Chapter 17: Benton Barracks

            “There she is!” Cried an excited Willis DeLay as they marched down the trail from the bluff to the river quay.

            “Side-wheeler packet,“ observed Reuben. “Looks like a lot of folks are there to see us off.”

            “Here we are marching off to war with no guns,” mused their cousin, John.

            “Speak for yourself, cuz,” chuckled Reuben as he patted the revolver tucked into his pants. He’d kept the weapon from his days as a Kansas Jayhawker.

            The day was November 4, 1861. The Third Iowa Cavalry was about to embark on its great adventure. The men were excited, but apprehensive. For many, it would be the first time leaving home. A few men would get to see their families at the departure ceremony.

            The 3rd Iowa was bound for Benton Barracks, Missouri. Their horses and tack would follow on another riverboat. Reuben had assisted I Company’s new Quartermaster Sergeant in inspecting the horses to ensure they were ready for the trip.

            Colonel Bussey marched at the head of the column. The men looked sharp in their new uniforms. They were developing the swagger and the cohesion of a well-drilled team. Bussey led their ranks to a position in front of a temporary reviewing stand. They halted, faced right, and stood at attention as the crowd erupted in applause. Captain Rankin and his wife stood on the platform waiting for the applause to die down.

            “The Third Iowa has blessed this state and this community with its dedication to the cause of the Union. We will not soon forget your presence in our midst. In all of Iowa, indeed the nation, it would be difficult to find nobler men. We know that victories in the field will reward your hard work and dedication. As our parting blessing, let me present you with this flag to serve as your guidon in the many contests you will likely face.”

            Mrs. Rankin handed a folded flag to her husband. She had stitched it herself.

            “Would Colonel Bussey please come forward to receive the colors of this great nation?”

            Bussey mounted the stage and began to speak.

            “You have greatly honored this regiment with the presentation of these colors. We cannot and we will not fail you in the trust you have placed in us. This symbol of liberty and unity will be cherished by me and all members of this command. We thank you for bestowing this sacred ensign upon us.”

            Someone shouted, “Three cheers!”

            “Hip, Hip, Hooray! Hip, Hip, Hooray! Hip, Hip, Hooray!”

            Bussey dismissed the men to mingle with the crowd for a few minutes before boarding. Old men shook their hands. Women provided everything from pies to roasted chickens. Then Bussey called the men to attention and had them file onto the steamer.

            After boarding, Reuben made his way up two flights to the Hurricane Deck. It offered a good view of the river and its surroundings. Had it still been Summer, the breeze would have been welcome. All around him, men sprawled on the deck or leaned on the rails to get a look at the preparations for their departure.

            Underneath them, stokers were busy building up a head of steam. Men on shore cast off the lines. The whistle sounded as the paddles reversed. The packet slowly backed into the river and turned south. Dusk was approaching as the boat picked up speed. Lights began to twinkle from the lamps of towns and farmhouses. Men smoked as they watched the lights go by. The moonlight lit the silver wake behind them. It was late in the night before the boat slept.

            Morning came bright and clear, but it was chilly. The men were shivering, but a good hot breakfast soon had them moving about the boat. The fall foliage was brilliant. They had Illinois on their left and Missouri on their right. People waved to the troops from the shore. One little town on the Illinois side saluted them with a cannon.

            Someone remarked, “I hope the Rebel cannons are just as welcoming.”

            The boat pulled in a few times for fuel as the day faded into night. The next stop was St. Louis. Though the city billed itself as the “Gateway to the West’ it also served as the staging area for troops headed south.

            The packet made the port of St. Louis on November 5th.  The docks were a hub of activity as troops and war material poured in. There was no fanfare at docking. The men grabbed their gear and formed up on the street. Bussey led the march on a borrowed horse.

            Wartime St. Louis was bursting at the seams. Unionist refugees had poured in from the small towns being terrorized by Rebel militias and guerrillas. Those who hadn’t fled sent their children to stay with friends and relatives. The city was relatively quiet. General Frémont had placed the city under martial law in August. Those with Confederate sympathies did not express them for fear of losing their life, liberty, or property. Some citizens turned out with welcoming waves while others just glowered at the marching Union troops. There were very few young men in St. Louis. They had left to join the Army. For some, that meant traveling south to join the Rebels. The majority had joined the Union Army. The Union had recruited large numbers of German immigrants from the St Louis area. The Rebels derisively referred to them as “lop-eared Dutchmen.”

            As they marched along, Reuben wondered if the old warrant for horse theft still applied to him. Probably not. Martial law would take precedence, and that Missouri Sheriff might now be a wanted guerrilla subject to Frémont’s order.

            Benton Barracks awed the troops as they marched into its central parade field. It was flanked by five huge, one-story barracks buildings, each measuring over 700 feet long. The cooks were delighted to find cookhouses with brick ovens and piped-in water. The camp included stables and plenty of room for practicing cavalry maneuvers.

            At Benton Barracks, the troopers and their officers learned the latest cavalry tactics.  Their officers carefully studied The Instructions, Formations, and Movements of The Cavalry of the Army and Volunteers of the United States by Col. Philip St. George Cooke. At the outbreak of the war, many of the cavalry’s best officers had joined the Confederacy, taking their expertise with them. The Union cavalry would have to learn some hard lessons as they were confronted by such Rebel cavalry leaders as J.E.B. Stuart and Nathan Bedford Forrest.

The men were taught the many roles performed by the cavalry during the Civil War. They were the eyes and ears of their commander, conducting patrols to probe the enemy’s location and strength. They’d raid behind enemy lines to disrupt communications, supplies, and transportation. In the heat of battle, they could be quickly deployed to guard the Army’s flanks. Sometimes they would execute a rapid charge on an enemy position to throw them off guard. If placed in the battle line, they fought dismounted, with one in four troopers holding their horses.

It was at Benton Barracks that the men finally got their arms. The rifles of the day were mostly muzzle-loaders and unsuited for cavalry operations. Not until the last years of the war would breech-loading and repeating carbines become available for the troopers. At this point in the War, their weapons were limited to revolvers and sabers.

