Talons of Eagles (5 page)

Sparks had carefully reconnoitered the home guards' armory and was busy working out a plan to blow that up in order to create a diversion just as the Marauders slipped out of the city.

When the deed was done, the Marauders were going to scatter in all directions.

“If we can possibly do it, I don't want anybody hurt or killed,” Jamie told his men. “What I do want is to kick some of the high and mighty arrogance out of these people and show them they are vulnerable.”

“When do we do the deed, Major?”

“Tomorrow night.”

Jamie had paid for a week's lodging in advance; on the night of the attack, he dropped his bedroll and saddlebags out of the window to one of his men waiting below, then walked down the steps and strolled out the front as if he were simply going out for a bite to eat and some drinks at a local tavern. Jamie walked around the block to where his man was waiting with their horses.

“The rest of the men, Sergeant McGuire?” Jamie asked in a low voice.

“On their way, Major.”

“Let's do it.”

The two walked their horses until they were at the edge of the city, attracting no undue attention from anyone. A mile out of town, they met up with several more Marauders. Fifteen of Jamie's men remained in town, each with a different assignment.

Jamie linked up with his group in a stand of timber about half a mile from the Thornbury mansion, and they waited for a time. Conversation was in low whispers. Jamie opened his pocket watch—a present from Kate with her picture inside the cover—and checked the time. They had one hour to do the deed, for at midnight, all hell was about to break loose in various parts of the city.

“Stay with the horses and keep them quiet,” Jamie told young Pardee.

He nodded his head in understanding as Jamie and his band made their way silently toward General Thornbury's great house. Just as they reached the rear of the house, a shrill cry came from inside.

“Oh, love!” a woman's voice cried out, a definite Irish lilt to the words. “You do make a darlin' lassie!”

Dupree and Jamie exchanged quick glances. Jamie smiled and motioned McGuire on ahead to check out the house.

A dog started barking; but Jamie had anticipated that and softly called the dog to him, opening a packet of food he'd prepared. The dog ceased its barking and immediately began eating the huge portion of meat and bread Jamie laid on the ground.

McGuire returned and said, “You boys have got to see this to believe it. The general's all dolled up in a
dress!
”

Corporal Bates had to put a hand over his mouth to stifle his giggling.

“And the ladies?” Jamie asked.

“Two of them is nekked as jaybirds, and the third one ain't far behind.” He shook his head. “The general sure likes his ladies on the hefty side.”

“Perfect,” Jamie said. “Let's go.”

After several nights of observation, it was determined that no guards patrolled the mansion. And since this was a party night for Thornbury, Jamie felt sure the general would not risk having his antics observed by anyone.

The lock on the back door was jimmied, and the men silently entered the house and made their way to the huge room located in the center of the mansion. Jamie stood in the shadows, just inside the archway, and watched the goings-on for a moment. General Thomas Thornbury was all dressed up in an evening gown, complete with gloves and a hat. He was dancing with one of the naked prostitutes while the other two sang a rather bawdy little ditty.

The two singing spotted Jamie and his Marauders and abruptly stopped their singing, their mouths dropping open in surprise.

“Oh, don't stop, Maggie!” Thornbury said. “You're just getting to the good part.”

“The good part is over,” Jamie said, stepping into the room, a pistol in his hand.

Thornbury whirled around, his face paling at the sight of armed men. “Get out of my house, goddamn you!” he shouted.

“Isn't he cute?” Dupree remarked, stepping forward with several lengths of rope.

“Who are you men?” Thornbury shouted.

“Some of those yellow-bellied Southern riffraff you talked about, General Thornbury,” Captain Dupree said. “We came to pay you a little visit. My, but don't you look military?”

“Get out of my house!” Thornbury squalled.

“Secure them,” Jamie ordered. “Just as they are. And throw some logs on the fire. We wouldn't want any of these ladies to catch cold now, would we?”

Jamie had already told his men that nothing was to be taken from the house . . . except for any papers that might have some bearing on the war. But he suspected that nothing of any military value would be found, and after a careful search he was found to be correct in that.

