Echoes of Dark and Light (9 page)

“Well, that’s what I’m hoping anyway. You can’t blame a person for hoping, right? I mean, logically, I know he’s gone,” I choked those utterly untrue words out, “but I think the family’s peace of mind would be eased to just know what happened, to know some of his friends.”

The captain gave me an unconvinced nod.

“Also,” I continued, “now that I’m old enough, I wanted to join the Union army myself. I want to help save our country and preserve freedom for everyone. I want to proudly wear and display the uniform of blue patriotism and fight alongside my fellow Americans!”
Easy, don’t lay it on too thick
, I warned myself.

He glanced at me dubiously. “You don’t look old enough.”

“I just turned seventeen,” I answered honestly. “Sir,” I quickly added.

He nodded thoughtfully.

“I’m a great shot,” I continued, hoping to persuade his doubt. “Robert taught me himself, and he joined the sharpshooter regiment.”

“So you mentioned.”

I began to twitch under his scrutiny. Would his close examination reveal something feminine? I shifted in the chair, hunching my shoulders in case the binding beneath my shirt didn’t hide everything. Thankful for the grime coating my skin and clothes, I ran a knuckle under my dripping nose hoping to further a rather unpolished appearance.

The captain blew out a heavy sigh and shook his head slightly. My heart sank. Of course I could keep searching for another infantry to join, but it’d take time. Time I’d much rather spend searching for Robert. Disappointment settled over my bones as Captain Truckey turned his attentions to his desk where he had placed my Colt. He picked it up and began an inspection, examining every nook and cranny. I felt proud knowing he wouldn’t find a spec of dirt anywhere. Five of the six chambers held a round, ready for anything, with the sixth and current chamber left empty for safe travel, also ready for anything. Unfortunately, I hadn’t been ready, resulting in my current predicament.

“Well,” he began.

Or maybe fortunately?

“Did you know, Mr. Rivers, that I haven’t seen a gun this well kept since I last looked at my own?” He moved his gaze back to me. “All right young man, you may join the 27
^th
infantry of Michigan Volunteers. But be warned, I am going to keep a close eye on you.”

Despite his warning, relief flowed through my veins, and I tried to refrain from leaping in the air.

He handed the Colt back to me with a welcoming smile. “Oh, as for your quest, I’m afraid I know nothing of your brother. But I do wish you luck.”

I could see in his eyes that he didn’t think I had a chance. I made a mental note to not mention the “missing in action and presumed dead” letter to anyone else. They’d think I’d gone cloud-hopping mad, just as the captain obviously did, at least concerning my brother.

I signed some forms, and then Captain Truckey had me raise my right hand while he issued the Union Oath. My heart slammed to a painfully halt when he mentioned a physical exam, but then he glossed over that, thinking it not necessary. While I tried to inconspicuously restart my heart, he called in the fellow waiting outside the tent.

“Private Dove?”

The young man reentered the tent with questions in his eyes. “Yes, sir?”

“Private Rivers here is joining our infantry. He will share your tent. I would like for you to show him around. Stop at the supply wagon and get him a uniform, and then introduce him to the boys. Understand?”

“Yes, sir!” He saluted and then turned, motioning for me to precede him through the tent flap.

I started to leave when the captain stopped me.

“Private, it is customary for subordinates to salute when entering or leaving the company of an officer.”

“Oh, sorry.” I quickly saluted, then grinned at Captain Truckey, snatched up my pack and ducked through the tent flap.

It took a moment for my eyes to adjust, and I followed behind the private, stumbling in the dark. He didn’t say anything, and I wondered if he felt miffed at having me thrown into his tent, at having his meager source of privacy invaded. Well, I had to admit to still feeling miffed with him for having caught me in the first place. But then, that was actually more my fault than any real talent on his part. If I hadn’t been so distracted and careless…but my mistake had turned out for the best anyway. I wished he would slow down; my exhausted muscles complained with trying to keep up with his stride on legs even longer than my own.

An abrupt stop caused me to ram right into his back. He grunted and gave me an exasperated look, then noticed my scowl.

“What? Are you still mad that I caught you?”

I shook my head, then hesitated. “Well, maybe a little, but it was my fault for being so distracted. On any other day, you’d have never even seen me.”

“Is that so,” he asked dubiously, a grin revealing even teeth.

