Northern Blood Page 10

  Roberts’s head bobbed as he agreed. “I’m sorry too, brother. When we escaped, I thought we would be free. Not just locked up on the other side.”

  “Well, I ain’t rotting in this jail,” Wolf said and then spit.

  “What’re you planning to do?”

  “Whatever it takes to get us out of here.”

  ***

  The two men plotted for hours. They contrived all sorts of plans. Faking an illness to force the guards to open the door and beating their guards and escaping. Digging out with a piece of metal from around their piss bucket. There was much angst between the two when Roberts decided to use the piss bucket for the other bodily function.

  Breaking apart the bucket for metal digging tools was deemed a poor idea. One, it would take too long, and two, they would be destroying their waste pail, forcing them to relieve themselves on the floor where they sat. They threw around a series of other ideas, all of which in the end left them sitting on the ground fantasizing about the food they’d eat and the girls they’d meet until the afternoon came knocking with the jangle of their cellar door’s chains. The two lifted their eyes.

  The door rattled from the other side, causing both men to gaze up in far-flung hope. To their dismay, it was Corporal Mack’s muffled voice. “Wake up, my generals!”

  He had taken a clear interest in the men, personally escorting them back to the encampment. Wolf suspected the additional duty alleviated some of the boredom of his Alexandria post or perhaps relieved him of even worse guard duties.

  Wolf couldn’t think of a guard duty that was worse, but like in any soldier’s life, there were always tasks that were worse than your current one. Everything was relative. He’d much rather stand picket duty than dig a latrine. He’d much rather dig a latrine than fill a latrine. He’d rather fill a latrine than bury the bodies. But he supposed some men may feel different. Not that any of it mattered. Soon they’d stretch his neck from a rope.

  Roberts and Wolf slowly got to their feet.

  Mack peered through the cellar doors at them. “Good. You ain’t dead.” He smiled with his blackened teeth.

  The door creaked as he opened it, and the light of a thousand suns poured inside. Wolf and Roberts shaded their eyes with their arms.

  “They decided already?” Roberts asked Wolf softly.

  “I suppose so,” he responded.

  Mack yelled inside. “Well, come on out. I ain’t got all day.”

  They walked out into an unknown fate. “Go on. We got a nice man here to see you.”

  The two men shuffled over stone steps into the daylight.

  A man in a pristine cavalry captain’s uniform stood waiting, his black slouch hat underneath his arm. He regarded them for a moment, his eyes scrutinizing their haphazard appearance with a touch of disdain. He glanced down at a piece of paper he held. “Corporal Wolf? Private Roberts?”

  The two men nodded. “Aye,” Wolf said, still squinting from the bright daylight.

  “Aye,” Roberts echoed.

  “Corporal Mack, I will take them from here. Here is the appropriate paperwork.”

  Mack examined the paper as if it were a Bible written in Latin. His eyelid twitched as he read incredibly slowly. After entirely too long, the captain sighed. “Do you need anything else from me?”

  Mack scratched his head, looking up at the captain. “Everything looks in order. That be Sheridan’s signature?” he said, turning the paper toward the captain.

  The handsome captain spoke with finely enunciated words, marking high education and social status or both. “It is.”

  The guard grinned, revealing all his blackened teeth at once. “Good luck, my generals. Remember a tight hangman’s knot is better than a loose one.”

  The captain nodded to the jailer and waved at Wolf and Roberts to follow. Ten cavalrymen sat atop horses surrounding a wagon. Two more dismounted troopers waited for them along with smooth-faced Lieutenant Fox.

  “Shackle them,” the captain said.

  Rusted metal manacles were placed on their wrists, instantly chafing their skin, and they were led to the wagon. They half-laid half-leaned in the back.

  “Men, forward,” the captain commanded, and the unit with the prisoners left at a trot.

  “Where you taking us?” Wolf asked the officer.

  “I believe you should be ending that sentence with sir, or is that too far below you now?”

  “I believe a man should know where a group of armed men are taking him, sir.”

