CHAPTER 10: GUARDING THE RAILROAD

The Bucktails did not return to their cozy winter quarters across the Rapidan. Instead, they marched northeast through the bitter cold for four more days until they reached Bull Run. There, the regiment was drawn up in parade formation and addressed by Lieutenant Colonel Niles. “Men,” he said, wincing with pain, “the recent campaign has convinced me to resign my commission. My leg is just no good for soldiering anymore. Major Hartshorne will be assigned permanent command. For now, the regiment will be split into two wings to better guard the Orange Alexandria Railroad. May God be with you.”

As the riflemen broke silently from rank and wandered back to their makeshift camp, Jimmy murmured, “You know, there’s only a third of us Bucktails left. Why would the generals divide our regiment in half and make us even weaker?”

“I reckon it’s only ’til they de-cide where ta send us permanent like,” reasoned Zeke Powers.

“I heared the Reb guerrillas has been raisin’ hob with this section o’ track,” added Private Crossmire. “The brass will spread their best sharpshooters out along here ta ventilate a few o’ them rascals ’til they leaves the railroad alone.”

“Then, they won’t send you, Boone, ’cause you can’t hit a bull in the be-hind with a snow shovel,” guffawed Curtis.

“But at least I kin hear them bumblebees an’ take cover when the Rebs starts shootin’.”

“What do ya gol-dang mean? Are ya sayin’ I’m too deaf ta be a good soldier?”

“Huh?”

“Why, I kin hear musket shots jess as good as you.”

“Even if ya don’t know which di-rection they’s comin’ from,” heckled Boone.

“Keep it up, Crossmire, an’ both yer ears is gonna be ringin’!”

Boone and Curtis continued to trade insults until a lanky lieutenant ordered the men to cut the horse crap and follow him. The officer posted each member of Culp’s squad fifty yards apart on up the track, with Bucky being the farthest man from camp. “Stay alert, Sergeant,” the lieutenant warned. “You and your men will be relieved at dusk.”

Before crouching low on the stony railroad bed, Bucky gestured for the others to get out of sight. The air was still frigid, and the sergeant could see his breath each time he exhaled. He had no gloves, so he pulled his coat sleeves down over his hands. Clumps of brush and scrub oak grew on both sides of the track. Bucky knew bushwhackers preferred such cover. He tensely scanned these thickets, keeping thoughts of Sarah locked in the back of his mind.

The long shadows of afternoon had just begun to creep down the rise and across the tracks when the sergeant detected a flicker of motion. Noiselessly, he cocked his Sharps and stared off into the bushes until he saw six ragged Rebs slip single file toward him. Three were armed with muskets, while the others carried sledgehammers, crowbars, and double-bladed axes. To avoid detection, Bucky flattened himself even closer to the ground. He waited for the whole Reb party to expose themselves to the other members of his squad before making his move.

When the Rebs started up the railroad embankment toward him, Bucky jumped up and bellowed, “Hold it right there! Throw down yer guns, er I’ll drop ya, sure as shootin’.”

Seeing it was six against one, a big Reb in a battered derby quipped, “That buck tail’s just what I need to plug the hole in this here chapeau. Get him, boys!”

The armed insurgents fired a wild volley at Bucky and then charged headlong up the bank. The sergeant shot the mouthy guerilla through the chest and braced himself for the mob that closed quickly upon him. He didn’t have time to fix his bayonet, so he brandished his rifle like a club to deflect the flailing axes and crowbars.

Before the howling Rebs could get close enough to slash or smash Bucky, two shots echoed up the tracks. The axe man gave a yip and fell on his face at Culp’s feet. The blade, slipping from his hand, put a deep gash down the leg of the charging Reb beside him. Bucky planted his rifle butt in the surprised fellow’s sternum, knocking him senseless to the ground.

Next, the sergeant focused on the fleeing Reb, who dropped his sledgehammer, lowered his head, and sprinted for the brush line. Reloading his rifle, Bucky took quick aim and downed the fellow just before he dove into the trees.

Culp didn’t realize that the last guerrilla had been knocked dead by a shot through the earhole until Crossmire sprinted up the tracks to crow, “Whooee!” Look at where I plunked that Reb. Now, ya gotta be-lieve I made all them shots on the big bucks I told ya I killed. Why, I’s the best marksman in the whole dang army!”

“Thanks, Boone, I reckon I owe ya one,” chuckled Bucky, shaking his friend’s hand.

“Don’t listen ta nothin’ that boy says,” puffed Curtis, slowing from his labored run. “You okay, Bucky?”

“Jess fine. You must be the one blasted that other buzzard,” replied Culp, pointing to the dead axe man. “Ya really saved my bacon!”

“Come on. Let’s lay these gol-dang ex-pired Rebs up on the bank be-fore a train comes an’ squishes ’em ta jam. Hey, one o’ ’em’s still breathin’.”

“Yes, I knocked ’im out,” said Bucky. “We’ll have ta carry ’im with us when we go.”

“It’d be easier ta plunk ’im where he lay,” asserted Hosea. “That’d be one less bushwhacker ta deal with.”

After Jimmy and Zeke rushed to join their squad, the Bucktails dragged the Confederate corpses to the side of the track. Surveying the grim faces of the dead, Jimmy whispered, “Bucky, that could have been you or me. Why can’t this stupid war just end?”

“Hey, we’re gonna have another body fer that pile if we don’t stop this fella’s bleedin’,” replied Culp, bending to examine the axe wound on the downed Reb’s leg.