Thornbury and the Soiled Doves were trussed up securely. Sergeant McGuire noticed that Thornbury was in bare feet, and he looked around for the man's shoes. He found some ladies' slippers that appeared to have been made for a big foot and knelt down on the floor.

“Let's cover up those little tootsies, now, missy,” he said with a grin, slipping the shoes on Thornbury's feet.

“You vile oaf!” Thornbury said.

At that moment, one of Jamie's men in town was giving a sealed envelope and a five dollar gold piece to a local man he'd found to be reasonably trustworthy. “At seven o'clock in the morning, you take this to the editor of the
Inquirer.
Don't forget now. It's important. He'll have another five dollars for you.” The Marauder had no idea whether the editor would give the man any money or not, but it insured the delivery of the letter. His job done, the Rebel walked to his horse and rode out of the city.

At the Thornbury mansion, Jamie unfurled the Confederate battle flag and ran it up the flagpole in front of the house. Jamie stood for a moment, looking up and grinning. So far, so good. Not a drop of blood had been shed—thus far. But all that could change, quite abruptly.

At the home guard's armory, the explosives had been planted, and the men waited, one occasionally checking his pocket watch.

At the Philadelphia shipyards, Marauders had swum out to naval ships in the harbor and planted explosives, while others of the band of guerrillas had placed explosives on ships under construction in the yard.

“Who are you, sir?” Thornbury demanded, from his trussed-up position on the floor. Blankets had been tossed over the naked ladies. Thornbury's pretty party bonnet had been securely tied to his head, with a very tight square knot under his chin.

Jamie smiled at the man. “Major Jamie Ian MacCallister. The Army of the Confederate States of America. We are the Marauders, General. And you Yankees have not heard the last from us. Now I'll give you a word of advice, sir: There are good men on both sides of this struggle. The next time you want to question the courage of those who chose to wear the Gray—
don't
. Good night, General Thornbury. Pleasant dreams now, you hear?”

Chuckling over the screaming curses and wild threats of Thomas Thornbury and the high, shrill laughter of the ladies, Jamie and his men faded into the night and ran to their horses, Jamie stopping long enough to pat the general's dog on the head and slip him a biscuit from his saddlebags. Jamie and his bunch scattered to the winds.

When the home guard's armory blew, it shook that entire end of the city, sending flames shooting high into the night skies and scaring the daylights out of the citizens of the city who lived near there—Thomas Thornbury had been stockpiling arms and powder for months, and there was enough ordnance in the warehouses to outfit an entire division for a long campaign. The shipyard, too, erupted into a series of rocking explosions. One ship was totally destroyed, two others partially sunk and several others badly damaged.

The actual damage inflicted upon the Union cause by MacCallister's Marauders was really not all that great once the dawning came and things began settling down. But it was a terrible blow to Yankee pride . . . which was exactly what Jamie had wanted.

The editor of the newspaper did send a reporter out to the Thornbury mansion. Unfortunately for General Thornbury, the reporter took his wife out there with him. No story was ever written about the general's strange attire—or if it was, it was never printed. But following the Marauders' attack upon the city of Philadelphia, Thomas Thornbury did retire his commission and step down as commanding general of the home guard. In a public statement, he said it was time for a younger man to take over. Thomas Thornbury dropped out of the public's eye and never made another comment about the bravery and courage of the Southern fighting man. Two of the ladies who were found with General Thornbury immediately retired from prostitution (to the absolute amazement of all their friends) and opened successful businesses of their own in the city. Where they got the money to do all this remained forever a mystery. The third Soiled Dove, who was approximately the same girth as the general, married Thomas Thornbury in a private ceremony, and the two dropped out of sight. A dress shop was kept busy for years making dresses... in duplicate. The general's dog ran away from home and took up residence at a nearby farm, where he lived to be fifteen years old.

The citizens of Philadelphia screamed for revenge over this dastardly act, but not one Marauder was ever caught. When it was learned that Jamie MacCallister was the commanding officer of the Rebel Marauders, a bookstore that had sold many, many copies of
The Life and Times of Jamie Ian MacCallister, Hero of the Alamo and Frontier Scout,
and still had copies in stock, was looted and burned.

