A Deeper Sense of Loyalty (26 page)

Over the next few months, the command of the army passed from General Ambrose Burnside to General Joseph Hooker. Once again, the feeling among the men was that the new general would move the army forward, take the initiative, and whip the Rebels. There had been little or no success under McDowell, McClellan, Pope, or Burnside. Surely Fighting Joe Hooker had the confidence and the wherewithal to get the job done. For the most part, only minor engagements were fought in both the eastern and western theaters during the winter of 1862-1863 and it appeared as though nothing major would be attempted until spring.

As the winter days dragged on, James did his best with the job he'd been given. Just as the general told him, a steady trickle of Rebel deserters came through the lines looking for something to eat and an opportunity to leave the war behind. Almost all of them were willing to answer questions, but most were enlisted men who could contribute little except for troop numbers and locations that varied from man to man.

On March 17
th
, James was given the chance to break his daily routine. He was sent with a cavalry corps under the command of General William Averell to Culpepper, Virginia. With three thousand troopers and six pieces of artillery, they attacked General Fitz Lee and his eight hundred men at Kelly's Ford. The battle raged all day and even though the Rebels were outnumbered more than three to one, it was the Yankees who ended up pulling back. The corps sustained seventy-eight casualties, some killed, some wounded. It came as a surprise to James that he felt nothing when he looked upon the bleeding bodies and listened to their mournful cries. His emotions were so overshadowed by the death of Corporal Milroy that even
he
did not realize the change it had made in him. His whole nature was different somehow, and although he was well enough liked by the other officers and his subordinates, he made very sure that the bonds of friendship never took root.

Near Drainesville, Virginia on March 31
st
, James's cavalry corps clashed with Confederate troopers under the command of the Gray Ghost himself, Colonel John Singleton Mosby. Mosby was fast becoming a legend in his own time, equaling if not surpassing the reputations of such men as Jeb Stuart and Nathan Forrest. The corps lost sixty men in another defeat, and like so many of his fellow soldiers, James began to doubt their chances of restoring the Union. It was inconceivable that the North, with more of everything necessary to wage war, could be beaten by an underdog army of secessionists.

By the spring of 1863, it seemed that the Union was close to squandering all it had. More and more, James could see Colonel Mulligan's point about the superiority of the Confederate Cavalry. The only Union instrument that was clearly having any affect was the blockade.

Rumors of economic depression in the South came from every credible source available. But factions in the North, such as the Democratic wing known as the Copperheads, were anti-war. As they became more active and exceedingly vocal, the pressure on President Lincoln to squash the rebellion was becoming insurmountable. Besieging the entire South would never end the war in time. Lincoln needed the right general who could crush the Rebels on the battlefield.

On his return to camp, James went back to his mindless task of interrogating prisoners. In mechanical fashion, he asked questions and wrote reports with the monotonous repetition of a paddle wheel on a steamboat.

Then one day in early April, two things happened that restored a bit of life to his lackluster existence. The first was a letter in the morning mail from Polly. The re-assurance in her words that all was well worked wonders on his spirit. Little James was four months old now, and according to Polly, would someday be tall and handsome like his father. When he finished reading he held the letter to his cheek and tried to imagine, having come from her hand, that he could feel her touch.

The second bit of restoration came that afternoon when a Confederate prisoner from Georgia was brought to his quarters. Private Gerald Upson was not only from Georgia, he was, in fact, from Macon. When James heard this, he almost felt as if he'd run into a good friend he hadn't seen in years. Macon was home and he wanted to sit the man down, pour him a drink, and reminisce. But he realized that he could not approach the situation like a welcoming committee, especially when he saw that Private Upson was by no means in a congenial mood.

“Have a seat, Private.”

Upson flopped onto the camp stool like a half empty sack of grain, propped his elbows on his knees and buried his face in his hands.

“Private Upson, why did you surrender?”

The soldier raised his head and gave James a scornful look.

“Who you been jawin with, Yank? I got ketched las night tryin to steal a hoss offen your picket line. They trussed me up like a runaway nigger and threw me in a tent. Been there til near a hour ago. I ain't et in two days and I ain't surrendered neither.”

