horse and walked it over to the wagon. "Take care, Mrs. Tisdale, you too kids."
"Mister... do you want your candy back," The boy asked.
"No... you kids keep it as a reward. Have a safe trip," Abe said, and then he turned the horse north.
The horse seemed grateful to have a gentle rider and slowly worked its way into a canter. Abe let the horse set the pace; he didn't want to push on too hard and fast. But having the horse changed things, with that kepi in place he might be mistaken for cavalry. He thought about the odds of another encounter and figured he was only about halfway to Strasburg.
The saddle bags on the horse seemed full; probably loot the former owner had stolen. On inspection he discovered they contained cans of beans and dried meat, he was well situated now. He found a cloth bag all rolled up and it felt heavy. About as he expected it held gold coins, those men had probably hit the bank in New Market. The last thing he found was a silver flask, he uncapped it and the smell almost knocked him over. Whiskey, about the last thing he needed.
He passed a sign for Edinburg and three miles later came upon his second challenge of the day. The patrol that rode towards him was in gray, a Lieutenant in the lead. Abe was still wearing his oilskin so his clothing underneath was fairly well hidden. The patrol reined to a halt as he approached and the Lieutenant snapped out a brisk salute.
"Afternoon, Captain," The man said.
Captain? And then Abe remembered the kepi markings. "Good afternoon," Abe replied.
"Are you wounded, sir? We have some bandages."
"No, that was yesterday... I'm fine for the moment," Abe replied. Did the man really believe him to be a captain?
"You were in New Market? I heard that was a bloody mess."
"It would have been a disaster, they almost breached our line. Those boys, the cadets from the Institute, turned the tide. The General commended them himself. Have you seen Breckinridge?" Abe asked.
"No, sir, we heard he's gone east, Old Grumble Jones is running the show in the valley now."
"Oh great, I'll never catch up to headquarters," Abe said. He put a hand to his bandage and winced, it really did hurt now.
"The headquarters is just below Strasburg, we just left there this morning," The Lieutenant said. "General Jones was in his tent when last I saw him but they're headed for Front Royal tomorrow. The Yankees ran back across the river."
"Thank you, Lieutenant... where you headed?" Abe asked.
"Harrisonburg, supposed to send the division there out to Piedmont, that's where Jones is headed."
"Well good luck on your mission, gentlemen," Abe said.
"Thank you, sir," The lieutenant replied.
"Oh, there's a wagon load of people back a few miles. A good man, give him my regards," Abe said.
"Yes, sir, I will."
Abe watched them ride off and chuckled to himself. He'd gone from private to captain overnight. But he wasn't stupid enough to try and pull that off in a headquarters situation. He didn't know anything about General Jones, but he'd learned enough about the ways of the military to know that at his age he couldn't pass for a captain.
Being wounded seemed like a bonus at this point, but he needed a different uniform if he was going to pass for cavalry. Abe removed the kepi and almost tossed it off into the woods. His ear was sore but he still felt lucky. He came to a crossroads where it looked like there had been a skirmish.
There were only four or five buildings but each of them had been peppered with musket balls. Maybe a Union force had tried to slow down Breckinridge's pursuit, but only a fool would do that from a wooden building. Sunset was approaching and Abe chose one of the buildings at random.
Riding around to the back he found a small stable with a rare stock of hay. He took the saddle off the horse and rubbed the beast down. The animal looked grateful as it began to eat. Abe filled a bucket with water from the pump and left that in the stall, now it was his turn.
The house looked like a sieve on the inside; it seems every wall had taken hits from the outside. He ran upstairs to make sure he was alone and found the place empty. He went back to the kitchen to see if he could heat some dinner, and that's when he saw the wash tub.
He hadn't had a bath in almost a week, Lord that would feel good. The pile of kindling beside the stove was adequate so he lit a fire. He went out to the pump once again and filled two buckets, bringing them in to the stove and pouring them into the largest pot he could find.
He set the wash tub in the middle of the kitchen floor and went out for more water. The shirt he was wearing was blood stained so he tossed it in the corner. He had enough clean clothing to change into; he just wished it was a uniform. But he stripped off and stood waiting for the water to heat.
He opened the cupboard beside the sink and found soap and towels, now he could do it right. Maybe he could find a razor... and then he paused. On the back of the cupboard door was a mirror, and a complete stranger was looking back at him.
