Both the block of wood in his right boot and the rainy weather had become Joseph’s enemies during his journey. After arriving in Lawrenceville, he limped to the front of the train station and hailed a carriage.
The driver tipped his hat. “Where to, soldier?”
“Allegheny Arsenal. I need to go to its headquarters. Do you know where it’s located?”
The old man nodded. “I’ll get ya there in no time.”
Joseph tossed his two canvas bags onto the seat. His foot twisted as he stepped up into the cab. With a grimace, he dropped onto the seat. He longed for a good night’s rest and a chance to remove the boot from his aching foot. Yet that would have to wait.
His orders had been clear: Report to Colonel Simon, the officer in charge of the Allegheny Arsenal, immediately upon arrival. Unless otherwise instructed, the colonel would remain Joseph’s commanding officer until his departure. His orders had signaled the significance of this assignment, and Joseph didn’t intend to fail.
Despite his injured foot and limited knowledge of laboratory procedures, he was determined to carry out his mission with the same precision and resolve he’d summoned when he first charged into battle with a company of soldiers. Back then, General McDowell had placed Joseph in command of a small force before ordering them to cross Bull Run at Blackburn’s Ford and test the Confederate defenses. The general had counted that brief skirmish a victory.
Certain victory was in the offing; General McDowell had ordered two divisions to attack the Confederates at Matthews Hill. When Confederate forces were driven back, additional Union troops crossed Bull Run. But that afternoon, Confederate reinforcements had arrived by train and soon broke the Union line. Under counterattack by the Confederates, the Union troops had retreated to the safety of Washington.
Joseph, along with the other wounded, had been admitted to the hospital tents at Camp Carver. After his release from the hospital, Joseph had inquired regarding the losses suffered by the Union. The numbers were still uncertain, but there had been over a thousand wounded, over a thousand missing or captured, and over four hundred dead. One of those men had been Clara McBride’s father.
When she’d disclosed that her father had died at Bull Run, Joseph hadn’t divulged that he’d fought there. Even though a year had passed, hearing the bloody details of those tragic battles wouldn’t heal those left behind, any more than talking about it would help him now.
The soldiers’ relatives he’d encountered always wanted to hear details of the battle. At first, he’d told a few, but now he refused. He’d watched the terror and pain illuminate their glassy eyes as he recounted the horrors of war. Rather than mending hearts, his words had only deepened the wounds for the surviving relatives, and also for himself. His nightmares had increased with each telling. He didn’t want those ugly pictures to haunt Clara or her mother. His chest tightened, and he forced himself to draw in deep, steady breaths. He needed a clear head when he reported to the Arsenal commander.
The carriage wheels rumbled an irregular cadence as they traversed the brick streets through Lawrenceville. Joseph was thankful for the few moments of silence when they finally stopped in front of the Arsenal. A soldier standing guard near the fortress-like entrance approached and leaned forward to look inside the cab. Noting Joseph’s uniform, he saluted. “Please state your business, Lieutenant.”
Joseph reached into his breast pocket, retrieved a copy of his orders, and handed it to the private. After reading the orders, he returned them to Joseph, gave a nod, and signaled to the driver. “Headquarters Building is straight ahead. The one with the clock tower. You can’t miss it.”
“Thanks. I don’t need directions. I’m out here at least once a week,” the driver called out. As if to prove his response, the cab rolled forward with a jolt.
Joseph leaned forward and attempted to massage his foot through the heavy leather boot. He wanted to make a good impression upon meeting the colonel. During his rehabilitation, he’d learned to manage a regular stride but only for a short distance. He didn’t want to limp—a matter of pride that he hadn’t yet managed to overcome.
He stepped down from the cab, flipped a coin to the driver, and waited until he was certain his foot wouldn’t give out on him before removing his bags. Lifting a bag in each hand, he walked up the steps and into the Headquarters Building and approached a private sitting at the front desk.
Joseph offered the young man a smile. “Good afternoon, Private.” After placing his bags on the floor beside him, he reached into his pocket. “I have orders to report to Colonel Simon.”
The private glanced at Joseph’s paper work and gave him a nod. “I’ll tell the colonel you’re here.” He gestured to a couple of wooden chairs. “You can have a seat over there.”
The interior of the building was as impressive as its massive brick exterior. Winding staircases were strategically located at each end of the structure. A young private was hard at work shining walnut banisters that gracefully curved up the far staircase. Another soldier was sweeping dust from the wooden floor, and one was perched on a tall ladder washing windows.
None of the young soldiers appeared particularly pleased with their assigned tasks, but Joseph could understand. They’d likely envisioned marching off to war to save the Union. At the thought, he looked down at his foot. He wanted to tell them they should be thankful for their safe assignment, yet they wouldn’t believe him. No doubt their thinking was just what his had been when he’d marched into battle. He had believed that someone else might die or be injured, but not him—at least not until it happened.
