APRIL 8, 1862
Too little discipline or too much, both cause pain either way you go.
“WHAT’S IT BEEN, only a week?” Isaac asks.
J.A. wraps a blanket tighter. “Feels like a month. Bein’ a soldier is dang boring.”
“Yeah, but the training will pay off when we finally see the elephant.”
Isaac puts on a jacket. “I seen an elephant once in….”
I laugh. “That’s what they call seein’ the Yanks for the first time.”
J.A. shivers. “Dang cold rain, when’s it gonna stop?”
Sarge stops by for coffee. “When it’s hot we want it cold. When it’s cold we want warm sunshine. It’s just our nature to gripe, I guess.”
“The rain sure beats the heat.”
“You got that right,” J.A. admits.
Sarge drains his cup. “Like heat and cold, there’s two kinds of men in this camp—those who follow orders and troublemakers. Most want to do right by God, family, and country, but some really don’t know what they signed up for and whine about it. Don’t be the second kind.”
The sun pokes its head out of the clouds mid-morning and dries our clothes and tents. Green sprouting everywhere makes me wish I was with Ben and Old Bart breaking ground.
J.A. looks up from mending his shirt. “Oh, hell, here they come.”
Three men claiming to be of “higher status” walk by. They laugh and say things like, “I’ll do no slave work. I’m above this” or, “This food is fit only for a slave.” They challenge anyone to disagree as they turn their noses up at us enjoying a simple soldier’s feast. Then they always make sure we see them enter a café across the tracks.
J.A. stomps the mud off his brogans when they come by. “Them boys sucked their momma’s titty way too long and expect somebody else to dump their slop jars in the mornin’.”
Truth be told, they probably drank from the breasts of slave women, then cussed and beat them when they got big enough. I cringe hearing them laugh about violating young slave girls. I can’t think about that very long. Too late, my face is hot.
Sarge hands me his cup. “Gotta go. You leave them uppity boys alone. Their time’s comin’.”
J.A. pokes the fire. “We’ll choose sergeants and corporals soon, and them boys think they’ll get picked because they got rich daddys.”
I spit. “Yeah, but them fancy hand-tailored uniforms ain’t gonna make me salute ’em.”
After drill, the rich boys stop at our tent like they’re posing for a tintype photograph. Rubbing their chins and pointing, they act like they’re conducting an inspection. They quietly mention things they don’t like, but really they’re searching for the weakest man.
“Private, straighten up your belongings. You there, take those plates to the creek and sand wash them. While you’re there, bathe yourself. You other two do the same. In your present state, you’re unfit to be in this army. Now hop to it, double time.” No one moves.
J.A. starts to get up. “Damn, if their noses were any higher, they’d drown in a rainstorm.”
I grab his shirt and hold him down. “To hell with them boys, we ain’t here to fight them.”
The biggest of the three steps up and speaks in fine English, “What’s that, farmhand? You have something you wish to say?”
I slowly stand, never breaking eye contact with my adversary. J.A. whispers, “Oh, hell.”
In perfect English I reply, “Please continue on your present course before my associates and I soundly pummel you three gentlemen into mindless oblivion.” I sniff the air like a half-awake child smelling bacon in the morning. “Why, what is that smell you carry ever so daintily? Forgive me, your mother must have bathed you in sweet lavender-scented bath salts, and my goodness, she must have perfumed your pantaloons with rose water, as well.”
The leader balls up his fists, upset that I’m stealing his show. He continues calmly. “Has something caused you to be unhappy, Private?”
“If I was any happier, sistuh boy, there’d be two of me. Problem is, it’ll only take one of us.”
“You sure of that, Private?”
“Damn sure. Come get some, ’cause when you’re done, there’ll be a helluva lot left over.”
Sarge runs up pointing his finger. “Get the hell out of here. This ain’t even your company.”
The leader sniffs. “Just a misunderstanding, friend. But since that one started it, I’ll have you put him on extra duty for his insulting nature.”
My job is done.
Sarge’s eyes glow red. “Let me put it to you this way, pretty boy. I’ll have you washin’ my drawers and polishin’ my boots with your silvery tongue everyday if you don’t get the hell on back to your company right now.”
The leader laughs. “It appears you have forgotten who my father is. You can’t possibly believe you can make me do those disgusting things.” He looks around, enjoying his moment.
Sarge steps up, nose to nose. “Quicker’n shit through a goose, friend. Just try me. I’ll beat you so bad your dressed-up friends standin’ there’ll think your face caught fire and got put out with a hatchet. Now git, before I report you to the captain.” We move toward the three.
They bow. “Until another time, my friends, until another time.” The leader’s eyes and mine lock just long enough to mark each other for what will surely come later.
Sarge curses and stomps. “I’ll keep my eyes on them three flower-smellin’ boys. Get about your business and don’t take orders unless he has bars on his shoulders or stripes on his arm.”
“Yassuh, Sarge.”
J.A. laughs. “Flower Boys, that’s what we’ll call ’em.”
Isaac puffs up. “And the leader, Rosie, for what Lummy said.”
I shake my head. “They’re probably from good stock but ain’t got the same makin’s as those who fathered ’em. They’ve never had to work a day in their lives.”
J.A. watches them cross the tracks. “They probably went to Catholic school and can quote one Bible command just as easy as breakin’ another.”