His face was drawn and dirty, but with the bandage over his ear he could see why the lieutenant had saluted. Abe looked old, with a scraggly growth of beard and mustache. There were lines on his face along with all that dirt, he looked positively old. He felt that way too.
Killing a man or two had done this to him. Gone was the blush of innocence and in its place was this hardness around his eyes and mouth. He tried a smile and it looked like a grimace. In only a matter of days he'd changed for the worse, or was it better?
He was on his own now; he had to live a different life if he was going to survive. The water became hot and Abe began to scrub off the dirt at the sink. Water ran everywhere across the floor but he didn't care, he scrubbed harder. Finally the towel in his hand was black with mud and soot from the road, Abe poured the hot water in the tub and climbed in.
He almost laughed because the only way he would fit was with his knees right up in his face. But the heat soaked in to his tired bones and even his ear seemed better. Abe had to fix that before it became infected, he'd been taught how to field dress a wound. If anything the worse it looked the better, he could always play on that sympathy.
After the bath he daubed some of the whiskey on his wounded ear which made it sting like hell. The groove on his upper arm looked like a big scratch and nothing more, but he bandaged that as well. He sincerely hoped the lady of the house wouldn't be too upset as he tore one of her good linen sheets to make his bandages.
Abe looked in the mirror again and admired his handiwork. The wrap covered the side of his head and made him look older. Good, he would use that to his advantage. He dressed again and decided to sleep out in the stable with his horse, the animal was too important.
He was in civilian clothes out looking for contact with a military post. If he presented himself without credentials they would conscript him as a private. He had no papers that said who he really was; the hard part was trying to figure out what he wanted to be.
What he really wanted was to be able to talk to Charlie again, things had been so much better when that boy was around. The world was a confusing place; this war had torn him from family and friends. In time he would rebuild his life, he hadn't given up on that just yet.
He awoke at dawn and saw the sun was going to shine all day in a cloudless sky. He watered the horse and ate some of the hardtack for his breakfast. Today he would reach Strasburg and if the army had left he would follow them to Front Royal or Winchester or Piedmont if that's what it took.
But once he found them he would avoid direct contact. Instead he would pass them by and head straight for the Potomac. What he had in mind was a little intelligence gathering. Mr. Roberts had taught him history at the Institute. One of the things he dwelled upon was that an army succeeded only because of superior intelligence.
Abe knew he could insert himself into Yankee territory and bring back something valuable. Then Breckinridge would listen to him, might even promote him. Yes, he would find out the Yankee plans for the next few months and bring them back. It would be more than satisfactory to lead them into a trap of his making. And with that in mind he put the kepi back on, his good luck charm.
The army was gone from Strasburg, but things were not as he hoped. Abe rode into town and saw that most of the townspeople were out and about. He garnered some looks, but he aimed to be mysterious to these people as he was just passing through. He stopped only for a meal and planned to be off for Front Royal until a man stepped up to him.
"Howdy... just passing through?" The man asked. Abe could see he wore a pistol and knew there would be a badge under that coat somewhere.
"I just came to eat and move on," Abe said. "I have to meet some people."
"Folks here don't take kindly to strangers wearing guns," The man said.
Abe smiled. "Well now, we can't have that. I'm headed after General Jones."
"You an officer? Who might you be?"
Abe frowned. "You carry a commission, sir?"
"I'm the justice of the peace around here, names Barnhouse."
"Well sir... Mr. Justice, I'm a military man and not accountable to civilians. If you want to know who I am you'll have to go speak to General Breckinridge. I have my orders just like I'm sure you have yours. Otherwise... Good Day to you, sir. "
Barnhouse backed off at the mention of the general and left the eatery. Abe knew he wouldn't go far, and for just cause. He was sure the word about marauders had spread up and down the valley. That meant he would continue to play a military role for as long as he could, at least until he crossed into Yankee territory. The cook served him a great chicken fried steak with gravy and a side of collards, it was delicious. But as expected he saw Barnhouse as he left the establishment, and on the spot decided to make his reputation.
He nodded at the man and then slowly walked over. "I best tell you before someone else does. About five miles before the Edinburg turnoff I came across four decidedly bad men. They were part of a larger gang that swept through New Market a few days back. I left their bodies by the side of the road; it's probably not in your county anyways. But that bunch won't be comin here to bother you."
And with that Abe turned on his heel and headed for his horse. He swung up in the saddle and lifted his cap to Barnhouse as he rode off down the road to Front Royal. He felt good about telling the man that, the poor guy had a hard enough job. Now it was time to get on with his.
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