  The captain studied him for a moment. He was weighing the prisoner’s worth for engagement, and the scales tipped in Wolf’s favor. “You men are going south to the Army of the Potomac.”

  “For judgment? Sir,” Roberts added.

  “I do not know, but what I do know is that we have orders to make all due haste.” He turned to the men around him. “Let’s take it up a notch. Double-time.”

  The wagon jostled as the team of horses picked up their gait to a canter, and they headed south, the two prisoners falling over one another as the wagon flogged them over the rough roads.

  Chapter Eleven

  Dusk, May 7, 1864

  Todd’s Tavern, Virginia

  The sun started to set as they rode south. They crossed rivers, passed tiny hamlets and towns, and trees growing large bright green leaves. But all of spring’s growth was soon shattered by the smoke.

  Blackened smoke shrouded the road like a thick sea fog. The men in the escort coughed. Others covered their mouths with scarves and sleeves, keeping hats low over their eyes to prevent the stinging bitter wind from biting them. The air here took on a swollen, oppressive feel and smelled burnt and used up. Soon after they navigated through baggage trains and ambulances.

  Wagons overflowed with what could barely be described as men. They were blackened and soiled as if they’d come from the earth itself. All of them had downcast eyes or white vacant stares. They moaned like the dead and cried like the living.

  Ambulance drivers whipped their horses like escorts to hell, but the road lay jammed with wagon and men. They stalled, surrounded by the densest foliage Wolf had seen. The black forest acted like an army of succubi, accepting men inside and quickly making them disappear.

  The narrow clogged lane slowed them, but it wasn’t long before they removed themselves from the conflagration of wood, man, and beast. They reached a humble tavern at the crux of a crossroads. The sickly revolting scent of rotting flesh hung in the air, clawing at their noses.

  Mounds of dead horses lay where they’d fallen, the stench oozing from the dead animals. Cries of the wounded filled the air like a cloud of buzzing flies.

  It was clear multiple battles had been fought here. Men carried other men, taking them to surgeons and makeshift field hospitals. Two colored laborers led a team of horses to haul away the carcass of another slain horse. Their team was skittish from the stink of death hanging in the air, and they whipped the poor beasts to keep them focused. Campfires dotted the surrounding area, and Union men rested around them.

  The Cavalry Corps flag and its Divisional flags flew on poles outside the building. A white and red guidon with opposing stars on either half hung limply alongside a blue dovetailed guidon with white crossed sabers and a large red C in the center of the sabers. Next were the Divisional flags of the 1st Division, crossed crimson sabers on a field of snow white and the 3rd Division, Union-blue crossed sabers on a white background.

  “This is a corps commander’s headquarters,” Wolf said.

  Roberts’s chains jangled as he nervously scratched his head. “We be screwed. I knew it. They brought us out here to make an example out of us. So the whole army could watch. Don’t get too far above your station, laddies.” He shook his head. “There’s an us and a them. And they will keep us down to make sure they are obeyed without question.” He tried to bless himself by making the sign of the cross but was hindered by his shackles. “Oh, Lord.”

  The tavern sat, worrying Wolf like some sturdil
y built gallows. His companion’s words rang true. What reasons could they have other than something public and capital?

  “Help them down,” the captain said. Dark rings had formed under his eyes, but he still held himself straight and proper.

  Troopers hauled them down from the wagon, and the captain led them to the door. He knocked and entered, ushering them inside followed by Lieutenant Fox.

  “Wait here,” the captain said pointing. Fox took a seat in a creaky chair, listening to the men talk inside.

  Cigar and wood smoke clouded the air of the house. Men’s voices rose in fierce discussion. And the two prisoners stood in the foyer, still in chains.

  Officers came and went, and the pair received more than their fair share of ugly glares and curious glances. A short rotund man brushed past them and swung open the door like he was trying to rip it from its hinges. Before he disappeared, he stopped, turning on them. He cocked his head to the side as stared. His eyes blackened with utter revulsion.

  “Colonel Moore?” Wolf said.