“Bind ’im up with this,” said Boone, ripping a piece of cloth from a dead man’s coat. “Let’s git ’im back ta camp, while he’s still able ta tell the brass somethin’ useful.”

“You go on,” grunted Curtis. “Me an’ Jewett an’ Powers will stay here ’til ya kin send somebody ta relieve us. This might not be the only attack we git tonight.”

“Okay, see ya later,” said Bucky. “Keep yer eyes open.”

“An’ yer ears, too,” chortled Boone. “That goes double fer you, Hosea.”

“Go suck a gol-dang egg, ya weasel!”

Culp and Crossmire eased their groggy prisoner to his feet and dragged him between them up the tracks toward camp. The Reb’s dark eyes had an empty look. Two day’s stubble covered his sour face. Although his flesh was wasted from the deprivations of war, his big bones still made him a heavy load for the Bucktails.

Boone chattered endlessly in the Reb’s ear, but he would not even give his name in return. Finally, Crossmire spit in disgust, “I’ve seen porcupines more talkative ’n’ you. At least they whine some when they’s in trouble.”

Culp and Crossmire dragged their prisoner into headquarters and set him down on a canvas chair opposite Major Hartshorne. “We caught this fella up the railroad a ways,” said the sergeant modestly.

“So that was the shooting I heard,” replied Hartshorne. “I’ll need to report this to Colonel McCandless. What happened?”

“Him an’ some other irregulars was set on diggin’ up the tracks. The rest o’ ’em are dead.”

“Good work, Culp. Crossmire. I’ll send out a burial party and another squad to relieve your men.”

“Thank ya, sir. Good luck yerself tryin’ ta git this fella ta talk.”

“Oh, he’ll talk alright! We have our ways. You can be sure of that.”

Bucky and his squad celebrated their victory that night huddled close to a roaring fire. They ate bread, cheese, and pie bought from a sutler and heckled Boone about his shooting ability.

“If the wind hadn’t pushed that bullet, Crossmire, you’da missed that gol-dang Reb clean,” slurred Hosea, who also had picked up a bottle of “Oh, Be Joyful!” from another sutler.

“Yes, an’ that bushwhacker was wider than a bull elk,” joshed Zeke.

“Hey, I hit ’im right where I was aimin’,” insisted Boone. “W-w-why, I kin outshoot any o’ you fellas any day o’ the week.”

“’Cept Sunday,” cackled Curtis, “when ya wouldn’t have a prayer.”

Jewett rooted in his knapsack and pulled out a copy of the M’Kean Miner his parents had sent him. After the lad had read aloud a couple of jokes and some village news, Bucky asked him, “How long has Smethport been a town, anyhow? Be-fore the war, it was the first big place I visited other than that beaver village down on Marvin Creek flats.”

“The only thing drew me ta Smethport was the smell o’ corn whiskey,” guffawed Hosea. “Me an’ Brewer busted up the town some, too. I reckon if the sheriff weren’t real scared o’ my pal, we’da been mighty familiar with the gol-dang jail there, too.”

“I know a little bit about the town history,” said Jimmy, “if you boys are really interested. Every school year Miss Dempsey spent a whole week talking about it.”

“It’s too gol-dang cold ta crawl inta them doghouses. What kin ya tell us, Jewett?”

“Smethport is named after the de Smeth family, rich Dutch bankers who financed the land company that developed our town. The first home was a log cabin built by Captain Hunter in 1811, but it wasn’t until the 1820’s that the town itself started to grow much. In 1826 the first courthouse was built by Solomon Sartwell. The first lawyer was Orlo Hamlin.”

“How do ya remember all them dates?” whistled Boone. “I ain’t even real clear on which year my ma bore me. I ain’t too keen on lawyers an’ such, neither. What I’d like ta know is who was some o’ the first pioneers?”

“Let me think,” replied Jewett, scratching his chin. “Oh, yes, there was Jonathan Colegrove, Captain John Keating, Nathaniel Gallup, and David Comes.”

“I ain’t from yer neck o’ the woods,” said Zeke. “How could a fella earn a livin’ up Smethport way?”

“By 1830 there was already a gristmill, a sawmill, a tannery, and a clothing works. And the first newspaper was running. Even though Smethport wasn’t officially made a borough until 1853, the town was really booming way before then.”

“You have quite a memory, Private,” said Major Hartshorne, stepping from the dark night. “No need to rise, men. I just dropped by to congratulate you again on stopping those bushwhackers from tearing up the track.”

“Major, did you git that prisoner ta spill his guts?” asked Crossmire. “I reckon he was the most untalkative fella I ever come across.”

“Yes, it took awhile, but he finally admitted to being part of Mosby’s gang.”

“Why ain’t I surprised?” muttered Powers. “Wherever there’s evil doin’, that rascal’s close by.”

“How long are we staying here, sir?” asked Jimmy. “Is this going to be our winter camp?”

“No, Private Jewett. You’ll soon have better quarters that those drafty doghouses. After I get back from a short furlough, I’ll be moving the regiment down to Bristoe Station.”

“Are ya goin’ ta Washington on leave, sir?” asked Bucky, with a wink at Curtis. “Stay away from that circus if ya are. Right, Hosea.”

“No, I’m getting married like you, Sergeant Culp. Stay out of trouble until I get back.”

“Yes, sir. Congratulations, sir!”

After the major turned on his heels and marched off to headquarters, Zeke said, “No wonder the major’s sweetened up lately. By golly, he’s in love!”

“That’s also why he was grinnin’ like a butcher’s dog,” observed Boone with a smirk.