Billy Boy (30 page)

“No, sir,” Billy answered, his voice wavering with uncertainty.

Judge Shaw turned to the members of the court and duly swore each one in, then called on John Freese as president of the court, to duly swear in the judge advocate.

Judge Shaw announced he would read the charges and specifications.

“Charge First: Desertion, Specification First: In this that the said Private William H. Laird of Company G, Seventeenth Regiment, Maine Volunteers, being duly enlisted on or about August fifth, 1862, and mustered into the service of the United States, on or about August eighteenth, 1862, at Portland, Maine, did desert the said service on or about the fifteenth day of October, 1862, at or near White Oak Church, Virginia, and was arrested as a deserter on or about the twenty-third day of May, 1863, at or near Berwick, Maine.”

The judge coughed lightly and cleared his throat.

“Charge Second: Violation of the Ninth Article of War, Specification First: In this that the said Private William H. Laird of Company G, Seventeenth Regiment, Maine Volunteers, did with a weapon in his hands, known as a manure fork, forcibly resist and offer violence against his superior officer, Lieutenant Nathan Walker of the Fifth Regiment, Maine Volunteers, he being then and there in the execution of his office. All this on or about the twenty-third day of May, 1863, at or near Berwick, Maine.

“Specification Second: In this that the said Private William H. Laird, Company G, Seventeenth Regiment, Maine Volunteers, did after having been arrested as a deserter and placed in irons succeed in drawing a pistol and did attempt and try to shoot his superior officer, Lieutenant Nathan Walker of the Fifth Regiment, Maine Volunteers, he being then and there in the execution of his office. All this at or near Berwick, Maine, on or about May twenty-third, 1863.”

Judge Shaw let the paper slip from his fingers and, peering over his glasses, asked in a brisk voice, “How does the accused plead to Charge First, Specification First?”

Billy shook his head in confusion and frowned at the judge. “Desertion?” he asked.

The judge nodded.

“Guilty.” Billy's voice was barely audible. He tried to swallow. He wanted to speak, to say he was sorry for deserting, but the judge held up a hand to silence him.

“And how does the accused plead to the Specification First, Charge Second?” No expression marked the judge's face. He glanced down at his papers in his hand. “Resist arrest with a manure fork,” he quickly added.

Billy stiffened his shoulders.
I was holding it is all.
“Not guilty.”

“And to the Charge Second, Specification Second?”

Billy looked questioningly at the judge.

“Drawing a pistol at your superior officer.”

“Not guilty.” Billy shook his head wildly.
Counsel! That's what he was supposed to ask for!

“Sir?”

“What is your question, Private?”

“I'm wantin' counsel.”

Judge Shaw grunted and glanced at the members of the court. “This court will close for deliberation of the accused's request for the privilege of counsel. The clerk will escort the accused from the room and remain with the prisoner until the court reconvenes.”

Billy stood in the hallway. He wasn't sure he could walk back into the courtroom and face the men at the table alone. It didn't seem fair that Pa couldn't be there to help him. He bit at his fingernails and tried to breathe evenly. The sun was beating in the bare windows, the heat almost unbearable. Already Billy's shirt was soaked in sweat. When the clerk came for him, he stood, wiped his sweaty palms down the sides of his trousers, and followed him into the room.

“After mature deliberation, the court has granted the accused the privilege of counsel,” said Judge Shaw. “The court has appointed Lieutenant Parker as the accused's defense for the duration of this trial.”

Billy stared at the young man in uniform who walked over to his table and sat down beside him. The officer was short, and had fine, brown hair that hung limply over his ears. Billy waited for his counsel to turn and speak to him, but the man stared directly ahead with not so much as a glance in Billy's direction.

“Lieutenant Nathan Walker will come forward as a witness for the prosecution,” announced Judge Shaw.

Billy stole a glance at the lieutenant who had arrested him, watched him stand before the members of the court.

The judge began. “Please state your name and rank.”

“Nathan Walker, First Lieutenant, Fifth Maine Volunteers.”

