GLORY II Chapter 20

Chapter 20

  The rain had finally stopped.  A two-hour downpour this morning before daybreak had thoroughly drenched everything she was wearing, but the sun had risen to a clear blue sky; the first clear sky they had seen since leaving on the expedition nine days ago.

  Makeshift clotheslines were springing up everywhere and every small bush was covered with a shirt, a pair of trousers or a sodden blouse, turning the regimental area into a laundrywoman's nightmare. 

  Boots and socks were lined up like silent sentries around each cooking fire in an attempt to draw the moisture from them while soldiers sat around in their long handle underwear or draped like old women in ragged wool blankets.  The scene would be comical if it wasn't such a serious affair.  No infantry soldier liked to be wet. He would eat bad chow, sleep in the cold, suffer thirst and hunger, but he did not like to be wet.

  Jenny was no exception.  She had learned the hard way what would happen to soldier’s feet if he marched all day in wet socks.  Many a man had lost toes, a foot, or even his life from the raw bleeding and rapid infection caused by the rubbing of the dirty wet wool.

  The smell coming from the steaming leather and dirty socks was almost enough to drive a person away, but the thought of wearing dry clothing and undergarments sent a pleasurable ripple through her mind.  Her only problem was the wet bandage she kept wrapped around her chest hidden beneath her shirt.  The march had been so disorganized, she hadn't had much time to sneak off and be by herself to change it.

  The 95th Illinois was bivouacked in a clearing east of the road just south of a place she heard Captain Schellenger call Stubbs Farm.  In front of them was the 108th Illinois; while behind them, bringing up the rear of the brigade was the 81st Illinois regiment.  Today it would be the second brigade's turn to take the head of the column.  Under normal circumstances this would be a good thing, however, the cavalry had left at first light and the roads were in pretty bad shape after three thousand horses and half-a-dozen artillery pieces added their footprints and droppings to the damp muddy soil.

  They had been issued five days’ rations and, as expected, fresh bacon was cooking over every breakfast fire.  Many had half, or more than half, of their rations cooking already.  Like most soldiers from any army, one day they'd stuff themselves, the next three they would starve.  At least it made the haversacks lighter to carry.

  The daily rations that General Sturgis had been allotting them were enough to starve a person to death.  Even she had at least two days’ worth of bacon cooking in her beat up frying pan.  After the meat was cooked to a crisp, as she liked it, she would mix flour with the leftover bacon grease to make thick tasty gravy to go with the wonderful smelling bacon.  The very thought made her mouth water, especially since she had obtained a chunk of salt in exchange for two large potatoes earlier.  Normally one person was designated to cook for the entire squad, but today every individual wanted his own pan full of crisp bacon.

  A noise to her left quickly brought her head swinging around.  Over to the far left of the regiment, on a flat dry rise near the road, the expedition commander, General Sturgis, and the division commander, Colonel McMillen, had set up their headquarters.  She watched as they raised their cups and toasted each other then quickly drained them.  Evidently the cups did not contain coffee.  From the grimaces on their faces, they must contain liquor.  This fact was quickly established as General Sturgis lifted a half-empty whiskey bottle and poured another healthy dose into each cup again.  The two commanders were guffawing and laughing like silly schoolboys telling dirty jokes.

  "They're gonna get us kilt," Private Huff said, reaching over to check his frying pan, a look of dismay on his pimply face.  "We meet the Rebs and shore enough those two drunks are gonna get us kilt real bad."

  "They's acting like they out on a picnic," Private Morton replied.  "Evans over in the 95th Ohio said they saw Rebs riding along in the woods next to them late yesterday.  Could be they might hit us today.  Them high mucky-mucks oughta lay offen the licker."

    Stupid commanders, Jenny thought to herself.  Don't they realize that old Bedford Forrest hisself is out there somewhere?  She'd heard a lot about General Forrest and none of it was good.  The man was a magician when it came to getting out of trouble and every unit in the entire western army was scared of him.  Well, maybe not scared, but sure enough concerned and cautious when his name was mentioned.

  She remembered the day before they sat out on this expedition, the Colonel named McMillen had staggered around like a drunken sot and she'd heard even worse stories about their distinguished commanding General.  It did seem like they had been going in circles half the journey, marching and counter marching.  Perhaps their minds were so whiskey soaked they weren't quite sure where they were half the time.

  About an hour later, the company commander came by and gave the order to prepare for inspection.  Captain Shellenger was a well-liked commander but if he had one fault, it was not delegating his authority often enough.  He should have had one of the company sergeants see to such small details as inspection.  At least their uniform jackets and boots were dry and they had full stomachs.

  The sky was a crystal blue and there wasn't a cloud to be seen anywhere.  Jenny could tell it was going to be one hell of a hot day though, and the humidity would be horrible.