  “Corporal,” he said. “I do not want to even hear your explanation. It’s preposterous what’s been done.” His chubby cheeks bounced as he shook his head in anger. “If it were up to me, you’d both be flogged until you were dead.” Without another word, the colonel departed.

  More heated discussion could be heard coming from the other room.

  “You think they’re deciding how to do us in?” Roberts asked.

  “I’m sure they wouldn’t put this much thought into it. Rope and a tree will get the job done.”

  “Ahh, Wolf, I can’t stand this bad luck.”

  He peered hard at his friend. “You won’t need to worry much longer.”

  Roberts wavered and he looked like he could cry. “You ain’t making it any better!”

  The captain returned to the foyer. “Come.”

  They were shoved into a room filled with aides and two men of high rank. One Wolf recognized instantly as Brigadier General George Armstrong Custer, the man that had led them to victory on countless occasions. The man that had given them pride. A man they’d bled and died for. A man they’d been defeated with. A man they’d retreated with. A man whose life they’d saved. Would he return the favor? His blue eyes held no clue. His flaxen mustache fluttered as he recognized them.

  The other general they didn’t know. He was short with a trimmed black mustache and had two stars on his shoulders. His eyes were deep brown and just above his high cheekbones. His demeanor was one that wanted to be impressed, but you probably were never going to live up to the task. “These them, the impersonators?”

  The captain spoke, “Yes, General Sheridan, sir. These are the men you instructed us to bring.”

  “You remember these fools?” Sheridan said to Custer.

  Custer cocked his head to the side. “Can you forget the face of a man that saved your life?”

  “Can’t say I’ve ever needed it,” Sheridan retorted with a chuckle. “Can you men explain to me why you’re here?”

  Both Wolf and Roberts started talking at once. Everything came out as gibberish. There was mention of Yates and Dahlgren, letters, widows, rapers, Libby Prison, and escaping.

  The generals sat, silently watching the men make every extenuation available to prove their innocence. When one excuse didn’t illicit a response, they would jump to something else.

  Sheridan raised his hand, and they stopped talking. “I’ve heard enough. So you’re telling me that you gave Dahlgren’s secret orders to assassinate Jefferson Davis to a Southern woman that you saved from being raped who mailed it back to a dead comrade’s father in Michigan. Then under the instruction of your captain, you pretended to be officers to ensure better treatment. You were then tortured in an attempt to find the letter which you did not yield. After which you elicited the assistance of Union spy Elizabeth Van Lew to coordinate your escape. Then you masqueraded as officers, tricking Butler before anyone in the War Department could figure out you weren’t actually officers to send you back to Alexandria. Is that all?”

  “You forgot the part where we stole Dahlgren’s body and replaced it with a Richmond thug,” Roberts said.

  Sheridan nodded, irritated. “Of course, I forgot that part.” His voice exploded in a fast-paced harangue. “Do you honestly in the name of goddamn Jesus Christ Our Savior of Nazareth expect me to believe one fucking line of this fairy tale? Who do you think you are, the Brothers Grimm? Your lives are on the line, and you feed me this dung heap of a story? Do you understand the repercussions?” He didn’t wait for a response, carrying on immediately. “Let me tell you. The War Department wants to let you rot for a few months then hang your asses from the gallows with a bag over your head.” He paused, glancing at Custer. “And your commanding officer doesn’t think very highly of your rebellious exploits either. He has cited multiple actions that are punishable in the military code of conduct. Insubordination. Failure to follow orders. Drunken on Duty.”

  Wolf knew he could count on Moore for just about any damning piece of evidence he held to be given freely and without reserve. Despite the truth to all his statements, there was still more. He’d also robbed a woman. Burned people’s homes. Shot a prisoner in the back. But he wouldn’t give the general more ammunition to stretch his neck with. He was tired of it all. Tired of being jerked around and imprisoned by anybody and everybody with a gun and a jail. “You know, if it ain’t the rebs going to do it, it might as well be you guys.” Sheridan’s eyes became larger circles, and Wolf continued anyway. “You should get it over with. We were fighting and surviving out there. Any man with half a pair would have done the same. And if he didn’t, then he doesn’t deserve to live.” He paused. “Sir.”