To Jamie's mind, it had been a very successful raid, for no one had been killed and only a few people injured, none of them seriously.

What really irritated the people of Philadelphia was the Confederate battle flags flying high and proud at various locations all around the city.

One senior Federal officer summed it up this way: “Jamie MacCallister is going to be a royal pain in the Union butt until this war is over.”

Training in Massachusetts, Wells and Robert looked at each other in amazement when they learned that Jamie was commanding a guerrilla unit for the South.

“I never thought Jamie would fight for slavery,” Robert remarked.

“He ain't fightin' for slavery,” Wells said, soaking his aching feet in a pan of warm water—the black army did not as yet have shoes and boots and were training in what they had arrived wearing, often bare feet. “He's fightin' for the right of a state not to be totally run by the Federal government.”

“Don't that still amount to slavery?” a friend asked.

“It might in the minds of some, but not to me. Jamie never believed in slavery, and neither did any of his children, or anyone who ever got close to Jamie. He just don't hold with it.”

“I ain't got no use for the white man,” another Negro said. “Never have, never will.”

“Then your thinkin' is all screwed up,” Robert said. “You ain't never met no man like Jamie MacCallister.”

The former slave looked at him. “Why should I want to? He fightin' for the South, ain't he?”

“Yeah,” his friend said. “I want my mule and forty acres like I hear we gonna git when the war is over. And I know where I'm gonna git it. And I hope that white trash that whupped me tries to stop me from gettin' what's due me. 'Cause if he do, I'm shore gonna kill him.”

“You got a lot of hate in your heart,” Wells said.

“Yeah?” The man looked at him. “Well, nigger, I got the scars on my back to prove I earned that hate—do you?”

* * *

Jamie and his men returned to a hero's welcome at the encampment. Even Lee and Johnston were smiles when they greeted Jamie. Johnston had a commendation for him from President Davis.

“You struck a mighty blow for the South, Major,” Johnston said, unfolding a map. “But as soon as you and your men get some rest, I want you to ride north and join up with Beauregard here.” He pointed a finger at the map. “Between Centerville and Manassas, on the south bank of Bull Run. General Beauregard will have orders for you when you get there. Good luck and good hunting.”

When Jamie reached the area, he did not immediately report to General Beauregard; instead he spent several hours riding back and forth over as much of the area as he could, talking with Rebel troops. Jamie did not know much about commanding huge armies, but he did know guerrilla tactics. In his mind, he wondered if the Yankees had any outfit such as his own—they did, but were not as yet ready for action. If the Union army had men such as those Jamie commanded, he saw a flaw in Beauregard's positioning of troops, for the general was so sure the Union forces would attack across Mitchell's Ford, that he had spread too few troops on the left side of his lines. Jamie understood why the general had done that, for the left side of the line consisted of either thick, almost impenetrable woods, or narrow, twisting roads that no advancing army of any size could use with any speed.

But if the Federals had guerrillas . . . ? Jamie shook his head at that thought.

Jamie had to hide his smile when he reported to Beauregard, for the next words out of the general's mouth, after he greeted and congratulated him, were, “I want you and your Marauders on this side of my line, Major.” He tapped a map position. “Right here at Sudley Ford. But you are not confined to that area alone. Go where you are needed.” He smiled. “And a man of your many talents will surely be needed, I assure you of that.”

“I'll get settled in then, General, and get my men in position.”

Jamie turned to go, and Beauregard's voice stopped him. “Major, we'll probably be falling back some few thousand yards.” He smiled again. “Be prepared to move out hurriedly.”

“Yes, sir. I was briefed down south.”

“I assumed as much, but I wanted to be sure.”

Jamie saluted and left the tent.

It was July 16.

Beauregard's army stretched for more than six miles along Bull Run. The Confederate government in Richmond had expressly forbidden Beauregard from taking any type of offensive action, and after seeing that the Rebels were not going to bring the fight to them, the Yankees began a slow advance toward Rebel positions. They had no way of knowing that it was a trap, for when the Federal troops had advanced far enough, Beauregard's plan was to flank them and cut them off from the nation's capital.

