With the 9th Pennsylvania Cavalry
Army of the Cumberland
Near Stone River, Murfeesboro, Tennessee
December, 1862
Asa and his squad let the big steel hammers fall and wearily stretched their aching backs. The General was determined to rebuild this railway despite the reality of the situation. Rails and ties were almost impossible to obtain and to make matters worse the snow was beginning to fall in that wet, whirling pattern common to these parts. “It won’t last long,” one of his mates muttered while attempting to light his pipe in the wind.
“You’re right about that,” Asa grinned, mopping his face. “Folks hereabouts don’t know what real snow is. Where I come from we’d’ve been knee-deep by now. This piddly stuff will just be nothing but more mud before we get to quit for the day. Anybody here got some idea of why the old man has his cavalrymen swingin’ hammers instead of scoutin’ the countryside like they should be?”
“You know better than to ask a question like that, Hickok. Using cavalry for scoutin’ would make too much sense.” The group chuckled.
“Well, all I know is I sure didn’t sign up to be a gandy dancer.” The Pennsylvania farm boy grumbled, spitting out his exhausted wad of tobacco. Staring ruefully at his hands he reached for his pouch and broke off another bit of his almost depleted supply of stuff to chew…seemed like it was his only comfort these days. Two months had passed since he and his big brother had been parted and news was sparse to say the least. He had learned that David had been medically discharged and was on his way home but whether he had arrived there yet he had no way of knowing. The Army of the Cumberland had been on the move most of the time with very little to show for their efforts. A few skirmishes here and there but no defining confrontations. This war could go on forever at this rate, he thought. There was some talk of engaging the enemy soon but if they did it would likely be some unplanned encounter as usual. “Hurry up and wait,” he mumbled… “same as always.”
The crew welcomed the sight of the sergeant coming toward them signaling the end of the long day. What kind of grub they could expect for supper was anybody’s guess but rumor had it a couple of hams had been liberated from a nearby smoke house so perhaps if a few spuds had also been found they just might fill their bellies with something other that canned beans tonight.
Supper was somewhat better than usual and the tired men huddled around their campfire wishing they were anywhere but here. To their surprise the snow had continued to fall, covering the surrounding hillsides like a soft white blanket. Asa felt a lump rise in his throat recalling his last snowfall at home when he and David along with their younger brother Tom had gone sledding with the Kunkle boys and Rebecca and her sisters. “Lord,” he whistled at the memory, “she sure did look pretty with her dark hair under that bright red cap and her cheeks all pink.”
“What’s that you said, Hickok?” One of men asked. Asa’s face flamed and he mumbled crossly, “no business of yours.”
There was no mail again that evening. The weary to the bone young man finally turned in feeling very much alone and more than a little lost.
Morning dawned cold and drizzly. The snow had melted as they had expected and the camp was indeed a sea of mud. A sense of unease hung in the air like the limp flag flapping against the pole. Something was afoot but no orders had come down yet. Even the horses were nervous and could be heard whinnying and snorting to each other in the paddock. The dousing of the cooking fires was creating a pall of gray smoke that crept under one’s collar. At last, the bugler sounded “assembly.” A sigh of relief rippled through the ranks, something was about to happen.
“The enemy has been sighted” was the message that quickly spread from one group to another. Asa’s neck prickled while a spasm like a cold chilled hand stabbed at his gut. Apparently the rebel army was on the move. Memories of the sights of the dead and dying he’d struggled to suppress since the previous battle surfaced. Officers were shouting orders while dashing about mobilizing their troops.
“Saddle up, Hickok,” several of his fellow cavalrymen shouted as they raced for the paddock where the horses were galloping about in their excitement. “Here we go again,” Asa muttered, managing to catch his mount as the old mare trotted up to him snorting her displeasure at having her breakfast disrupted. “Calm down, girl,” he soothed throwing the blanket over her back and hastily cinching the saddle into place. “We finally get to do what we’re here for.” Collecting the rest of his gear he made certain his canteen was full of water, tucked his knife and pistol into his belt and swung himself up ready for the orders he knew would be coming any minute now. They didn’t ride with their sabers unless told to. They weren’t of much use if the fight became hand-to-hand as it often did.
Asa could see and hear that the artillery had been maneuvered into place with a great clatter of noise and loud protests from the mules and draft horses responsible for the job. Already the deadly missiles were being hurled forward causing huge explosions all along the rapidly forming lines of battle. The screams of the horses mixed with the bone-chilling rebel yells of the advancing enemy echoed off the surrounding hills turning the valley into a deadly maelstrom.
The Generals fought it out for three days at a tremendous loss of life until finally the Confederates withdrew. The Union troops claimed the victory, but wondered what had really been won. Exhausted and heart-sore, Asa and his surviving mates tended their equally exhausted animals and settled down to lick their wounds and await what would happen next with hollow eyes.