  Sheridan twisted in his chair, eyeing Custer. He jabbed a finger threateningly at the prisoners. “I can’t believe you led me to believe these men were a solution to my predicament. Remove them from my sight.”

  “Perhaps they were not the right fit for this mission,” Custer bowed his head in deference to his commander. He had stuck his neck out for his men and had lost favor.

  “Wait!” Roberts dropped to his knees and held up a hand in need of mercy. “Hear me out, sir. We’re just tired of being imprisoned. What Wolf’s been saying is real, the whole story. I can prove it.”

  “I will entertain this for ten seconds, but then we have a war to win.”

  Roberts quickly stood, tugging at Wolf’s coat. “Take off your coat.”

  Wolf shook his head. “I ain’t.”

  “Take if off or we’ll hang.” His eyes pled with Wolf to obey him.

  “If you think for a second I am going to hang or rot in prison for the rest of the war, you have another thing coming.”

  Sheridan’s eyes gaped and then he sneered. “What would you do?”

  “Fight. Escape. Die if need be, but I ain’t going back.”

  “Rot you will!” Sheridan shook his head. “And you too!”

  The captain grabbed Wolf by his arm and he shook it off.

  “Take off the coat,” Roberts hissed. “I don’t want to die.”

  “Unlock me and I’ll do it.”

  Everyone turned to Sheridan awaiting his response.

  The major general sighed. “I cannot believe I am entertaining such a thing. Do it, Captain.”

  “Captain?” Wolf held up his shackles. “You don’t think you could help me out, do ya?”

  The weary captain gave him a dry stare and pulled a key from his jacket. “I can’t say I’ve ever heard a story like yours, Lieutenant.” The key clicked in the lock and the shackles fell to the floor. The captain collected the fetters.

  Rubbing his wrists for a moment, Wolf shouldered off his coat followed by his shirt. He stood shirtless before the generals.

  “I see a skinny man,” Sheridan said. “Take them away.”

  “Turn around,” Roberts ordered him desperately.

  It was Wolf’s turn to shake his head. He spun, facing the other way.

&nb
sp; “Look here, General. Right here.” Roberts tapped Wolf’s back over the branded skin. Audible gasps came from the general’s lips. “There is no truer man to the Union cause. We ain’t lying. You go on and send a telegraph back to Washington. Dahlgren’s body is there.”

  A harsh sigh came from Sheridan before he said, “You men must be true to endure such punishment. Sickens me.” He shared a glance with Custer then looked back at them. “You may clothe yourself again.”

  Wolf buttoned his shirt, facing them. “We ain’t yellow, sir.”

  Sheridan held out a defending hand, allowing no more debate on the matter. “I believe you men. Unlock the other one.” The captain moved to comply, releasing Roberts from his chains.

  “These might be the ones we need,” Sheridan said with a nod.

  A short grin formed on Custer’s lips. “They might be.”

  The major general went back to his table and took a seat. “I should probably disavow you from this military, send you to a prison to rot, or let someone else deal with you. But I think your commanding general may be correct in his original assessment.” Sheridan took out a piece of paper and began writing over it with sweeping penmanship. He didn’t look up as he wrote. “Corporal Wolf, I am going to promote you.”

  Wolf blinked. His ears must have deceived him. Such a reversal of fate did not exist for a man with his shitty luck. “Excuse me, sir?”

  “You didn’t mishear. I am promoting you to lieutenant and giving you a command.” He looked from his writings. “You cannot fail me. Right back into the cell with you if you do.”

  “I already told you I ain’t going back.”

  “Very good, Lieutenant. That means I won’t need to see you in circumstances like we’re in again.”

  “What would you have me do?”

  Scratches and scribbles sounded out as the general wrote. “You are going to make Jeb Stuart come out to fight.”