“State the particulars of the arrest of the prisoner William H. Laird about the twenty-third of May, 1863, at Berwick,” the judge advocate asked.

“I was sent from headquarters at Augusta to arrest the prisoner before the twenty-third of May; I'd been after him for two or three days. I arrested him at Berwick between eleven and twelve o'clock at a house by the name of Rogers, I think. He was hauling hay in the barn. I was concealed in the woods. He was a hard man to find, as he was in hiding. I approached him and told him I was an officer in the discharge of my duty and had come to arrest him as a deserter. He had the manure fork in his hands. I told him to lay the fork down, but he was not inclined to put it down. I took hold of it and tried to get it away. He held the fork in an attitude of defense and resistance. I held my pistol in my hand and took hold of the fork and twitched it away from him and threw it down. I then ironed him.

“He then wanted the privilege of seeing a lady in the house as the folks had gone away. He went into the house, to the parlor or living room. I stood on the steps talking with Mr. Waterhouse and Mr. Hanson of Great Falls. The lady of the house suddenly rushed by me, looking pale and gasping. I rushed in the door, and as I went in, he changed his position and had a pistol in his hand which he was trying to cock with his hands—as well as he could, with them handcuffed. I ran toward him, and before I got to him, he threw the pistol to a
chair. I took the pistol and led him outdoors. I took him to Augusta. The pistol was loaded and half-cocked and cupped when I took it. I took the cup off in the car. It appeared good. Cyrus Waterhouse and Mr. Hanson went with me.”

Billy startled as his counsel pushed back his chair and stood, nervously tapping a pencil on the edge of the table. After what seemed to Billy a long hesitation, his counsel spoke. “Are you positive that the prisoner pointed the pistol at you?”

Lieutenant Walker averted the counsel's eyes, as if speaking directly to the judge. “He stood at an angle, quartering, at work cocking the pistol.”

“Can you say that the prisoner attempted to cock the pistol?”

“He had the pistol in his hands, and I saw his thumb on the hammer, working it.”

“After you clinched him, did Laird show any further resistance?”

“He did not.”

“No further questions.” The counsel sat down.

Billy stared at his counsel. Tugged at his arm. “You wantin' to ask me questions, sir?” he asked.

The counsel turned his face to the members of the court.

Billy wasn't sure what was happening. The clerk of the court once again escorted him out of the room. His counsel was right behind him, but when they reached the hallway, the officer walked away, disappearing into another room. Only when the clerk told him the court was making its decision did Billy understand that his court-martial was nearly over. He wished desperately he could talk to his folks.
If only Harry were here.
Harry always made things right.

In minutes the door was pushed open, and the clerk escorted Billy back into the courtroom. Billy stood alone
before the court, head slightly bowed, hands trembling, not wanting to see the faces of the men in front of him.

Judge Shaw called out his name. “Private William Laird. With regard to the following charges, the court finds the following verdicts: Charge First, guilty. Charge First, Specification First, guilty. Charge Second, Specification First, guilty. Charge Second, Specification Second, guilty.”

Silence. Billy did not raise his head.

“I do therefore sentence you, Private William H. Laird, of Company G, Seventeenth Regiment, Maine Volunteers, to be shot to death with musketry. The execution will take place no later than July fifteenth, 1863, on the grounds of Fort Preble, Maine.”

Chapter 31

G
ulls circled overhead as a platoon of construction workers toiled in the hot July sun on the clamorous grounds of Fort Preble. The old revolutionary fort was under expansion, and its redbrick buildings above the beach offered a striking contrast against the backdrop of blue water and islands of towering pine. Garrison sentinels paced the perimeter of the open fort, guarding the entrance to the Fore River and the strategic waterfront of Portland Harbor.

From his office in Cates Hall, Major George Andrews gazed out at the bay and then turned to Provost Marshal Gardiner. “Any problems I need to know about with regard to the prisoner?”

Gardiner shook his head. “No, Major. He's pretty subdued. Didn't say a word on the train down from Camp Keyes.”

“I'll report to headquarters in New York that the prisoner has arrived at the post.”

“General Wool requests that the proceedings of the execution be as private as possible, sir.”

