Civil War Story – Chapter 4: Mustard

Someone stole my whiskey and cigars! These, my two dearest companions, alcohol and tobacco, now ripped from their safe hiding place in the back of my wagon. All this right under my very nose while I was arguing with the Colonel. My first reaction was to yell at the soldiers but that wouldn't help so I bit my tongue and waited to see just how mad I should get.

This was not the first robbery of my goods when less than a week before someone got away with my supply of mustard. I can barely stand to eat the corned beef and other rancid meat even with the mustard but without any makes me want the whiskey and cigars all the more again. That mustard came all the way from New Orleans and there won't be another batch in stock any time soon.

I couldn’t decide which I missed most, the whiskey, the cigars or the mustard. I had to go a few days with no whiskey or cigars the last time the military blocked our tracks and that was when I first started stocking it away at the depots. Going without drink and smoke can be irritating but going without my favorite food can be downright painful.

So I set a trap for my tormentor and sure enough on the fourth night he came again while I was hiding under a blanket behind the door. As soon as he crawled past me in the dark I pulled the hammer back on my pistol and lit a match at the same time both within inches of his head before he had time to gasp.

He was dressed in dirty brown canvas from his floppy hat clear to his shoes all the same material and condition. He didn't look like any soldier I had ever seen him before but I had the drop on him this time and figured I should let him have it and finally get my first kill.

In the last three days I had seen two cases of senseless killing that had transformed a murderer into a hero and I had assumed I could benefit by joining their club but now that the chance was here I couldn't remember why I felt that way.

I suddenly remembered killing my first deer with a gun at the age of 8 and how I missed my first shot but not my second. My hand was shaking now just as it had back then and I was starting to wonder if I would need two shots again when the culprit turned his head my way.

His eyes were looking back at me and I had a instant feeling as if I knew him. I didn't know his name and I had never seen his face before but I knew he was just like me had once killed his first deer and was now wondering if I would miss my first shot again.

That moment of hesitation turned into forever as I sat frozen watching him slowly back his way out of the wagon as he disappeared into the night. I argued with myself why I couldn’t kill and I argued back to myself that I work for the B&O Railroad and I am no soldier and it's OK that I can't kill. I had expected to brag and benefit from the proof of my killing prowess but instead I never did mention the episode to anyone.

Later on at Chancellorsville that same gun would have no trouble sending a fatal bullet that would find the Colonel without error and I would look back and wonder why it would not kill tonight.

Civil War Story: Chapter Three - Runaways

“These workers are all free men.” I said to the Confederate Officer escorting the group of Mercenary Agents searching for runaway slaves.

“Do they have papers?” Asks the leader of the Agents trying to catch my eye but I am still addressing the Army Officer hoping he can save me the trouble.

“We worked together in Martinsburg last year. You remember us don’t you Sir?” I am looking right in his eyes hoping that he will remember me though he may not and why should he if I can’t remember his name either. I pulled my hat off in respect along with a hope that the red hair might jog his memory, or mine.

“I can vouch for this man and those are his workers. They helped us dismantle and move the railroad engines we now use out of Petersburg.” Maybe he didn’t remember my name but at least he remembered the event. What was his name again…McKinney, McDaniel, McDonald?

“Officer MacDougal” I suddenly remembered. “Thank you Sir, for remembering us and the work we’ve done for General Jackson.” The Agent man was patient but unimpressed.

“You two can vouch for each other but the original question remains and that requires papers. Well, Sir?” In spite of his previous vouching Officer MacDougal had nothing more for us as shown by his shrugged shoulders and I had to admit that our previous cooperation with regard to the engines was mostly a matter of us staying out of his way than anything else.

I knew the papers would be the only solution now but also knew from experience that those who asked for papers rarely accepted them. I took one last stab at avoiding the paperwork by pointing out to the Agent directly now, “Could any runaway slave work as hard as that?” At this the men made the dirt fly even higher in the air and some of the Agents seemed to get the point but the leader didn’t even turn to look so I proceeded to my lock box.

The lock box is four layers deep. Accessible from inside or outside the wagon, it has an iron box on the outside with a wooden box inside that and finally the leather suitcase that holds all our papers. Mostly this is track charts and contracts but in a special section are the papers we use to prove who our people are to doubters like these.

Having papers is only half of the job. Presenting them properly and giving the other fellow something in return was the only way to get this situation resolved. I dug out the papers with a bit of a show and my lead foreman Rocky instinctively pulled the canvas over our heads to protect the contents of the box. Even though there was no chance of rain he still looked up for any potential threat. “Birds…” he offered as a possible suspect.