I laugh. “Like my brother Ben says, ‘Can’t be a saint on Sunday and an ain’t on Monday.’ They lay awake at night scheming how to hurt people. Damn bullies anyway.”
The Flower Boys always stay together and keep a tent just for themselves, even though the rest of us are cramped eight or more. They believe they’re invincible.
When we stretch out for the night, J.A. whispers, “Them boys got somethin’ goin’ on. They got cash and jewelry I know they didn’t bring with them.”
“Then let’s go.”
J.A. and I follow them, and their secret is revealed. Out behind empty supply wagons, they sucker a couple of country boys into the shadows. It’s not long before a simple-minded farm boy leaves shaking his head wondering how he lost a game he was told he’d win.
I ask, “How long they been doin’ this?”
“Better part of a week best I can tell.”
“We gotta make a plan.”
J.A. grins. “I ain’t no thief, but I got no problem relievin’ three mouthy bullies of their winnin’s to give back to the good men of the 27th Louisiana.”
———————————
AS TUESDAY PRAYER service begins, we watch the Flower Boys sneak off to Tangipahoa with whiskey on their minds. We sing loudly to make sure Sarge sees us. When the pastor drops his head to pray, me and J.A. slip into the shadows. The rest know to cover for us.
We raid the Flower Boys’ tent and take gold watches, wedding rings, fine knives, two Derringer pistols, a handful of silver coins, two five dollar gold pieces, and thirty-three paper dollars. J.A. finds dice with shaved edges and a deck of cards with six aces and little colored dots on the backs. This confirms their cheating. We hide everything in a stump by Beaver Creek.
We sneak back into prayer meeting on hands and knees slowly popping up in the crowd. We nod, and all the boys smile. We give the preacher a couple of extra “amens” at the end.
J.A. whispers as we leave, “I feel like King David returnin’ the Ark of the Covenant to Israel who stole it back from the Philistines.”
Then all hell breaks loose.
“We’ve been robbed!” comes the drunken Flower Boys yelling as I compliment the preacher on his fine sermon. They tear through the tents of the men they’d cheated. We watch and snicker.
About the time Rosie sees us, Sarge and a lieutenant rush in. “What’s the meaning of this? Why are you men destroying these tents?”
Sarge yells at Rosie, “You better have a good explanation, boy.”
Rosie wobbles forward. “Boy? Whatever do you mean? Boy? I’m the son of Jean Pierre Demouvolet of New Orleans, and you should be very careful with your words, suh.”
The lieutenant barks, “Soldier, you’re drunk as a skunk. One more word and you’ll be wishin’ I’d call your daddy to come get you.”
Rosie gently pushes the lieutenant back. “Watch your step, or I’ll have you cashiered out of this army so fast it’ll make your hat spin.” Rosie falls into the growing crowd.
Sarge jerks him by the collar to his feet. “That’s it.”
The lieutenant motions for our little gang to come over. “You there—Lummy, J.A.—take this man and his friends to their tent and shackle them.”
Rosie grabs the lieutenant by the collar, drawing back his fist. “You thieves aren’t takin’ us anywhere.” He swings wildly. The lieutenant catches Rosie’s punch in his hand and muscles the leader of the Flower Boys to the ground.
“Now, I’m gonna do what your damned ole daddy should’ve done when you was just a chap. Sergeant, get these men out of my sight. Punish them to the full extent of the law.”
Sarge salutes, turns on a dime, and winks at J.A. and me. We go to our tents laughing.
———————————
WE CRAWL OUT of our tents this morning stretching and moaning about aching muscles to see the Flower Boys already at attention. The cheating bullies wear heavy ball and chain shackles on their ankles. They still drill along with the rest of us but not in their pretty tailored uniforms. They wear raggedy slave clothes that haven’t been washed in weeks. As an added misery, they stand on wooden posts at evening parade wearing signs with “Thief” painted on them.
The lieutenant stops by. “I appreciate your initiative, men. It was the right thing to do, but next time bring it to me so we can deal with it before it comes to this, agreed?” We salute. “That’s all, men. Carry on. You’re doing well.”
“Thank you, sir.”
He gives us a grin. “Tomorrow they’ll drill with buckets on their heads.”
J.A. slaps me on the chest playfully. “So that’s how buckethead got started.”
That would have been the end of it, but Sarge hears the Flower Boys cursing the lieutenant. He has them hogtied with a bayonet tied securely in their mouths and thrown in the guardhouse for a week. They missed some very valuable lessons growing up. Too little discipline or too much, both cause pain either way you go.
After the Flower Boy ruckus, the lieutenant orders all gambling for valuables is to cease.
Sarge warns, “Boys, I know you like games of chance, but give me a listen. Do you really want to go into battle with the man behind you holdin’ a loaded musket sportin’ a bayonet mad as hell at you ’cause you took his silver in a damn dice game?”
Makes sense to me. I never felt I had enough money to take a chance on losing it anyway.
J.A. lays his arm on my shoulder. “The Flower Boys want to own the whole world by takin’ it away from everybody else. I don’t get it. They got so much but appreciate so little.”
“And what they have was built on the backs of people who get no part of the rewards. Most slaves are lucky if they have a good master who clothes, feeds, and houses them decent like.”
J.A. kicks a rock. “Some even brought personal helpers along.”
“Yeah, I’ve seen too many sins against Negroes. It’s happenin’ right here.”