Jebediah Clarron watched columns of smoke rising across the Shenandoah Valley, dense dark clouds that spoke of fiercely burning fires. The last of the Union Army’s store depot at Manassass Junction he guessed. The seceshers may have won, but they wouldn’t get everything.
Even lost a thing or two of their own.
He stretched, trying to remove the kinks in his back. He wasn’t a tall man but the cockpit of the machine he’d taken from an unwary southron soldier was cramped; the metal enclosure scarce a finger-breadth away from him all around.
Looking at the contraption, Jebediah marveled at the ingenuity of its creator. If such a man had been Unionist, it would be Richmond its-self sending up columns of smoke.
At a crack of breaking twigs Jebediah spun round, snatching the pistol from his thigh holster. He saw no-one, but the trees were tall, and the thickets between them deep.
“Show yerself!” He called.
“Why you got a Union uniform on?”
“Cause I’m a patriotic American soldier. Now come out, show yerself.”
“Not until you explain why you have a Southron devil machines.”
Jebediah paused. The accent was familiar, a Boston one. He’d fought alongside the Second Massachusetts, and was used to hearing them. But there more than that, he recognized this voice. “Soames?” he called. “Is that you?”
“Who’s asking, with a gun and war-walker?”
“It’s Jeb Clarron.”
A head peered from behind a tree a little way into the wood. The sandy hair as mopish and untidy as Jeb ever remembered seeing it.
“Jeb!”
Soames stumbled out of the cover of the trees, and both men embraced. Slapping each other on the back.
“I thought your squad were miles away,” said Soames.
“We were, down near Nashville. But we were sent back, arrived in time to be humiliated by a bunch of secescher scum with a bunch of these things.” He jerked his thumb towards the machine.
It stood nine feet tall, an arrangement of gears, pistons and levers, powered by a steam generator built into the chassis, below the cockpit.
“How did you come by one?” Soames walked over to the machine, inspecting the broad, stable feet. He ran his hands over the legs, then reached up and did the same with the rivets and plate-work armour. “Gotta hand it to the sumbitches, they built some fine machinery this war. The armoured ships, that submarine thing, this…”
“We had iron-clads, and a submarine too,” said Jeb.
“Sure we did, but not as good, and we never had any of these. Must have been a hell of a sight seeing them walk up a field towards you.”
“Most terrifying thing I saw the whole war. One minute we’re a bunch of seasoned campaigners on our way to whip more secesher butt, to save the Union. The next, we’re a bunch of mewling lily-livers. The best of us, and I wasn’t one of them, stood and fired. Most of us just ran for the trees. You never fight them?”
Soames shook his head, “Heard tell of them, saw pictures, but never saw one ’til it was over.”
“Well, you should probably count yourself lucky on that score.” Said Jeb
Soames looked at him. Jeb was staring towards the smoke that still rose thick and black from Manassas.
“So what happened? How did you end by this one? Where is its, what do they call them, driver? Pilot?”
“Two days ago I was hiding in a burnt out farm house. The driver was refilling the bowser, and feeding the furnace. I stuck him with my bayonet. Figured maybe if I learnt to ride it, I could bring it back. Our men are just as smart with machines as theirs. But it was too late, already too late.”
Birds sang into the gap between their conversation. Both men were wrapped in the horrors of what they’d seen, and what it would mean for America.
“What do you plan to do now?” Jeb asked Soames. “Back to Boston?”
“No, I can’t see me settling back into the genteel life of Boston society, or going back to the seminary. Especially now it’ll all change. I’m not sure I can cope with whatever’s going to follow.” He sighed. “What about you? You’re from Iowa, aren’t you?”
“Dubuque. I’m heading back, but there’s something I have to do first.”
“What?”
“Save my Major.”
Soames looked at him. “What?”
Jeb pointed south-west. “He’s being held in a camp down near Cedar Run Mill.”
“Gotta ask why? Officers tend to get treated kindly in my experience.”
“Well this officer is from Dubuque, and he has a daughter…”
Soames laughed. “You’re crazy like a fox.” He walked round the machine, poking at pistons and articulated joints. He looked up, running his fingers over dents and scores in the plating. “You know, a horse wouldn’t survive bullets like one of these. I count more than a dozen hits on this section alone.” He looked at Jeb, “I think we should save your Major, get one of these each, and head to Dubuque.”
Jeb looked at his friend. “No need for you to take the risk.”
“A venture like this, it’s got to be better to have to pairs of eyes. And while you’re liberating the Major, I can get us the machines prepped, and disable the others.
They made their plans, inspecting the walker for ways to wreck them quickly. Soames climbed up inside and practiced the controls, closing his eyes and pretending it was night. When they finished, they used fallen branches to camouflage the machine, ensuring it couldn’t be seen from the roadway.