The Yankees' advance was slowed to a snail's pace in the sparsely populated area, filled with thick brush, dense forests, and creek bottoms that seemed to swallow the wagons up to their axles. Many of the Federal troops became separated from their units and got lost.

Jamie's men captured more than two dozen of them, and they were disarmed and brought to Jamie.

Boys, Jamie thought, looking at the scared young men standing in front of him. They should be playing games and sparking young girls.

Jamie walked the short line, eyeballing each prisoner for a few seconds. The imposing figure of Jamie MacCallister stalking up and down in front of them caused many of the soldiers to tremble in their hot and ill-fitting uniforms. Jamie wore his customary black shirt and gray britches, a yellow kerchief tied around his neck. With his moccasins and high leggins, deeply tanned face, and muscular build, he looked sort of like a pirate to the young men. They didn't know who the hell had captured them.

Jamie cleared that up promptly.

“I am Major Jamie MacCallister, MacCallister's Marauders.”

“Oh, shit!” a young private muttered. “They're gonna shoot us for sure.”

Jamie hid his smile. “You boys are the lucky ones. You're out of this war.”

Jamie ordered the young soldiers to be taken to Beauregard's HQ for questioning and then settled down to wait for some action. But none came that night, and the Marauders all got a good night's sleep. Mid-morning of the 17th, a runner found the major and told him to fall back; Union troops were only about a mile from Fairfax Court House.

Dupree grinned. “The Yankees are takin' the bait, Major. It won't be long now.”

Jamie looked toward a black spiral of smoke. “Beauregard's set the Orange and Alexandria Railroad Bridge on fire. Fall back, boys.”

Beauregard had given orders to his troops at Fairfax Court House to leave food still cooking on the fires, giving the Yankees the impression they were so frightened they had fled without eating. The Union soldiers were jubilant. They ate the hot food and sang victorious songs with their coffee. Their jubilation was to be short-lived.

The Union general, McDowell, was giving conflicting orders to his commanders and being forced to rethink his strategy every hour or so. Nothing was working out as he had planned. He had reached Fairfax Court House expecting to find another of his generals, Heintzelman, waiting for him. But now he had no idea where General Heinzelman might be (Heinzelman and his men had been slowed down to a crawl by the dense brush and poor roads). McDowell was also beginning to suspect a trap. He had just learned that Centerville had been abandoned by the Rebels and also that all along the Rebel line the Confederates were pulling back. That seemed very odd to him.

McDowell ordered another of his generals, Dan Tyler, to ride through Centerville at first light to check out the situation. And McDowell also gave him firm orders not to engage the enemy—just check it out and report back with his findings.

Jamie and his two companies of Marauders had pulled back as ordered and were cooling their heels in the dense timber, hoping to see a blue coat to shoot at. So far, they had seen nothing, nor had they heard the first shot.

A runner found Jamie and handed him orders. Jamie was to take his Marauders over to a stand of timber not far from Mitchell's Ford and throw up a line. Beauregard suspected something was up.

Something sure was.

Just moments after Jamie and his Marauders got into place, after having circled wide and come up from the south, Tyler exceeded his orders and decided to take the town of Manassas. His thinking was that since the Rebels seemed to be in full retreat, why not take advantage of it and forge on ahead. It would be quite a feather in his cap.

That decision not only got the plume in Tyler's hat shot off, it almost cost him his life.

Since his men were going to be engaged in regular army field tactics for a time, Jamie had taken the rifles from the dozen captured Yankees and passed them out to his best shots. The rifles were British Enfield rifles, which could use the American .58 caliber bullet and could fire farther and with more accuracy than the shorter barreled carbines.

“When they come into range are they fair game, Major?” one of Jamie's men asked.

“As far as I'm concerned they are.”

The snipers looked at one another and grinned.

