September 20, 1862
Warren, Ohio
Eli heard his name called and put aside his grooming brush. The horse he was tending turned to gaze at him with large black eyes, flicking his ears. Eli rubbed his forehead affectionately. “I’ll be back, Mazie,” he crooned softly.
Mr. Craig, his face covered with a salt and pepper five day growth of beard and his head topped by white unkempt hair, stood talking to a customer in the front yard. The customer, a stranger in town boarding his horse with them, was smartly dressed and clean shaven except for a neatly trimmed light brown moustache. As Eli approached he found they were, not surprisingly, discussing the war. Everyone was always discussing the war.
“I hear Bobby Lee has been beaten soundly in Maryland,” the gentleman said to Craig. “It’s about time we had good news.”
Craig cocked his head to the side and spit a long trail of tobacco juice. Wiping his mouth on the back of his shirt sleeve he answered, “Hope so. It’s about time McClellan did something right. At the start I never figured this here war to last more’n six months, tops. Then just a late it looked like the rebels’d win it, damn me if it didn’t. Our generals don’t fight no better ‘n my old aunt Sally. Hell, she could probably teach ‘em a few things ‘bout fight’en.”
The gentleman shrugged. “We still could lose, God knows. I thought the British or the French would come in on the side of the rebels, but maybe this defeat will discourage them. At least I hope it will, because I think it’s the end of us if the rebs get foreign help to break the blockade.” The gentleman nodded, “There’s rumors flying Lincoln wants to turn this into a war to free the slaves. Some say he’s just been waiting for a big victory so it doesn’t look like an act of desperation. Well, he’s got his victory.”
Craig ran his fingers through his greasy hair and frowned. “I don’t know nothing ‘bout that. It seems kind a risky if you ask me. If them Southern boys know losing the war means losing their darkies, I think they’ll fight all the harder. That, and I ain’t sure how fight’en to free niggers will sit with our own boys. I think some of ‘em ain’t gonna to take to that at all.”
“Well, at this point I’m not sure it’ll make much difference down South. I do believe we’re way past the time we could negotiate a compromise on the slavery issue. Too much blood’s been spilled. Either the South wins and they keep their niggers, or we do and we put an end to the argument. It’ll be one way or the other.
“Now, if Lincoln says for all to hear that this is a war to end the slave issue once and for all, it makes it pretty near impossible for the British or French to support the rebs. From what I know, their people won’t sit still for fighting on the side of a slave holding Confederacy, no matter what their leaders want.”
“Maybe so,” shrugged Craig. “Maybe so. Course, none a that won’t amount to a hill a horse shit if we don’t get some generals what can fight.”
Turning to Eli, Craig said, “Mr. Wilkins here needs his horse, Eli. Saddle him up lickety-split.”
“Mind yourself,” said Wilkins. “He likes to give a nasty bite when he can. I’ve seen more than one stable hand get a hunk taken out of him.”
“I wouldn’t worry none ‘bout young Eli, here,” chuckled Craig. “I ain’t never seen man nor boy better with horses. He gets along like a rooster with hens even with your hottest young devil horse.”
“I’ll have him ready straight away, Mr. Wilkins,” said Eli.
Several minutes later Eli brought the animal into the stable yard where Craig and Wilkins waited. There had been no trouble saddling the horse, which followed docilely as Eli led him by the reins.
Mr. Wilkins nodded approvingly at Eli.
“How old are you, son?” he asked.
Eli handed the reins to Wilkins, searching his face a moment. He didn’t like being asked questions, but this seemed innocent enough. “I’m 18,” he lied, knowing his lack of facial hair made him look younger than he was.
“Well,” said Wilkins, taking the reins and patting his horse on the neck, “I’m surprised a young buck like you isn’t in the army by now.”
“Now don’t go giving him no hair brained notions, if you please,” groused Craig, frowning. “With so many boys in the army, it’s hard as growing corn in January to find a man to help with my business. Especially someone as good with horses as Eli here.” He looked at Eli and said, “So don’t you get no ideas ‘bout running off to fight rebs. You’ll just get your fool head shot off is all, and I need you here, head and all.”
“I overheard at breakfast this morning they’re recruiting a new regiment in town. The 125th Ohio Volunteers, I believe. They give a good signing bonus to any man who joins.”
“Now didn’t I just say don’t go giving the boy no fool notions?” said Craig, turning back to Wilkins clearly annoyed.
“Well, if we’re going to win this war we’ll need every able bodied man to do his part. If we don’t win, we’ll be stuck with a slave holding neighbor who’ll never give us a moment’s peace. We’ve got to put an end to this now or we’ll be fighting those people for a hundred years, mark my words.”
“I don’t see you wearing no uniform,” snorted Craig.
“There’s a simple reason for that,” chuckled Wilkins, mounting his horse.
“And what’d that be?” asked Craig.
“I’m nothing but a yellow livered coward,” laughed Wilkins. “But I’d still like to see us win. Somebody’s got to break the hold of the plantation owners on this country.”