“Why were you trying to steal a horse?”

“Well, my first notion was to eat the damn thing but mostly I was gonna skedaddle back to Georgia.”

“Yes, I understand that you are from Macon.”

“No military secret, I reckon.”

“Are you from the city?”

“Got a scrap a land jus outside.”

“Have you been home recently?”

“Was there for a week las Christmas.”

Only four months ago, thought James. Surely the private would know the condition of things. “How are the folks back home getting along?”

Upson was growing irritable. “What the hell do ya wanna know for? Ain't ya spose to be askin how we plan to whip the damn Yankees?”

James took a deep breath and said, “I'm from Georgia, too.”

“Well I will jus be damned,” said Upson. “I reckon I thought ya might be from down south but ya talk like ya is high educated and that there blue suit don't look like down home to me. Is ya a spy or jus a goddamn traitor?”

“Neither one,” said James. “I'm just fighting for what I believe is right.”

“And what might that there be?”

“Freedom.”

“Freedom for who?'

“Freedom for all.”

“Now I gets it. You is a nigger lover. Mus make your mamma mighty proud.”

In an instant, James lost his self control. He jerked Upson to his feet and belted him as hard as he could, knocking him to the ground. Almost just as quickly, he felt remorse for his actions. He was ashamed to have attacked a hungry man whose hands were tied together. He wanted to apologize but decided it would do no good. Instead, he helped the man back to his stool and cut the rope that bound his wrists. There was no way he could escape in broad daylight in view of thousands of enemy soldiers.

To James's surprise, it was Upson who apologized. “Beggin your pardon, Lieutenant. Ought not to have said nothing bout yer mamma.”

“Never mind. You said you were going back to Georgia. Was it your intention to desert?”

“Sho enough it was. Like I said, I was back at Christmas. My wife and younguns needs me at home. That there scrap a land barely feeds us. I was a fool to join the army. We was told that we was fightin for the rights of all Southerners, but it ain't so. We is only fightin for the rich man. You boys is fightin to free the niggers and our boys is fightin to keep em. That don't mean nothing to me no how. My family is all I got and the bes way I can help them is at home.”

“Well I'm sorry to say that you may be delayed for a while. I'm told that the exchange and parole process is moving slower all the time.”

“I heared that, too. That's why I tried to grab me a hoss. I sho wisht I could get a letter to my wife.”

“Maybe we can make a trade.”

“What do ya have in mind?”

“Can you write?”

“Not good, but good enough I reckon.”

“Fine. I will supply you with pencil and paper. You sit here and write your letter. I'll see that it gets mailed and you can tell me what things are like at home in Georgia.”

“You'll see the letter gets mailed?”

“You have my word.”

“You mind if I take your word as a Georgian and not as a Yank?”

James smiled for the first time in quite a while and said, “I don't mind.”

“It's a bargain,” said Upson.

James set the private up with writing materials then stepped to the doorway and summoned a passing soldier. “Go to the mess tent and get me a plate full of whatever they have cooking; and bring something for this prisoner.”

Then he sat patiently while Private Upson labored over his letter. When the food arrived, it consisted of a heaping plate of fresh hot beef stew with fresh bread, and a second plate with a few spoonfuls of the previous day's beans and a hardtack biscuit. Upson looked up from his letter and surveyed the two plates. The hunger reflected in his eyes. James sat the stew in front of him; took the other plate to the doorway, looked out, and seeing no one close by, threw the beans and hardtack on the ground.

When the letter and the stew were finished, Private Upson kept his end of the bargain. He told James all he could about how the people back home were fairing. All things considered, it was a favorable report. There had been some fighting in Georgia but nothing major. The biggest problem the plantation owners were facing was the difficulty in shipping their cotton. That meant a serious squeeze on his family's income. When the war was over, if the South was defeated, it would have to look to industrialization and mechanization as the North had done years before. When the conversation was over, James held out his hand and said, “Thank you, Private. Your letter is as good as mailed.”

“I'm beholdin, Lieutenant. Take care a yourself . . . you got guts.”