Tyler was at that time giving orders to send several companies of the First Massachusetts forward and at the same time ordering several twenty pounders to open fire where he suspected Rebel artillery to be hidden in the thickets. He also ordered two other companies of infantry to seize and hold a wooded area that lay off some distance from the suspected Rebel artillery battery. He had no way of knowing that Jamie and his men were in those woods waiting. The batteries commenced firing as the two companies began advancing on the hidden positions of the Marauders.

Jamie told his men to open up.

Twelve Rebel riflemen fired, and ten Union soldiers went down, four of them dead and the others badly wounded.

Tyler ordered the companies back and into cover. He looked toward the timber, confusion in the glance. Then his gaze was averted as the First Massachusetts came under heavy fire from Rebel snipers far to the right side of Jamie's position.

Tyler not only ignored his orders, but threw all caution to the wind and ordered his men to take the Rebel positions. But they could not. They were caught in a heavy cross fire and pinned down. Tyler called for his entire command, just over a brigade strong, to come up.

Tyler had no way of knowing that General Beauregard had more than half his army facing his one brigade.

“Pull back, you damn fool,” Jamie muttered. “You're throwing good men out to be slaughtered.”

“That's what it's all about, Major,” Sparks said, standing a few feet away. “One side slaughters the other.”

Jamie could not argue that.

Dupree called, “Them facin' us is showin' a white flag, Major. I reckon they want to get their wounded.”

“Let them. I've done the same with Indians and with Santa Anna's men at the Alamo.”

The colonel commanding the Massachusetts waved his men out to collect the wounded. The dead would lie where they fell. After a few minutes, both sides started once more banging away at each other.

Tyler ordered another line set up facing Jamie and his men, but Tyler's only option was to place them on the crest of a hill. After a few minutes of deadly fire from the Marauder snipers, they were withdrawn.

“If this is the best showin' their officers can do,” Corporal Bates remarked, “we just might win this war.” But it was said without a lot of conviction. Bates had traveled the North and East with his father, a railroad engineer. He knew full well the might of the Yankees.

In a desperate move, General Tyler placed men from the Twelfth New York, the First Massachusetts, and the Second and Third Michigan stretched out along a line facing the Rebels. But they could not advance. After less than a half hour of fierce fighting, Tyler ordered his men to withdraw.

The weakest point of the miles-long line was at Blackburn's Ford, but that was due to the terrain and not the resolve of the Southerners under the command of Longstreet.

Now General Tyler was faced with some tough decisions. He had no way of knowing that Jamie's Marauders were only two companies strong without a single cannon to back them. Had he taken a chance, he might have broken through and begun a flanking movement. But he did not. He elected to pull back the Twelfth New York and send them directly at Longstreet's men. But Beauregard had sent Early's brigade to beef up Longstreet and went there himself with his men. He and Longstreet stood up behind their troops, sabers in hand, the sight of them braving the bullets only adding to the courage of their men.

After only twenty minutes, the Twelfth New York began to retreat, and it was not an orderly withdrawal . . . it was a rout. That retreat left other Union troops under Tyler's command wide open, and Longstreet sent men from his Virginia command charging across the stream. The Union line broke, and the troops began running toward the rear. Longstreet did not pursue—a decision that was questioned for some time by other Confederate officers; instead he ordered his Rebels back and to resume their positions south of the creek.

The battle for Blackburn's Ford was over, with the Rebels clearly victorious.

McDowell arrived on the scene, clearly irritated, and took Tyler into a hastily erected tent and posted a guard and closed the flap. It was not known exactly what McDowell said to Tyler, but congratulations certainly were not in order.

For the next several days, all was mostly quiet along the long lines. Jamie and his men held their positions in the woods and rested, wrote letters home, and talked among themselves.

The men of the Marauders were gradually adopting a battle dress, and Jamie did not object. While Jamie wore a black shirt and gray trousers, the men were now nearly all wearing gray shirts and black trousers. All now wore the yellow bandanna around their throats and the standard Confederate cavalryman's hat. Dupree's wife had gathered together several Louisiana ladies and sewed a battle flag for the Marauders. Jamie smiled when he saw it, but offered no objections to its use . . . as a matter of fact, he was rather amused by it.