The veins on Andrews's neck bulged, and his face reddened in anger. “Keep the execution private? Nearly impossible!” he shouted. “Need I remind the general that the security of the Rebel prisoners now here requires one-half of my force for guard each day? Look out the window! The post is under expansion. I have several engineers at work, as well as a hundred and fifty civilian employees out there. There are as many entrances to the fort as there are individuals desiring to enter. And I have nothing but a chain of sentinels encircling the garrison to keep them out!” Andrews stormed back to his desk and picked up
two newspapers. “And if that isn't enough to illustrate how news circulates around here, look! Already the morning and evening editions have articles about Private Laird. The public is well aware we are about to execute one of their own boys.”

Gardiner threw Andrews a puzzled look. “What are you suggesting, Major?”

Andrews tossed the papers onto his desk. “Perhaps General Wool could decide to send the prisoner to Fort Independence or some other isolated or enclosed post if he desires this execution to be private. He would have to detail his own guard, however. I have neither officers nor men sufficient to furnish such a guard without jeopardizing the safekeeping of the prisoners of war.”

“I do not think the general will transfer the prisoner. Perhaps you have no stomach for this, Major?”

Major Andrews shrugged his shoulders. “I know of no other Maine soldier who has been shot for desertion—and God knows, there are hundreds of Maine deserters!”

“I have no quarrel with his sentence.”

“The orders will be carried out, Provost, but perhaps you are right—I have no stomach for this execution.” He turned sharply and walked to the office door. “Good day.”

Billy clutched an unopened paper bag as he sat on his hard wooden cot, leaning his head against the cool slab wall of the tiny cell. He sniffled and rubbed his runny nose against the sleeve of his shirt, his loneliness greater since the visit with his family had ended just minutes ago. He agonized about his ma, how she cried the moment she saw him, pressing her fingers gently on his cheeks, fussing over the darkened circles beneath
his eyes. No one talked much, except about the pardon they hoped would still come from President Lincoln, late as it was. Pa said not to give up hope, and then he read from the Bible, but that just made Ma cry even more. Leastways Jamie brought the checkerboard. It took Billy's mind off things. And for the first time ever Jamie let him play with the black checkers. Billy shook his head slowly from side to side, wondering if he won because he got to play with the black ones. Best of all, Jamie didn't even take a fit when he jumped all them red checkers clear across the board.

The silence was heavy in his small cell. Patting his shirt pocket, Billy pulled out a letter, unfolded it, and stared at the words, even though he could not read them. He knew what the letter said, having asked Ma to read it over and over again. He glanced at the signatures scrawled across the bottom, knowing they belonged to Harry, Josh, and Charlie. He replayed the thoughts again in his mind. His friends coming home, promising to take him fishing; swimming at Frog Pond. Said they would all go back to Virginia some day after the war, find Leighton's grave, and bring him back to Maine. Then Harry went and thanked him for helping Mary while she was alone. Billy smiled, comforted by the last few lines, insisting Ma read them until he knew them all by heart:
You've been a real good friend, Billy Boy. We know how much you tried to be a good soldier. And in our hearts we know how brave your efforts were.
He carefully folded the letter and placed it back in his pocket.

Billy glanced at the paper bag on his cot, reached in, and grabbed a piece of ginger candy. He had no appetite for his supper, but the sugary ginger tasted sweet on his tongue. In spite of the heat, he shivered and crossed his arms over his
chest, his hands cupping his elbows. There was nothing else to do but wait for the darkness.

“Private Laird.” Major Andrews peered at him from outside his cell.

Billy blinked and rubbed his eyes. He must have been dozing; a half-eaten piece of candy lay crushed in his hand. He stared at the officer, only vaguely remembering him from when he'd first arrived at Fort Preble.

“I understand you didn't eat any supper tonight. Is there anything you'd like now?”

Billy glanced at the window high over his bed. It was dark outside. “Yes, sir—I'm wantin' to see the stars,” he said, surprised by the strange expression on the officer's face.

“You mean, you want to go outside?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Nothing to eat?”