The men were excited to get their revolvers. These were state-of-the-art rapid-firing weapons. Their multiple loads offered the troopers a chance to wreak havoc on a nearby enemy before retreating to safety. Reloading involved pouring the powder into the cylinder and tamping the ball down with a lever. Once all the chambers were loaded, grease was applied to prevent cross-firing. The final step was inserting the percussion caps into the back of each cylinder. Obviously, reloading was not something one did on horseback in the heat of battle. That’s what the cavalryman’s saber was for. Their sabers had 35-inch blades, a brass handle, and a leather grip. They were lethal at close quarters.

When firing practice began, Reuben took his brother Willis under his wing.

“Hold it like this and squeeze the trigger gently. Get used to the kick. Let the muzzle drop back down before firing the next shot. Above all, keep it clean.”

The saber was new to Reuben. He had to learn how to handle it with the others. Horsemanship was another skill that Reuben helped impart to the uninitiated boys. The men and their horses quickly adapted to the movements of the cavalry. They practiced charging imaginary foes. Once, they had a mock battle with another regiment. It was quite a melee as confusion and chaos reigned.

            By February, the Third Iowa Cavalry was ready, trained, and equipped. The troopers felt like they could now take on the Rebels on their own ground. But like Midwestern schoolboys anxiously awaiting the arrival of their first circus, they had yet to “see the elephant.”

Index- Unbowed: The Saga of a Civil War Cavalryman- Unbowed: The Saga of a Civil War Cavalryman-Index – Outlaws, Outrages and Outright Lies

Chapter 16: Camp Rankin

“DeLay, I’m promoting you to Quartermaster Sergeant.”

“That’s fine, Sir. What is a Quartermaster Sergeant?”

“You’ll be responsible for all the company supplies and equipment.”

Reuben glanced down the barren street assigned to the company. Some of the men had made half-shelters out of the blankets they had been issued the evening before. The rest were lounging in the shade of the few available trees.

“Sir, I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but we don’t seem to have much in the way of supplies and equipment.”

“Don’t worry. Today, the regiment is issuing us our uniforms. You’ll ensure each man signs a receipt for their gear.. Later, we’ll get mess equipment, tents, and grub. You will be responsible for them as well.”

“Sir, we’re supposed to be cavalry. How do we carry all that stuff into battle?”

“You will be assigned one wagon and a Corporal to drive it.”

“Sounds like a lot of paperwork.”

“It is. The Army needs to keep track of everything: beans, bullets, and bandages. We can’t go into battle without them.”

“I guess I can do it. When do I start?”

“Head on up to regiment and tell them we need this,” said Captain Taylor, handing him a list. “Take enough men with you to carry it all.”

Reuben scanned the list. Each of the men would get a pair of blue pantaloons, a cavalry jacket, a cap, cavalry boots, wool socks, a gray shirt, and underwear. It sounded like a mountain of stuff.

Reuben borrowed a wagon from a nearby company and selected 4 men to help load the supplies. Lacking a uniform, it took some convincing that he was a real Sergeant. One of the men insisted on seeing his warrant from Captain Taylor. Satisfied, they reported to the Regimental Quartermaster.

Reuben saluted and gave the Quartermaster the list.

“We don’t have half of this, but I’ll issue you what I can. I expect more uniforms in a few days. We were lucky to have enough blankets on hand yesterday. Everyone needs 500,000 of everything. The units in the field get priority.”

Reuben counted and signed for the clothing. He realized that it would be a challenge to figure out who got what. He asked the Quartermaster for some paper and pencils to keep track of it all. He’d use one sheet per man and have them initial for each item.

The men were excited to get their uniforms, but some were disappointed in the fit and the missing pieces. There was a vigorous trade. Then, the men came back to Reuben asking to make changes to their receipts. It soon got out of hand.

“No more trades!” he exclaimed. “If you signed for something, it is up to you to keep track of it. You will not get a replacement.”

The men grumbled, but the trading slowed down. Within a week, all were issued their full uniforms along with knapsacks and canteens. The men who had sewing kits kept busy altering clothes for themselves and their friends.

The company got its allotment of Sibley tents by the end of the first week. These 18-foot conical structures were set up on the company street with up to 12 men berthed in each one. Captain Taylor got one for his headquarters.

The Regimental Surgeon examined each man individually. They demonstrated their fitness by standing on tiptoe with arms extended as the good Doctor conducted his examination. He rubbed his hands over their shoulders, back, and limbs before finishing with some taps on the chest. No man who could stand and breathe was rejected.

Camp Rankin was a temporary Camp of Instruction. It had no permanent facilities, only sheds and Sibley tents. A sturdy board fence surrounded it. The men were prohibited from leaving the compound unless they had a pass. As Quartermaster Sergeant, Reuben made frequent trips into Keokuk with requisitions for supplies for the company. A civilian Sutler set up a store inside the camp to sell personal items and snacks.

The men began drilling again. Their marching was more precise, and their new uniforms made them proud. The Army purchased horses for $100 per head. Reuben soon learned he was responsible for finding forage and reporting the health problems of the horses to the Veterinarian Officer. Some horses were unbroken. Good riders, like Reuben, sorted out the ranker mounts. They began their mounted drills without arms. Their sabers or revolvers were lost somewhere in the supply pipeline.

The time finally came when the company was ready for inspection by the regimental commander, Colonel Cyrus Bussey. Bussey was a former state Senator and aide to the Governor. As the regiment was forming up, he had become distressed over its lack of arms. He journeyed to St. Louis to plead his case before the Department Commander, General John C. Frémont. The former explorer and presidential candidate was able to supply 50,000 rounds of ammunition but no guns. Undaunted, Bussey returned to Keokuk and intercepted a shipment of 1,000 Springfield rifles bound for another regiment. Some of these were distributed to the various militia companies defending Southeast Iowa and Northeast Missouri.