  Around 7:15, the command to move out was passed from up the line.  The lead regiment, the 113th Illinois, quickly moved onto the drying road and formed into companies, followed by the 120th, 108th, Jenny's regiment the 95th, and the 81st, all Illinois regiments.  The artillery or "red legs" as they were called, brought up the rear of the Brigade.  General Sturgis and Colonel McMillen with their staves and a detail of pioneers took the lead while their Brigade Commander, Colonel Hoge, positioned himself about midway in the column.

  For three miles or so the pace was leisurely.  The rapidly drying road wound through the thick tangle of woods following the high ground. But, as they crested a rise, the road suddenly dipped down into a large valley filled with mud and water, a place called South Hatchie Bottom.  It seemed like they had crossed several places called Hatchie Bottom already. 

  There was no way the artillery and wagons would make it through that mess without bogging down.  It was obvious that the artillery following behind the cavalry had had a hard time crossing, the road was chewed to pieces and the bloated belly of a dead horse was sticking up out of the swampy muck.  The poor animal must have drowned before it could free itself from the soupy bog.

  General Sturgis gave the command for the column to halt and Colonel McMillen signaled for the pioneers to go to work corduroying the road.  Colonel Humphrey, their regimental commander, gave the command for the 95th to fall out in a small clearing and rest by the side of the road.

  They had been marching for almost two hours and had made a mere three miles.  According to their First Sergeant, a place called Brice's Crossroads was about six miles south of them.  When they got to the crossroads everyone was hoping their commander, "the old sot" some were calling him, would turn around and head back for Memphis.  The Rebs had had more than enough time to organize and it was rumored that an entire Rebel corps was in the area, a corps commanded by Forrest and Stephen Lee.

  While watching the pioneers cut down trees to prepare for their corduroying, Jennie noticed a rider approach from the south at a gallop and hand the General a note.  General Sturgis simply waved the courier off and told him to return to his command.  It was evidently a letter from General Grierson, the commander of the cavalry division.

  "Must not be important," Private Huff remarked, picking his teeth with a sharpened twig and pointing as the General threw the message into the muddy water.

  "Likely old Grierson's stopping for lunch already," replied Private Morton.  "They've been in the saddle for close on to five hours now.  They gotta be way ahead of us, probably halfway to Alabama."

  "They run into that Reb corps they gonna wish they stayed close to the infantry," replied Huff.  "Think we'll turn around and head back at the crossroads Albert?"

  "Don't know," Jenny casually replied.  "Likely as not we'll keep going on south or east."  She had sense enough to realize that no one would send out an expedition the size of theirs for no reason at all.  Most likely, in her estimate, they had orders to locate Forrest and keep him occupied so he couldn't hit General Sherman's supply lines in Tennessee.

  "Hell, we go far enough east and we'll run into old Joe Johnston's entire Reb army," Huff blurted, "providing that devil Forrest don't get to us first."

  Although the pace had been leisurely, large pools of sweat had formed under the armpits and down the back center of their uniform jackets.  It was turning into a sweltering day, the heat well over ninety degrees already and still climbing, the humidity keeping pace with the temperature.  The hawk eyed regimental surgeon was already going from man to man checking for signs of heat stroke.

  Half-an-hour later, another exhausted courier approached the General, who was sitting in the shade beneath a large oak tree watching the pioneers work on the road.  The horse he was riding was wheezing and coughing and looked like it was ready to drop from the heavy abuse of the rider.  After reading the note, the General's pudgy blank face suddenly became alert.  They watched as he stood and called for an orderly to find Colonel McMillen.  As soon as McMillen arrived they entered into a heated debate, the words too low to be understood from where Jenny was sitting.

  "Don't look too good," Private Betterman remarked, pointing at the arguing commanders and the exhausted animal.

  Jenny did not reply but simply nodded her head in response.  It was obvious from their irritated manner that something had happened or was going to happen very soon. 

  Suddenly, Colonel McMillen saluted the General and called for his orderly to quickly assemble the brigade and regimental commanders.  The General said something to the courier who had been standing by, and then quickly mounted and galloped off down the road pushing his worn out mount to the limit.  Colonel Humphrey, the commander of the 95th, hastily stood, strapped on his saber belt, and headed for Colonel McMillen's headquarters, followed closely by the other regimental and brigade commanders.

  "This is it," Private Huff murmured, "the cavalry done found the Rebs and we're gonna have to go save their asses."

  Jenny had a sinking feeling in her stomach that Huff was right.  Within minutes the command was given to form companies with the second brigade in the lead.  No sooner had the command to move out been given, when another dreaded command was passed down the brigade column that command was at the double quick.  Jenny hefted the heavy rifle on her shoulder and focused her sight on the heels of the man in front of her.