“Lieutenant Brady. I’ve been expecting you.” Joseph pushed to his feet and saluted the approaching colonel. The colonel offered a quick salute in return before gesturing to the private. “Place the lieutenant’s bags at your desk until we’re through.”
The private rushed forward, grabbed Joseph’s bags, and quickly returned to his desk. Joseph offered his thanks before following the colonel down the long hallway. His stomach lurched as they headed toward the staircase, for it was almost impossible to hide his injury while climbing steps. Though he’d worked diligently to climb steps as he had before, it remained impossible. He couldn’t properly maintain his balance when he attempted to use his right leg and foot. When they continued past the flight of steps, Joseph blew a sigh of relief.
The colonel slowed his pace and entered a door on the right. He continued through what appeared to be a reception area for his guests and entered a well-appointed office. The windows allowed a clear view of the Arsenal’s parade ground. He rounded his desk and sat down in a Windsor chair that was padded with black leather cushions.
“Have a seat, Lieutenant.” He tapped his index finger on Joseph’s orders. “Let’s discuss how best to complete your assignment.”
Joseph was eager to hear the colonel’s thoughts, though he would have preferred a good night’s sleep before the meeting. He chose the straight-back wooden chair without any padding. Discomfort should help keep him attentive. At least that was his hope, since concentration would be key during this briefing. Otherwise, he wouldn’t retain much of what the colonel had to say.
He folded Joseph’s orders and extended the paper to him. “I don’t need these any longer, but you may need them while you’re here. However, I will make certain you have proper identification papers that will permit you entrance to most of the facilities here at the Arsenal.”
“Thank you.”
“If you’d like, I can assign one of the soldiers to give you a tour of the entire facility tomorrow. Then I’d suggest you devote at least half a day in each of our laboratory rooms. You may want to observe our shipping and freight departments, as well. Were there any other particular units you feel might be helpful?” He leaned back and traced his fingers along several pipes hanging in a dark mahogany rack before finally choosing one. He looked up after carefully filling the bowl with tobacco.
“I believe what you’ve outlined will be most helpful. Once I’ve toured the entire facility, I’ll have a better idea if there are other units I’d like to observe more closely.”
“Of course. Just advise your escort and he’ll see to the arrangements.” The colonel inhaled quick, puffing breaths until the tobacco glowed a soft orange. He blew a puff of smoke into the air. “I hope your visit will prove useful. We want to make certain our men have all the ammunition they need to win this war. When we hire new workers, we take time to explain that they are important to the Union’s success.” His bushy eyebrows dipped low as he took a draw on his pipe. “We now hire only women and girls in the cartridge rooms. Once the men joined the Army, we began hiring teenage boys to make the cartridges. We thought since their hands were smaller and more agile, they would be a good fit for the jobs.”
Joseph shifted in his chair. “But they weren’t?”
“After six months, we fired every one of them. They were hard to manage and liked to fool around too much. Boys will be boys, but a freight supervisor discovered matches packed with cartridge bundles, and an overseer in the cylinder rooms found unlit matches in rooms where gunpowder was stored. After several of the boys were seen smoking around boxes of cartridges, we had to take swift action. Their carelessness could have caused a disaster.”
The idea surprised Joseph. There were several boys who worked at the Washington Arsenal. While none worked in the laboratories, he knew there were a few in shipping and freight. “So you don’t employ any boys?”
“We still have a few who technically work for the laboratories, but they have specific duties such as sweeping up the gunpowder from the porches and roads. They aren’t permitted in the cartridge rooms.”
Joseph nodded, although he still didn’t understand. If they feared the boys would cause explosions or fires, why would they let the youngsters sweep gunpowder? Granted, an explosion in a laboratory would be far worse, but if the boys weren’t trustworthy, they shouldn’t be working at the Arsenal in any capacity.
“You must remember that it’s difficult to fill all the positions in such a large arsenal. We want to protect our employees, but we can’t eliminate every boy from the workforce.”
Joseph frowned. It was as if the colonel had read his thoughts.
The colonel grinned. “Your expression told me what you were thinking, Lieutenant.”
“If that’s the case, I had better not try my hand at reconnaissance.”
The colonel tapped his pipe on the piece of cork that centered a large brass ashtray. “Not unless you become much better at hiding your thoughts.” At the sound of a knock, the colonel looked toward the door. “Come in.”
The private who manned the reception desk stood in the doorway. “Sergeant Taft has arrived, sir. He said you sent for him.”