By early April, 1863, another morale boost came in the form of General Hooker's inspirational Grand Review. After taking command, Hooker redesigned all of the departments and made numerous useful and effective changes. Through the use of instructional periods and regular drilling, not to mention furloughs, he managed to ease the tedium of life in camp. By improving daily rations, which included supplying the men with fresh vegetables and fresh bread, the sick call list was quickly reduced. Daily changes of bedding, regulation latrines, and routine bathing, which had languished, now served to improve sanitary conditions. Aside from these improvements, steps were taken to control the problem of desertion. Best of all, the men received their back pay through arrangements finally made by Congress.  

Hooker also separated the cavalry corps from the infantry divisions and a new cavalry corps was placed under the command of Major George Stoneman. James received an extra incentive when he was promoted to first lieutenant.

When all was ready, General Hooker staged his Grand Review on a huge open field on Falmouth Heights. James was among the fifteen thousand cavalrymen reviewed by President Lincoln.

But, as James discovered, band music and parades do not intimidate the enemy or bring about victories; desirable results are achieved by brilliant strategy and leaders who possess it. For all of General Hooker's bluster and loquaciousness, in the end, his only success was at failure.

In early May, the Army of the Potomac was soundly beaten by General Robert E. Lee and General Stonewall Jackson at Chancellorsville. Stoneman's cavalry had destroyed supply depots and cut some enemy rail lines. His horsemen had frightened the civilians of Richmond by riding within two miles of the city. But in spite of all this, the Chancellorsville Campaign had been little affected by the cavalry. As the Yankees would come to learn, their most significant gain had been the Confederacy's loss of General Stonewall Jackson, and even that damage had been inflicted by Jackson's own men.

Once again, James was finding it difficult to maintain a positive attitude. From the beginning of the war, the consensus was that the South had the more superior officers. By the summer of 1863, he could understand why. It was still a bit premature to say the South was winning the war, considering their losses of men and material. It
could
be said, however, that they were doing an outstanding job of not losing it. By day, James inwardly derided the Northern high command and all of the shortsighted fools who said that it would be a short war. By night, he thought of Polly and his son and longed to be with them almost to the point of desertion. He kept telling himself that God tries men most when they are mired in despair. He believed that God was, indeed, trying him. So, with renewed inspiration he accepted the challenge and at the same time requested a transfer.

By June 29
th
, all of the notable changes that had taken place were enough to temper James's depression. At the Union shooting gallery, the Confederates had succeeded in knocking down another duck: General Joe Hooker. The new commanding officer of the Army of the Potomac was General George Gordon Meade. Meanwhile, General Robert E. Lee and his Army of Northern Virginia were approaching a small farming community, called Gettysburg, in southern Pennsylvania. And First Lieutenant James Langdon, who had received his transfer, was with General John Buford's cavalry division near Emmitsburg, Maryland.

About eleven a.m. on June 30
th
, the division entered the town of Gettysburg. James listened as the terribly excited townspeople described a sudden approach and withdrawal, shortly before, of a Confederate infantry unit. If one had a keen sense of smell, he thought, a major confrontation could be detected in the wind.

That night, General Buford held a council of war and James was privy to it. After listening to one of his brigadier's predictions that the Confederates would not return and if they did they would be easily beaten, Buford said. “No they won't. They will attack you in the morning and they will come ready, three deep in rank. You will have to fight for your lives until reinforcements arrive.”

Afterwards, the troopers made camp on Seminary Ridge on the west side of Gettysburg. James drove a picket pin into the ground and linked a rope to Tar's halter so he could graze without straying. Then he fried bacon, halved some biscuits and made sandwiches. After he'd eaten he spread a blanket on the cool grass, lay down, and stared at the sky. Someone nearby was playing the military favorite, “Lorena,” on a harmonica. It was a time for reflection and James knew that every man on that ridge was deep in thought. It took no imagination to know what the next day would bring. They had all seen it before: when the shooting stops you just sort of look around and take note of who is still there and who is gone. For it seemed that a blood sacrifice was the only thing the gods of war would accept; and each battle carried with it a pre-determined list of who would pay.