I started with my favorite offer, “Here is my contract with the State of Maryland to operate in this area along with my Reference from the Commissioner of the Transcontinental Railroad.” It didn’t always work but some people were impressed at the official document and my obvious excitement at the idea of a railroad to California. He handed them back and held his hand out waiting for what he had requested so I swapped him for the other papers and he took several minutes looking up at the workers in between pages.

Just then I turned to see a commotion in the distance and could vaguely make out one voice shouting above the others yelling "Runaway!" At first I thought it was another reference to the workers but this was no human runaway, it was a string of loaded rail cars we had moved up to the spur track earlier to make room in the rail yard. There's Ray Smith riding his horse as fast as he can stretching to his full length to wave his hat and get our attention but there is no way he can catch the cars and also no chance the army can move all the men waiting down at the station.

We took off fast as we could to the nearest point on the track with the intention of derailing the cars before they could run into the waiting troops at the platform and the explosives sitting on the loading dock. I grabbed some tie tongs from the tool car and hooked onto a wooden crosstie and headed out with Rocky pulling on the other handle of the tongs so we could both face forward. As we got close to the track I could see Charlie heading the other way on a course that will take longer but then I remember, we just worked there the other day and the gravel is loose, easier to jam the tie down between the tracks for the best chance at preventing disaster. Good old Charlie is always thinking ahead like that.

When we get to the spot I am surprised to realize it is a rail and not a tie that Charlie was dragging but then it made more sense of course; the tie alone could snap, and the rail by itself would bend but the two together would be our best chance. I shoved the tie in, saw the rail in place and turned my back to run knowing the derelict cars were only seconds away when I look back to see Charlie swapping the tie and rail from one side to the other to force the cars away from us but I am sure he is too late as the cars disappear in a cloud of dust. One thing for sure, those cars did derail. It wasn’t until the dust cleared that we could see Charlie still standing there with a dumb grin on his face. For an uneducated pig farmer he sure does come up with some good ideas.

By the time we got turned around again it was too late, the Agents were gone along with their soldiers and all the workers. Colored, Indians, Mexican and Chinamen alike were loaded up and taken away during the commotion. I had tried to be reasonable in dealing with these Authorities but now there was no choice left except to send word for the Commissioner to come from Baltimore and make the case to get those workers free again.

Civil War Story - Chapter 1: Who Shot Stonewall Jackson

I never meant to kill General Jackson, I swear it was an accident. At least that’s what I keep telling myself after all these years, but there were plenty of reasons to suspect I might have done it on purpose. We spent years fighting together and we rarely saw eye to eye on any decision, but we had respect for each other and none of our quarrels ever came to violence. All the same, if there had been a trial, it’s hard to say how the jury might have voted.

Colonel Jackson and I first met in Winchester when I was working as Roadmaster on the B&O railroad out of Martinsburg. I always called him Colonel because that was what he went by when we were stationed together long before the beginning of the war. I never did take to calling him Stonewall because the first time I ever heard that usage it was in a derogatory tone as if to say he should have moved to help during the battle of Bull Run but instead he stood still, like a stone wall. I still called him Colonel even after he got promoted to General but only as an inside joke and never to his face.

The oldest of all reasons for me to have any quarrel with the Colonel was when he took a fancy to my favorite girl and he ended up getting all the dances, if you catch my drift, but that was all way back before the Gold Rush. For all that, neither of us ended up with her and she was gone and married by the time the war started so that was an old wound at best and certainly not one worth killing for all those years later. I wasn’t even close to being jealous back then.

I will admit to a being a little jealous of his later success and maybe a small portion of anger when I had to leave my railroad job behind to help him and his Army of Virginia by way of acting as Aide-de-Camp in charge of transportation when I preferred to stay on back at the roundhouse but as there were no trains or tracks left anyway and I felt I could do no better than agree to his terms. But in this case as the others there was no grievance bad enough to make me purposely kill the best Officer in the Confederacy.

I will acknowledge I was angry when the Colonel came through our section of track and tore up every rail and spike so they could build new lines in the Richmond area at the beginning of the war. I got over being mad because we had enough extra material to rebuild and I accepted it as an equaling of resources, so to speak, but I could not accept it when they came through again one year later and this time they stole most of our best railroad engines. Then came the last straw when he burned down the bridge at Harper’s Ferry; twice!

It is also true that on the very night of his death at the battle of Chancellorsville I had argued with the Colonel at length not to keep fighting after dark while he insisted on rushing ahead to “…out-flank them again!” That was how we got separated in the heat of the battle and I got turned around in the darkness convinced he was behind me so the riders coming fast must be those damn Yankees and I had to protect his retreat, but instead my shot was the fatal wound for the poor Colonel. But it was all purely unintentional, circumstantial. It was an accident I swear.