Before I Company arrived, these weapons had been crucial in the Battle of Athens. Two thousand men of the Rebel Missouri State Guard were advancing toward Keokuk. To lose this vital transportation hub on the Mississippi River would have been a disaster for the Union. The Springfield rifles Bussey sent to the loyal Northeast Missouri Home Guard at Athens made the difference in the outcome. The badly outnumbered defenders made mincemeat out of the poorly armed attackers. They drove the Rebels off, killing several and capturing about 20 prisoners and over 400 horses. During the battle, a rebel cannon shell became the only shot fired into Iowa during the entire Civil War. With the threat over, Colonel Bussey retrieved all of the rifles and sent them on to their original destination.

The inspection went well. It was a proud moment when Bussey placed his stamp of approval on the newly minted company. The men worked even harder learning the cavalry tactics of the day. They learned to ride in columns and form battle lines. They learned to respond to verbal and bugle calls like Boots and Saddles, Right, Left, About, Wheel, Trot, Canter, Charge, Commence Firing, Cease Firing, Retreat, and Rally. Their mounts learned to respond to the touch of their riders.

Midway in the training, sickness began to strike. Measles raged through the camp. Almost everyone caught it. It produced complications like pneumonia. Several men died. Bad sanitation led to dysentery and diarrhea. The Surgeon began vaccinating the men against Smallpox. In all, 43 men of the 3rd died from sickness at Camp Rankin and Benton Barracks during that first winter of the war. Only one of them was from Reuben’s company. Disease would continue to plague the armies, North and South, for the entire war. About half of the total casualties were from illness.

Reuben grew more concerned in his role as Quartermaster Sergeant as the training continued. He didn’t like the detail work that was involved, along with the responsibility for so many expensive items of equipment. The last straw came when the company ventured into the countryside for a simulated skirmish. He had to follow the troopers in the wagon. The mounted charges did not include him. He was supposed to fight only to defend the vital supplies in the company wagon. Reuben chafed at not being able to join his fellow troopers in a fight. Besides, he had promised his parents to watch over his brother, Willis. Finally, he took his concerns to Captain Taylor.

“Sir, I don’t think I’m cut out to be a Quartermaster Sergeant.”

Taylor looked up from his field desk and thought a moment. He’d been in command long enough to have a good feel for the qualities of his men. DeLay was a fighter. He had other men with experience as storekeepers who could do the job of Quartermaster Sergeant well.

“OK, but you’ll have to return to the rank of Private.”

“That’s fine with me. I signed up to fight, not to count beans.”

“I do appreciate your hard work. As soon as I pick a replacement, I’ll have him contact you to sign for the company property. Then you will be relieved.”

“Thank you, Sir!” Reuben saluted and left the command tent.

In early November, the Third Iowa was ready to leave Camp Rankin. They were bound for Benton Barracks, near St. Louis. Though they looked dapper on the parade field, they were a long way from being ready for the battlefield. They still lacked sabers and guns and the training to use them.

Index- Unbowed: The Saga of a Civil War Cavalryman- Unbowed: The Saga of a Civil War Cavalryman-Index – Outlaws, Outrages and Outright Lies

Chapter 15: Enlistment

Chapter 15: Enlistment

              “You did what?” fumed Margaret, her eyes flashing angrily.

“I enlisted,” was Reuben’s meek reply.

“Damn you Reuben DeLay! Did you not think of us?”

“I did. This is about protecting you and the kids. If we hit the Secessionists hard from the git-go, they’ll fold like they did in Kansas.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Well, two weeks ago, they tried to take Keokuk. They had 2000 men and made it to the Des Moines River at Athens. They bombarded the Iowa side of the river. Had it not been for Colonel Bussey and his new cavalry regiment, they would have taken Keokuk and stopped traffic on the Mississippi. That’s the regiment I joined. Our Mounted Riflemen are now Company I, Third Iowa Cavalry.”

“Who else is in on this nonsense?”

“Willis joined up with me.”

“Willis! You let your little brother sign up for war?”

“He’s 18 now, old enough to volunteer.”

“Hrmph. Why didn’t you let one of your cousins go instead?”

“John and Will had already signed up. Nearly everyone in the county enlisted. Both baseball teams, everyone.”

“And who is supposed to defend us?”

“Your Pa joined the Home Guard. I gave him my Sharps. The cavalry only uses pistols and sabers. My Pa signed up. Uncle Jacob, too.”

“Good Lord, we’ve got hay to cut, corn to shuck, and wood to chop. How am I supposed to manage?”

“Don’t worry, the Home Guard is organizing a labor co-op of those who are staying behind.”

“Old men and boys? How is that supposed to work?”

“it will be hard, but if they all work together, it will all work out.”

“So, when are you leaving?”

“We march out from Centerville on the 29th. The town is throwing a shindig for us. There’ll be speeches and vittles. We’ll pass in review at the courthouse. It’s history in the making. The kids will love it.”

“What if it’s the last time they ever see their father?”

“Now, Dear. You know I’m going to be careful. Ain’t no Rebel ball with my name on it.”

“God, I hope not.”

The departure ceremony for the recruits took place as scheduled on Thursday, August 29, 1861. By then, there was increased urgency. Union troops under General Lyon had clashed with a Confederate force under General Price at Wilson’s Creek in Southwest Missouri. Outnumbered, Lyon had staged a bold two-prong early morning attack. Although the Confederate camp was surprised, they managed to rally, defeating the Union force and killing General Lyon. The victorious General Price was presumed to be heading for St Louis. If he captured the city, it might turn the tide of the war and make Missouri a part of the Confederacy. The newly minted cavalrymen of the Third Iowa would be part of the effort to stop him.

On the day of their departure, the men of the company didn’t look much like soldiers. They lacked uniforms, mounts, and the traditional weapons of cavalrymen. They were not lacking in spirit or bravado though.

“We’re gonna lick the Secesh in no time,” one proclaimed.

“Them Rebs better watch out. After we win we’ll try the lot of ‘em for treason.”

Patriotic bunting decorated the streets of Centerville. Speeches were made. Little boys staged mock battles. Mothers, wives, and girlfriends tried to put on a brave face. Fathers were proud of their sons. Old men, veterans of past wars, stood silently with sad faces. Uncle Jacob and the Catholic Priest offered prayers.

Families ate together under the shade of trees and porches. It was hot. Sweat ran down people’s faces. Or was it tears? There were last hugs and handshakes. Lovers slipped off for a final secret kiss. No one wanted the lunch to end. All knew it must.