“Yes, it is,” I retorted, the hairs on the back of my neck standing up in defiance.

He chuckled. “We’ll see.” He brushed off my statement as if shooing away a fly.

His cockiness irked me. “Now wait a minute, you don’t know me, you don’t know what I can and can’t do.”

“That’s true, however, I do know what
I
can and can’t do, and I know I can track anyone, human or animal.” Instead of getting angry, he seemed amused.

I growled under my breath, trying to keep from punching him in his smug smile. I couldn’t believe he’d almost out and called me a liar.

He turned and motioned toward a large covered wagon. “We’ll get your uniform here. Hey Thomas, give us a hand!”

He obviously thought our conversation had ended, and I felt cheated out of an argument. I began to fume as Private Dove talked with the supply clerk.

“Private? Hey, wake up, I’m talking to you.”

“Huh?” I tore my burning stare from my new tent mate and faced Thomas.

“I said,” he repeated with a hint of annoyance, “what size Kepi?” He pulled his sleeve across his mouth to remove remnants of the dinner we’d interrupted.

“Beg your pardon?”

He spoke sarcastically slow, emphasizing each syllable. “What size Kepi do you wear?”

Ignoring his tone, I grappled for an answer.
What the heck is a Kepi?
I sent him a blank look with a shrug.

“Your hat size,” he retorted, rolling his eyes and looking bored.

“Oh, um, here.” I handed him the grimy, well-worn cap from my head.

He hesitated before taking the edge with a disdainful thumb and forefinger. With a sigh, he ducked into the back of the supply wagon with a glowing lantern.

We waited in a simmering silence with the sounds of the camp murmuring around us. I avoided Private Dove’s eyes, as I knew that the slightest spark would ignite a huge flaming fight. I would have time enough later to prove myself. Better to just avoid anything flammable for the moment.

The supply clerk reappeared carrying an armload of items, which he dumped at my feet. Then he handed me a dark blue cap with a gold bugle pattern on top. “Here, try this.”

“The bugle emblem classifies you as infantry,” Private Dove informed me. “The cavalry has crossed sabers on their caps, and artillery has crossed cannons.”

I nodded stiffly, grateful for the information, but not yet ready to drop my grumpy mood. Then I noticed Thomas eyeing me up and down, and my muscles snapped to attention, instantly on alert.
Does he suspect?

However, Thomas didn’t say anything. Instead he picked through the pile of garments, pulling out a pair of dark blue trousers that looked as if they would fit perfectly. I blew out my held breath; he didn’t suspect, he was just doing his job. Next Thomas tossed me a single-breasted shirt with nine small, shiny buttons lined down the front. Quickly following flew a four-button fatigue jacket, and then a pair of black, low-heeled boots narrowly missed my face.

“Oh, I don’t need these,” I said, trying to return the boots to the supply clerk. “I already have shoes—” I felt a hand on my arm.

“Small piece of advice,” Private Dove leaned in close to whisper. “Take the boots.”

“But mine have lots of wear left.”

He shook his head. “Listen, we’ve heard rumors that armies are running low of supplies, especially the Rebs. Some guys even have to go barefoot. Can you imagine, with winter coming? Take the boots and tuck them down in your pack. It’s added weight to carry, but worth every ounce. You might need them later.”

I nodded, trying to imagine spending a winter back home in the deep, drifting snows and bitter cold temps without shoes. I shuddered at the thought and tucked the boots under my arm. I knew winters down south would be tamer than back home, but still not something I wanted to experience shoeless.

“Hmm,” Thomas muttered under his breath as he dropped the lid on a crate. “Seems we’re out of knapsacks.”

I glanced at Private Dove who raised a knowing eyebrow. Maybe he did know a thing or two about army life.

“That’s okay,” I told Thomas, “I already have one.”

“Good, ‘cause you ain’t getting one from me tonight. Okay, here’s your haversack.” He tossed me a foot square, tar coated bag with a shoulder strap. “That’s for your vittles and utensils. Now, as for your skivvies, socks, and shaver, you’re responsible for that stuff. You can get most of it from the sutlers, or merchants, who travel along behind the army.”

Next he handed me a .58 caliber Springfield muzzle loading rifle, a box of cartridges and caps, and a bayonet. Then he brushed his hands together as if dusting off any responsibilities he may have had with me. “There, you’re all set. Now if you don’t mind, my dinner’s getting cold.”