“Yes. Send him in.” The colonel returned his attention to Joseph. “Sergeant Taft has been at the Allegheny Arsenal for five years. He’s a good man, knowledgeable about all areas of the Arsenal. I’m going to assign him as your escort during your visit. Of course, you may call on me at any time if you have questions the sergeant is unable to answer.”
Before Joseph could respond, Sergeant Taft stepped into the office. Joseph pushed to his feet, and Colonel Simon made the formal introductions. Once certain Sergeant Taft understood his orders, the colonel dismissed the men.
The sergeant walked alongside Joseph to the reception desk, where Joseph retrieved his bags. “The colonel arranged a private room for you in the officers’ quarters. We can go there first and you can rest for the remainder of the day, or we can begin our tour of the facilities, whichever you prefer.”
“Thank you, Sergeant. I believe I’d prefer to wait until tomorrow to begin. I want to be fully alert when I view the work and methods being utilized here.”
The sergeant nodded and strode toward the doors at the south end of the hall. Joseph did his best to keep pace, but the constant stabbing pain in his foot wouldn’t permit him to quicken his step. The sergeant didn’t appear to notice Joseph’s lagging.
When they neared the exit, Sergeant Taft glanced over his shoulder and came to an abrupt stop. His eyes shone with surprise and then something more. Pity perhaps? “I’m sorry, Lieutenant.” He nodded toward Joseph’s leg. “Muscle cramp?”
Joseph shook his head. “No, I have a problem with my foot. Once I elevate my leg, it will be fine.”
The sergeant held his gaze. “Battle injury?”
“Bull Run.”
The sergeant’s eyes widened. “You were at Bull Run? I’ve never met anyone who fought at Bull Run. I keep requesting a transfer, but it hasn’t happened.” His lips drooped into a frown. “I joined before the war started, and I thought sure they’d transfer me to another company, one that was going to fight the war. It didn’t happen, however. I made two requests for transfer, and both were ignored.” He arched his brows. “Any suggestions?”
Joseph sighed. “Yes. Don’t request another transfer. War is ugly. Stay here at the Arsenal and fulfill your duty. What you’re doing for the war effort is as important as shouldering a rifle and marching toward the enemy. You won’t suffer nightmares or carry battle scars. And most especially, your family won’t receive a death notice.”
“That’s true enough, but I think the soldiers assigned to the Arsenal are viewed as cowards.”
“Truly? Has somebody called you a coward?”
“No, but I see the hatred in their eyes—particularly the mothers of sons who have been sent to the front.”
Joseph smiled. “I think what you’re sensing is envy rather than loathing, Sergeant. No doubt they wish their sons were serving at the Arsenal. They likely resent the fact that you have been able to remain here—and you can’t blame them. But most folks understand that soldiers have no say regarding their duty assignments.”
The sergeant appeared unconvinced, though he didn’t comment further as they made their way. He nodded toward a two-story brick building. “That’s the officers’ quarters where you’ll be staying. Your room is on the first floor.” He stopped when they were at the entrance. “I’ll meet you in front of the mess hall tomorrow morning at six o’clock. There will be a soldier inside who will direct you to your room.”
“Thank you, Sergeant.” Joseph saluted the young man, turned, and climbed the three front steps leading into the building. The door opened before he could reach for the handle. He was greeted with a sharp salute from a young private. He smiled, returned the salute, and removed his Hardee hat. “Good afternoon. I’m Lieutenant Brady.”
The private nodded. “Right this way, sir.”
The moment the private exited his room, Joseph dropped to sit on the side of the bed. The thin mattress collapsed with a groan. It seemed the mattresses in the Pennsylvania barracks would prove no more comfortable than those in Washington. Yet even without a comfortable bed, he would sleep well once the ache in his right foot had eased a bit.
Fortunately, there would be time to escape from his boots for a few hours. With a hefty yank, he pulled off his left boot, but he was more careful when he reached for the right one. After wriggling his foot from the confines of the leather, he removed his grizzled cotton sock.
Reaching inside the boot, he pulled free the block of wood. He had taken great care to bandage his foot and surround the block with lamb’s wool, but without additional padding he wouldn’t be able to tolerate the pain tomorrow. However, more padding in the boot would make for an even tighter fit.
He glanced down at the deformity, then immediately averted his gaze from the misshapen appendage. Most days he was thankful the battlefield surgeon had been able to save his foot and large toe, but today the ugliness and pain outweighed his gratefulness. Encasing the end of his foot in one hand, he massaged the throbbing scar with his fingers. His touch was enough to reveal that both his foot and ankle had swelled. If he elevated his leg for the next few hours, perhaps the swelling would diminish. If so, he’d join the officers for dinner. Otherwise, he’d remain in his quarters and forgo the evening meal. At the thought, his stomach growled a loud protest.