At last, Captain Taylor called, “ATTENTION!”

Reuben got up and pulled Margaret and baby Boen close.

“Don’t you worry. I’ll come home. I promise.”

The two older children grabbed their father by his legs. For a long moment, the DeLays clutched each other.

“Be careful. I don’t know what I would do without you,” said Margaret, dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief.

Reuben released his hold on her and gently patted the children on their heads. Then he touched Margaret’s growing tummy.

“This child will not grow up without a father.”

As he slowly backed away, a bugle called.

“ATTENTION! Column of twos!”

The men formed up. The community band played patriotic songs. As the men began to march east, the band struck up a march to the tune of The Girl I Left Behind. The men would not see their loved ones again until 1864. Some never would.

As the music faded behind them, Captain Taylor commanded, “Route Step!”

Several citizens and some children followed along for a mile or two. Then Company I disappeared.

The company stopped for the night at Bloomfield. There, they were put up and fed with the best the tiny community had to offer. Before bedding down, the men gathered in small groups to talk and smoke. They were still too excited to be homesick.

The next day’s march took them to Keosauqua. There, they waited for a special train from the Keokuk, Des Moines, and Minnesota Railroad. There was great excitement in the air as the train approached. Half the men had never ridden on a train before. Some had never seen one. One man laid his head on the rail to see if he could hear the rumble of the far-off train.

“It’s coming! You’ll get run over,” another recruit joked.

Eventually, they heard the WOO-Whooo of the whistle. Far down the tracks, they could see the black smoke belching from the stack. Then they heard the rumble of the engine as it clicked along the track. As it pulled into the station they heard the hissing of the steam and the groaning as the Brakeman turned the wheel to apply the brakes. Then the monster came to a stop in front of the awed men.

The men waited patiently as the cars were uncoupled. Then the engine pulled onto a “Y” sidetrack to get turned around. Minutes later, it backed toward the cars. There was a huge metallic clunk that rippled through the cars as the engine and tender hit the coupler. Then all was quiet, except for the gentle hissing of the steam. The engineer climbed down from the cab and waved at the men. Several men came forward to see the iron behemoth. The Conductor put a step down for the men to use in boarding.

Reuben and his companions had been lounging by the station when Captain Taylor called, “ATTENTION!”

Taylor arranged the men into column of twos for boarding. The Conductor hollered, “All aboard,” and they began filing into the first car. When it was full, the remaining men were directed to the next coach. The men took their seats and waited as the Conductor picked up the step.

WhOO-whooo screamed the train’s whistle. There was a loud hiss of steam and a clunk as the engine began to move forward. Each car made aclunk as the slack was taken up in the couplers. A couple of men who had remained standing in Reuben’s car nearly fell over as it lurched forward. They grabbed whatever support they could find as they made their way to their seats. Those uninitiated in railway travel watched in awe as the station began to slip by.

Leaving the edge of town, the train picked up speed. The pistons whooshed faster and faster as it accelerated. Reuben speculated that they must be moving at least 20 miles an hour. The cars rocked as the iron wheels clicked over the end gaps in the rail. The clicks, the clacks, the huffs, and the chuffs merged in a cacophony of noise. Men had to raise their voices to talk. Most sat in silent awe as the houses, farms, and fields sped by their windows.

Two hours later, the train pulled into Keokuk and squealed to a stop in front of the station. The engine made a loud hiss as one last spurt of steam blew out. Captain Taylor followed the Conductor to the platform.

An officer greeted Taylor as a band struck up The Star-Spangled Banner. The officer’s blue uniform and gold braid stood in stark contrast to the motley collection of civilian clothes worn by the men. Taylor once again formed the men in column of twos.

“RIGHT FACE!”

“Forward…. MARCH!”

The men marched up the bluff to Camp Rankin. Their civilian lives were over.

Contents- Unbowed: The Saga of a Civil War Cavalryman- Unbowed: The Saga of a Civil War Cavalryman-Index – Outlaws, Outrages and Outright Lies

Damage Assessment:

Have We Been Played?

A few weeks ago, America was negotiating with Iran on curbing its nuclear capabilities. This had been a bone of contention between the two nations since President Trump pulled out of the previous nuclear deal in 2018.

Without notifying us, Israel attacked Iran. They took out missile and air defense systems, but left Iran’s nuclear facilities largely untouched. Israel didn’t have the weapons to attack Iran’s hardened nuclear sites.

It became clear that Israel needed a partner with more powerful weapons to destroy Iran’s nuclear capabilities. They began a concentrated effort to convince the Trump administration that it was somehow in our best interest to aid them in the war they started. The nukes must be destroyed, they argued.

Our intelligence community was adamant in its conviction that Iran was not close to developing a nuclear weapon. The administration ignored this assessment. President Trump claimed he had better information regarding Iran’s nuclear threat. Assuming that this “information” was not fabricated, it must have come from Israel.

Based on his questionable belief that Iran was close to fielding a nuclear weapon, Trump became more bellicose in his social media posts and public statements. He hinted that the US was willing to help Israel with its war by using weapons such as “Bunker Buster” bombs on Iran’s facilities. Tipped off to his intentions by these statements, Iran began moving truckloads of nuclear material and equipment out of the facilities.

Then we attacked Iran with B-2 bombers and cruise missiles. Trump immediately claimed total and complete success. When a damage assessment report showing otherwise was leaked, it was denounced by the Defense Department as inaccurate.  DOD then began an investigation to find the leaker. The investigation added more credibility to the report.

Trump continued to tout the success of the attack. Even Iran conceded that the attack had caused considerable damage to its nuclear facilities. Why wouldn’t they? If there were no longer a nuclear threat, there would be no more excuse for bombing them.

Amid the controversy over damage assessment, Trump declared a ceasefire, apparently without consulting the belligerents. Bombs and missiles continued to rain down for another day before both sides concluded that a ceasefire might be a good idea. They were running out of targets and hardware to throw at each other. (Perhaps Trump should get the Nobel Peace prize for the timing of his pronouncement.)