I watched Thomas disappear around the wagons and then turned back to Private Dove.

He shrugged. “Personal warmth isn’t one of his strong suits.”

I nodded absently, and then had to jog in order to catch up with the private as he took off in yet another direction.

He turned his head and spoke over his shoulder. “We’ll stop off and get your rations, then head back to the tent so you can change.”

At the other end of the row, I filled my haversack with three days of rations, including unappetizing flat cracker squares made from flour, water and salt called hardtack, a small sack of coffee beans, a chunk of salt pork, a few potatoes with sprouting eyes, a pungent onion and a wrapped bundle of something Private Dove called baled hay. He informed me the bales consisted of dehydrated beets, carrots, turnips and other veggies squashed together.

“It tastes exactly like it sounds,” grimaced Private Dove, “but it does help prevent scurvy.”

I nodded, my belly already grumbling for Gran’s fried chicken, buttery mashed potatoes and flaky biscuits. With a heavy sigh, I followed him to our tent, my feet dragging wearily in the dirt.

I vaguely took in the men gathered around warm campfires, some strumming soft tunes from banjos or humming on harmonicas. But when he stopped in front of one particular tent, no different than any of the others, I suddenly realized just how small the tents actually were. The heavyweight, stained canvas draped over a rope strung between two poles, offering barely enough room for two bedrolls.
How in the warring world will I be able to hide my secret from Private Dove in such tight quarters?

“Not much, is it? When we’re on the move, the tent breaks down into parts so we can both carry a share. By the way, my name’s Toby.”

I squatted down to peer inside the musty canvas. Unfortunately, it didn’t appear any bigger on the inside.
Oh fun, another challenge.
My opinion on challenges slipped a bit more.

“Hey, I want to apologize for my uh, gruffness earlier.”

I glanced at him curiously. So I hadn’t imagined it. I reached into my new haversack and pulled out a chunk of hardtack to nibble while I waited for him to explain.

He dropped down on a log, using a stick to stoke the charred firewood remains. The brush of oxygen flared a spark to life, glowing bright red among the gray and black ashes. “I guess I felt a bit irked at first, getting landed with you. Nothing personal of course,” he quickly added.

“Of course.” I sat down on another log, grimacing at the rock-solid , intense blandness of the hardtack.

“It’s just that Frank, my last tent mate, and I had become good friends.”

“Where is Frank?” I gave up on the hardtack and stuffed the offensive so-called food back in my haversack.

“Killed. October 10
^th
in the Battle of Blue Springs. Took a musket ball right in the chest.”

Hardtack caught in my throat and I almost choked. Reality seeped back into my brain. With my world changing so fast the past couple of days, I’d almost forgotten that thousands of people were dying. And not just nameless, unknown faces; someone’s son or brother or former tent mate and friend.

“Anyway,” Toby continued, “you’ll learn soon enough how a guy feels torn about making friends around here. On one hand, despite being surrounded by thousands of men who are continuously in your face and you feel like you’ll never get a deep breath for all the oxygen being depleted, a guy can start to feel a bit lonely. But on the other hand, chances are better than good that the guy standing next to you will get shot or stabbed or blown up or consumed by disease, and it’s hard to open up when you know he’ll probably soon turn toes up six feet under ground. So maybe you can understand how a fellow could act a bit standoffish.”

I nodded slowly, trying to absorb his words. “Well, don’t bother trying to making friends with me; I keep to myself.”

He smiled complacently, as if I were some naive child.

Grrr
. Aloud I assured him, “I like my privacy.”

“Hmm, don’t we all. Anyway, you’d better change into uniform. I’ll show you where to put your stuff, then I’ll introduce you to a few fellows before we hit the sack.”

I crawled into the cramped tent on his heels. He shifted and shoved his bedroll over to one side and then sprawled out, his feet sticking through the front. He motioned to the empty space next to him. “You can throw your blankets there.”

As if I couldn’t have figured that one out for myself. I dropped my pack in the corner, dumping my new uniform on top. I bent down to untie my boots, but hesitated when Toby propped his hands behind his head to wait for me. He crossed a booted foot over his bent knee and proceeded to pick stones out of the crack forming in the soul. As if feeling my eyes on him, he paused and looked over at me.