Shortly after the ceasefire took hold, Trump posted on his social media platform, Truth Social, that, “Bibi Netanyahu’s trial should be CANCELLED, IMMEDIATELY, or a Pardon given to a Great Hero, who has done so much for the State.”  Netanyahu was facing multiple charges of corruption, including fraud and accepting bribes.  Many observers saw the post as meddling in another country’s legal affairs.

The latest chapter in the tale of why we bombed Iran could be the report that Trump’s name will soon adorn the top of a Tel Aviv hotel. How does this help America, you ask?

Sorry, that’s classified.

LDT June 26, ‘25

Main Menu- http://www.azrockdodger.com

Bottom Land

The Wilson Ranch, Phillips County, Montana

Rusty corn planter,

The plow horse,

Long gone.

A home,

Hewn from cottonwoods.

No lights, no water.

Much love.

Empty now,

It’s stories untold.

Of laughing children,

Chasing bugs,

Log cabin,

Two rooms,

Melting into the prairie.

The Wilson Ranch,

Lush grass,

Horses and Herefords,

Branded,

Rocking XA.

A lazy river,

After the flood.

The good years,

 And the bad.

The Depression,

Took it all.

Federal loan,

Roosevelt.

The War,

Better times.

Old and weary,

They left the land.

Retired,

With no pension.

Progress,

Some said.

LDT June 25, ‘25

Main Menu- http://www.azrockdodger.com

Chapter 14: Mounted Riflemen

Chapter 14 Mounted Riflemen

              “Yer out!”

            Cheers erupted from the crowd of spectators. The Country Boys had just defeated the Centerville Nine by a score of 3-2. They had finally learned to work together as a team and make the best of each player’s skills. There were Huzzahs all around and the opposing players rushed to congratulate their foes.

            The celebration was only muted by another contest that had happened a few weeks earlier in far-off Virginia. On July 21, 1861, over 60,000 soldiers clashed in the first major battle of the Civil War near Bull Run Creek in Virginia. The Union was so confident in victory that many residents of Washington, D.C., packed lunches and made their way into Virginia to watch the spectacle.

            The Battle of Bull Run, as it turned out, was nothing like the baseball games that young men were playing all over the North. They played with 50 caliber Minié balls. Catching one could mean losing life or limb. The rifles were lethal to 500 yards or more. Long lines of men faced each other and aimed to kill through the haze of powder smoke. Instead of running for bases, they often ran for cover.

            At first, it appeared Lincoln’s volunteers would get the best of the Rebels. The legion of spectators cheered the troops on. The tide turned when the Confederates brought in reinforcements. The Union line began to break. One by one, units fell back. Then panic set in. Men dropped their weapons and ran. Some ran right past the startled spectators who joined the rout. The fleeing army left everything behind, even their dead and wounded.

            The debacle at Bull Run convinced both sides that this was going to be a long, bloody war. Congress met and authorized Lincoln to enlist 500,000 more volunteers. These would not be 90-day men. The Congress gave Lincoln the power to recruit the men for 3 years. Men rushed to sign up as war fever raged.

            After the victory celebration, one of the players, Thomas J. Taylor, asked the men to stay to discuss preparations for war.

            “Men, you all know Lincoln has called for more volunteers. It will take a while to form all these new regiments. Meanwhile, our state is threatened by the Missouri State Guard of their ex-governor, Sterling Price. He’s said to be heading for Springfield to have a fight  with General Lyon’s Army. Even if he’s defeated, there are other Rebel militia groups not far from here.”

            “Now, a lot of folks in Missouri are pro-Union, and the state hasn’t joined the successionists.”

            “Yet!” someone shouted.

“So far, Missouri is showing a lot of sense. Most Missourians don’t have a horse in this race. The slaves are owned by a handful of big planters. They’ll stay with the Union if Lincoln convinces them their slaves aren’t threatened. It’s the outliers, like Price, who constitute a threat. He can mount his men and raid these parts at will. We need a force to meet him if, or when, he shows up.”

“So what are you proposing?” came a question from the crowd.

“We need to form our own militia unit, mounted men who can assemble and ride on a moment’s notice. We can guard our homes and crops until the new army gets better organized.”

“What about weapons?”

“We’ll have to supply our own for now. I’ll write the Governor and see if we can get some old Army muskets. If you have a musket, a rifle, or a pistol, bring it with you when we muster.”

“Mounted Riflemen? Do we need to have a horse?”

“For now, anyone without a horse can be in the Home Guard. Someone has to defend the town when the rest of us ride out. When we become part of the Army, I want to serve as cavalry. I’m sure Uncle Sam will provide us with decent mounts. For now, we’ll do the best we can with what we have.”

Reuben brooded as he listened to Taylor’s talk. He imagined Captain James Montgomery giving the same speech to the Jayhawkers of Linn County. All over America, North and South, men were rushing to fill the ranks of the armies that would shape America’s destiny. There was no turning back. A divided nation would slug it out until one side prevailed and the other gave up. He’d been there before. In Kansas, he had been forced to choose a side. This time, the stakes were bigger and the cause nobler. It was not about protecting his little place on Sugar Creek. The nation, his nation was in peril.

“Who will stand for the Union?” Taylor thundered.

“I will!” shouted Reuben, having raised his hand at the beginning of the question.

There was a chorus of ‘I wills’ and ‘Hear, hears.’ Men looked around, assuring themselves that they were not alone. There were no dissenters.

“Alright, you men. Go home and get your gear. We’ll meet at this field at 10 AM on Tuesday. Bring your friends if they are young and able. If any older men want to join up, they can serve in the Home Guard.”

“What was that all about?”  Margaret asked as Reuben helped his pregnant wife up to the seat of their wagon.

“We’re forming a company to defend ourselves.”

“Like Kansas?”

“Like Kansas. There is a chance that those old Missouri Ruffians will ride North to make trouble again.”

“Oh Lord. I thought we left all that behind in Kansas.”

“The trouble followed us home and spread to the whole country, or so it seems. We need to be ready for whatever comes our way. Most of the men want enlist in Lincoln’s new 500,000 man army.”

“FIVE HUNDRED THOUSAND! Tell me you won’t have anything to do with that!”

I’m just joining a militia company. Chances are, we won’t stray far from Appanoose County. If the war gets much worse, I may have to reconsider.”

“Reuben! For God’s sake, we have 3 little children and another one on the way. You can’t leave us here and go strutting off to war.”

“Like I say, only if I have to. Papa will help around the place if it comes to that.”

“I need my husband at home!”

Reuben tried to change the subject for the rest of the ride home as Margaret sat fuming.

On Tuesday, Reuben saddled up early and rode to Centerville. When he arrived at the field, he found dozens of other men already there. They brought a motley assortment of antiquated firearms with them. Reuben carried his Sharps, his revolver, a blanket, and a change of clothes.

Captain Taylor’s first order of business was to establish a muster roll. Over sixty names were soon added. Then the men were assigned places to stay. The loyal citizens of Centerville offered up any extra rooms they could spare. Men were also billeted in stables and barns. The women of the town served them lunch. Finally, it was time to learn the rudiments of soldiering.

Taylor appointed squad leaders and lined the men up in columns behind them. The men looked around at the admiring faces of the townspeople as they formed up.

“Stand at attention and keep your eyes locked forward!” Taylor barked. “We are going to learn to march. When I say Forward March, step off with your right foot.”

“FORWARD…”

“Did I say march, Private Smythe?”

“Er.. No you didn’t Joe.”

“My name ain’t Joe, you idiot! I’m Captain Taylor. You will address me by my rank or as Sir. Understand?”

“Er.., yep J.., I mean Sir.”

The rest of the afternoon was spent trying to get the men to march in step. It seemed a hopeless task. An old soldier from the Mexican War sat on a stool, laughing at the disorganized gaggle of men. By evening, some of them had learned the soldiery art of marching as Captain Taylor called cadence.

By the second day, Taylor had somehow acquired a copy of a company drill manual from 1835. He showed much more confidence as he began the day’s drill.

“Attention Company!”

The men looked up.

“Fall in!”

The men formed in two ragged rows.

“Count twos!”

The men counted off. “One, two, one two…”

“Right Face!”

Most of the men pivoted to the right.

“Your other right, Smythe!”

“In two ranks, Front!”

“Right, dress!”

The men looked confused.

“Stretch your right arm to touch the shoulder of the man next to you!”

Front!

The men faced forward. The commands were repeated for what seemed like half the morning. Finally, the men began to respond properly and in unison. By afternoon, they had learned Forward March, Column Left, and Column Right. Even the old-timer from the Mexican War was starting to show some appreciation.

The next day, Captain Taylor decided to drill the men with horses. Getting their mounts lined up was a challenge. Giving up, he decided to let the men have some fun demonstrating their martial skills on horseback.

He brought out an armload of laths and distributed the wooden sticks to the horsemen. A couple of men set up a scarecrow at the other end of the field. Each rider was directed to charge the scarecrow and swing his wooden “saber” at it. The scarecrow spooked most of the horses as they approached. The spectators joined the unmounted men with rounds of cheers and jeers as each rider tried his luck. Few of the mounted men successfully struck their prey.

The next task was to shoot a pistol while charging a target. The first rider’s shot went wild, nearly hitting some spectators. Taylor ordered them out of the way. The next rider’s horse threw him as he fired off a shot. Taylor decided to call it a day.

Contents: Unbowed: The Saga of a Civil War Cavalryman- Unbowed: The Saga of a Civil War Cavalryman-Index – Outlaws, Outrages and Outright Lies

No Damn Parade

There’s no damn parade for me,

  For some emperor wannabe.

I refuse to anoint a damn king,

  Bone spurs no accolades bring.

His whole life has been a charade,

  He ain’t earned no stinkin’ parade.

He dishonored the oath he swore,

  And we, who went off to war.

We’re losers and suckers he said,

  While ignoring our sac-a-red dead.

He stomped on our rights and our laws,

  And took what he could with his claws.

Each day, he’s taking revenge,

   On those who question his ends.

I should tell him where to go,

  Maybe that place down below.

In a land once proud and free,

  There’s no damn parade for me.

LDT June 14, ’25  #NoKings!

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John Brown’s Body

The Execution of Abolitionist John Brown

John Brown’s Body

A lot can happen in a week. At 4:30 AM on April 12, 1861, the guns of the Confederate States of America opened a bombardment on Fort Sumter. The fort had been designed to defend Charleston Harbor from attacks by sea. It’s defenses were pointed the wrong way, and it was still under construction. Fort Sumter was defended by Major Robert Anderson and 127 men of the 1st US Artillery. Attacking Anderson was his former West Point student and protégé P.T. Beauregard. Overly cautious, Anderson took several hours before ordering his guns to return fire. The Union’s response was ineffective. After 34 hours of constant bombardment, Anderson surrendered Fort Sumter. The Civil War had begun.

An alarmed Abraham Lincoln resolved to put down what he saw as an insurrection. He called for 75.000 volunteers to serve 90 days, the maximum allowed under the existing law. Everyone assumed the rebellion would be over by then. Unhampered by U.S. laws, the Confederacy called for 100,000 volunteers. Four more states, including Virginia, seceded.

By Sunday, April 14th, the news of Fort Sumter’s fall had flashed across the telegraph lines to far-off Appanoose County, where it caused great excitement and apprehension. As Reuben and his family arrived at the Methodist-Episcopal Church in Centerville, they found worried parishioners gathered outside to discuss the news. A group of young men began singing a song that seemed written for the occasion.

John Brown’s body lies a-moldering in the grave; moldering in the grave, moldering in the grave….

Reuben had met John Brown in Kansas. Brown had moved his violent anti-slavery operation to Linn County before Reuben left. Luckily, the old man took sick and caused no trouble at first. Reuben and some of the men from the Sugar Creek Militia had once visited Brown at his fort. Despite his past bloodthirsty actions, the abolitionist seemed kindly and soft-spoken. He only got testy when someone suggested that non-violence might be the path to healing the divisions of Bleeding Kansas. Brown’s continued militancy had caused militia leader James Montgomery to keep his distance from him.

Brown made one final raid into Missouri in December of 1858, killing a slave-owner and freeing about a dozen slaves. Then he disappeared for several months as he plotted his next move to end slavery.

Brown’s plot turned out to be a bold one. He would raid the arsenal at Harper’s Ferry, Virginia, steal its guns, and arm the local slaves for a rebellion.

As the song went,

“He captured Harper’s Ferry, with  his nineteen men so few,
And frightened “Old Virginny” till she trembled through and through….”

Brown had, indeed, captured the arsenal at Harper’s Ferry in October of 1859. The raid was a poorly planned disaster. Brown recruited only 2 local slaves for his rebellion. Eleven of his men, including 2 of his sons, were killed. Brown and 6 others were captured. As the song continued,
“They hung him for a traitor, themselves a traitor crew,

Brown’s raid had thoroughly alarmed the South. The slave states’ greatest fear was a repeat of the slave rebellion led by Nat Turner in 1831. They now had proof that Northern Abolitionists were willing to promote even larger rebellions. Worse yet, the new President, Abraham Lincoln, seemed sympathetic to the Abolitionists. The South didn’t trust in his assurances that he only wanted to contain slavery to the states where it had taken root. His election so alarmed them that 11 slave states eventually seceded from the Union. Brown’s raid, Lincoln’s election, and Fort Sumter had finally ignited America’s most devastating war.

As the couple entered the church, they heard a new verse to the song,

“We’ll hang Jeff Davis to a sour apple tree, sour apple tree, sour apple tree….”

“Hang Jeff Davis?” Margaret asked as they took their seats. “Will there be a war?”

“I reekin so,” Reuben responded. “Hopefully, a short one.”

Uncle Jacob’s sermon was more militant than ever before. The Union was broken. Men were going to die. He offered a prayer for a quick resolution to the crisis. After the service, the men gathered, as planned, for their baseball game. This time, the Country Boys did a little better. They lost by a score of 5 to 0.

A few days later, Lincoln’s proclamation calling for the mobilization of the 75,000 volunteers appeared in the papers. He pointed out the gravity of the situation, accusing the secessionist states of opposing and obstructing the execution of the nation’s laws. The 75,000 volunteers, he proclaimed, would be used to “suppress said combinations and cause the laws to be duly executed.” Iowa was to provide one regiment to support the effort.

He called on “all loyal citizens to favor, facilitate, and aid this effort to maintain the honor, the integrity, and the existence of the National Union, and the perpetuity of popular government; and to redress wrongs already long enough endured.”

He explained that the first service of the forces would be to recover the forts and property seized by the rebel states. He promised care in avoiding unnecessary harm to peaceful citizens and commanded the Rebels to disperse peaceably. He gave them 20 days to comply.  It was not to be.

By the next Sabbath, thousands of men had answered Lincoln’s call for volunteers. The Iowa quota for a regiment of 1000 men had filled up before anyone in Appanoose County could enlist. Reverend DeLay’s sermon was gloomy. Unless the South folded to Lincoln’s demands, men were going to die. A special offering was taken to purchase personal items for Iowa’s volunteers.

That afternoon, the Country Boys scored their first two runs against the Centerville Nine. They still lost by a score of 4 to 2. The post-game discussion centered on the rebellion.

“I can’t wait to get at them damn Rebels,” said one of the players.

“I’ve a notion to go to Missouri and see if I can join one of their regiments,” said another.

“Calm down,” Reuben responded. “If this turns into a real war, you’ll have plenty of opportunity to die for your country. With luck, the South will back down like they did in Kansas.”

“But first, they need to be taught a lesson. They can’t just go about seizing Federal property,” someone said.

“Like I say, they’ll probably back off. If they don’t, it will be a long, bloody war,” Reuben countered.

“Well have them outgunned and outmanned!’ exclaimed another man.

“Don’t be so sure of that. Remember that our armory at Harper’s Ferry is in Virginia. The Rebel state militias have thousands of surplus US muskets. They can make modern rifles at some of the arsenals they took over. They likely got dozens of spiked guns at the forts they seized. Now, Jeff Davis is asking for more volunteers than Lincoln requested. If there’s a war, it won’t be no cakewalk,” cautioned Reuben.

“We can lick ‘em!| shouted a chorus of men.

“Maybe so, but some of us will die in the process.”

After the post-game discussion broke up, Reuben loaded Margaret and the children into the wagon.

“The boys sure seem to want a war,” he told Margaret.

“God, I hate that. We had enough of that in Kansas. It’s hell not knowing when someone will show up during the night with a torch.”

“Let me remind you that Kansas just got admitted to the Union as a free state. We did that.”

“Was it worth it?” Margaret asked, her voice quaking. “We could have all been killed.”

“The country is better for it. So far, it looks like Missouri will stay in the Union. That makes us safer here on the border with them.”

“I suppose so. But I don’t want my man going off to war again.”

“I’ll only go if I have to.”

Behind them, the remaining players began to sing John Brown’s Body again. Their voices seemed increasingly militant. The lines from the chorus struck Reuben and Margaret as prophetic.

He has gone to be a soldier in the army of the Lord,

His soul is marching on.

Glory,  glory, hallelujah! Glory, glory, hallelujah!
Glory, glory, hallelujah! his soul is marching on!
          A few months later, John Brown’s Body, would be rewritten by Julia Ward Howe. It became The Battle Hymn of the Republic. That song would inspire the young men of the North to “die to make men free.”

Index: Unbowed: The Story of a Civil War cavalryman– Unbowed: The Saga of a Civil War Cavalryman-Index – Outlaws, Outrages and Outright Lies

No Kings Protest

Like many, I* will be attending my local No Kings Protest on June 14, 2025. Peaceful protests are the sacred right of all Americans. The right to assemble and seek redress of our grievances is enshrined in the First Amendment of the US Constitution.

Whether you are participating in the No Kings Protest, counter-protesting it, or just passing by, here are some suggestions on how to conduct yourself:

Stay safe and enjoy the democracy that allows us our sacred freedoms.

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Life in 2050

            Coltrane stopped and pivoted as he reached the steel door. The digital timer next to the little observation window ticked down. Eight seconds. He had plenty of time before the shock collar began buzzing. He held his wrist up to the scanner. He didn’t like the chip, but what could he do? He had once spent 30 days in the hole for prying it out with a broken piece of glass. The reimplantation had put it behind the tendons of his wrist. It hurt.

            The door opened automatically. He had 5 seconds to get inside. No shocks tonight. He stepped in as the door swung shut and closed with a clunk. Then the lock motors whirred as the bolts engaged. Home, sweet home, he thought.

            It had been a long, tedious day at his workstation.. His assignment was to monitor the state media consumption of a block of citizens. They were required to read or listen to each day’s official bulletin. The bulletins were propaganda designed to cower the citizens into compliance with the dictates of the regime. Citizens were expected to complete a short questionnaire indicating they understood and agreed with the bulletin. Failure to log into the system or missing too many questions resulted in an alert. Too many alerts could result in being sent to a Re-education Camp. A creative man, Coltrane had found ways to make his job more interesting and rewarding.

            The system was old, and Coltrane constantly looked for ways to thwart it. No matter what his clients did or didn’t do, they never got more than a warning. Meanwhile, his alternate persona was busy hacking the system. He made sure his tormentors in the guard force got scheduled for re-education regularly. Sometimes he planted damaging items in their personal messaging accounts. He didn’t worry that getting caught meant certain death. Lisa would be fine. She had access to millions in untraceable digital currency. Where did it come from? You probably shouldn’t ask. If you really want to know, the former Prison Warden was executed for embezzlement. It served him right as he had helped the regime steal the assets of his prisoners.

            Coltrane’s tiny cell included a combination stainless-steel commode and washstand. His bunk was a metal rack suspended by chains. The top bunk was empty now. He’d had cellmates over the years. Some collaborated with the regime and got released. One had been called out at 6 AM. Coltrane remembered feeling the bullets thudding into the wall. Later, the guards came and collected the prisoner’s meager belongings. At least he would suffer no more. The worst roommate had been Frank. He was a snitch. He only stayed 3 nights. After warning the other inmates, Coltrane used his computer skills to ensure Frank would become a real inmate.

            Coltrane was now in the 25th year of his 25-year-to-life sentence. No parole hearing had been scheduled. In 2024, he’d been a minor bureaucrat in the Economic Statistics Analysis Division. He prided himself on his accurate reports. They helped the government spot and fix problems. All that had changed when the new regime came to power in 2025.

            The Nationalist Party had used force and intimidation to swing the election their way. The new leader soon clamped down on individuals and institutions that he considered enemies. The Press was silenced. Scholars were intimidated. Scientists saw their research stalled and their findings discarded. The justice system was stacked with syncopates. Dedicated civil servants were fired without cause. The political opposition was investigated. Ever cautious, Coltrane had deleted some social media posts that the regime might consider reactionary. He became careful in conversations with his friends and co-workers.

            By late 2025, Coltrane noticed a dip in some leading economic indicators. He gathered the data and submitted his reports and charts to his boss, Dr Benbow. Soon, he was summoned to Benbow’s office.

            “Your report is flawed,” Benbow snarled. “Take it back and double-check your sources.”

            Crestfallen, Coltrane retreated to his office. His reports had been checked and double-checked. They showed the regime’s policies weren’t working. Abruptly, his computer monitor lit up. A message came from a satellite office in a Western state.  Subject: Revised Report. The numbers were better. Then another message, and another. He looked at each one carefully. Eight thousand housing starts in Madison Township in July. Interesting. A few keyboard clicks told him that there were only 6,853 households in the entire county where Madison Township was located. What was going on?

            Alarmed, he brought the revised figures to Dr. Benbow. “The numbers are different, Sir, but something is off.”

            Benbow grabbed the new report. His face brightened as he scanned the figures and charts. “Well done, my boy. Now take the afternoon off. I’ll forward these new numbers to the Bureau of Information.”

            “Sir! The damn numbers are wrong. Someone is cooking the books!”

            “You have been working too hard. Take a little siesta. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

            Coltrane never saw Benbow again. At 9 AM the next day, he was escorted out of the building by security. He barely had time to grab Lisa’s picture from his desk. Things would get worse, much worse.

            He soon learned he was not likely to get a new job. Was he too old, under-qualified, or over-qualified? Or was it his mixed race, his immigrant parents, or his failure to convert to the State Religion?  He could only speculate. Then the hammer dropped.

            He was summoned to the headquarters of the Citizen Police. This new group of officers was made up of former members of the ruling party’s militia. They earned their jobs by helping the regime gain power. They didn’t play nice.

            He was escorted to a bare and windowless room. A naked white light shone down on the room’s only chair. He was told to take a seat.

            “What do you think of your new government?” asked the interrogator.

            “It’s OK. Some teething problems, but they will get it together,” he responded hopefully.

            “Are you now or have you ever been a member of the Resistance?”

            That was a shocker, but his answer was a firm, “No!”

            “You wrote this check to the opposition!” the man yelled, flashing the little white check in front of his face.

            “Oh God!” Coltrane thought. “That damned check!” Lisa had told him not to write it. Now the authorities had it. At least it hadn’t been written on their joint account. He was going to prison, but maybe Lisa would be spared.

            “Do you admit that this is your check with your signature?”

            “Yes.” There was no use in denying it.

            “By Executive Order of the Supreme Leader, I am placing you under arrest for sedition!”

            Coltrane’s trial was a joke. The judge was an appointee of the regime. His friends were so cowed that none would testify on his behalf. A frightened former co-worker made a damaging statement. The prosecution held all the cards. He was guilty.

            Coltrane washed up and sat on the bunk. The flatscreen on the wall showed the Leader’s stern face. He got up and stood at attention as the song, How I Love the Dear Leader played.  Lights out were sounded on the intercom. He took one last look at the camera that watched his every move. He remained poker-faced. Too much of a facial expression could put him in the hole. He stripped to his pink underwear and lay on the hard bunk and dreamed of 2024.

            Orwell had been right. He just got the year wrong.

LDT November 4, ‘24

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