The sun sank beyond the Alleghenhies. They sat in the gloom. An owl hooted, both men jumped with fright.
“My Nanna used to say the owl is the crone’s creature. Cursed in Gaelic anytime she heard one,” said Jeb.
“Sounds like unchristian superstition.”
“Maybe. Though I figure it ain’t no more unchristian than all the brother killing we been doing these past few years.”
Soames didn’t reply.
They sat in silence for a while. Clouds obscured the stars. The woods beside them rustled as small animals scurried about in the undergrowth. The owl, or another one, hooted a bit further off.
“Where’re your folks originally from? Ireland?” asked Soames.
“Scotland. Kicked off their croft by some greedy landlord living in Edinburgh. For all that means to me. Could all be on the moon up there as far as I know. But it gave her a fierce belief in freedom. What about you?”
“Family claims go all the way back to the Mayflower. Mama claims John Winthrop was one of her great-great-great somethings.”
“Who was he?”
Soames laughed, suddenly and loudly. “Winthrop was one of Boston’s founding fathers, two hundred and thirty years ago. In Boston, everyone knows who he was, and more people than are credible claim him as a forebear.”
Jeb laughed as well. “Strange isn’t it. Our families came her to be free, mine from greedy Scottish landlords, yours from English kings. But we’re both happy to get far away from home, ‘cause this land of the free feels constricted. Gives you an idea how the negro must feel.”
Soames was silent.
“Did I say something wrong?” asked Jeb, “Talkin’ about negros?”
“You don’t think they carry the Mark of Cain? God’s Curse?”
“Well, you’re the seminary man. All I know is my Nana made me read the Bible to her every day when she went blind. Don’t remember anywhere it says Cain was black, or that God don’t love his black children any less than the white, or yellow for that.”
“But—“
Jeb cut in, “You believe in the constitution Soames? I reckon you do, you fought for it willingly.”
“Of course!”
“Recite with me then, we’ll go from the second paragraph. We hold these truths to be self-evident that all men are created equal…”
Jeb fell silent, allowing Soames to say the words into the darkness.
“…That they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights, that among these are Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness.”
“You can stop there. It covers the important bit.” Jeb said.
“But even the founding fathers had slaves.”
“Some o’ them, sure. Not all, but a good number. You think God used perfect men to write the Bible?”
Soames shook his head. “But—“
“No buts about it. First time my Nana saw a black man, she told me she screamed in fright. Then she realized, her landlord viewed her exactly like a slave. Skin color was no issue for the our Lord, and she made sure it was no issue for us. Endowed by our creator with unalienable rights, one of which is liberty.”
“But we lost the war.”
“Yeah, and the Jews killed the Lord, one of their own kin. Don’t mean either thing’s right.”
In the dark there was a rustle, and then the death squeal of some small creature.
“Sounds like the owl got himself some supper,” said Jeb. “I think we should probably get us some sleep. We should be rested before we move.”
“Sure,” said Soames.
A few minutes later both men were tucked up into their great coats. Jeb fell to sleep quickly. Soames lay pondering their discussion.
§
Traveling in the dark made it difficult for their blue, Union, uniforms to be identified. New clothes were also on the shopping list.
Just a week before, this road was Union held. Now they walked cautiously, alert for jubilant Rebels. They passed none, and arrived at Cedar Run Mill as the moon ascended. In the fields around camp fires burnt down to dim embers. The occasional tent was dotted about, probably officers, most men slept on the ground, wrapped in whatever blanket or coat they had. Rifles and muskets were in neat stacks, easy to grab in a hurry. At first look, the whole camp was a random assemblage of sleeping, snoring men. Closer inspection revealed order. Men slept in groups around a fire, each within easy reach of their stored weapon. The tents spread out in two curves, with two larger tents behind.
“Reckon one of them’ll be the Major,” Jeb said.
“Probably,” Soames replied.
The two men stood in deep shadows and watched. There was a corral containing the field artillery, and war-walkers. A little further over was one for horses. Occasionally a man rose from the ranks of the sleeping, wandered towards the river to relieve himself and returned. Of more concern was the movements of watchmen. They appeared to do a complete encirclement of the camp, but walked at different paces, meeting up at different points every circuit.
“I expected more guards.”
“Makes some sense I s’pose,” Jeb replied. “They’ve won the war. The sentries both looked pretty much in rags. I think these bastards are the Charlestown Regiment. They’ve been fighting round these parts without let up for six months.”
“Vicious critters. We fought against them at Bull Run. Swear I shot one of them four times before he dropped.”
“Yeh. They’ve probably been told to get some rest, and get smartened up. With a war won, you gotta figure generals and politicos will want to start marching past each other all proud.” Jeb shook his head. “Damn them!”
They watched while the guards made another circuit of the camp.
“I’ll take down the watchmen,” Jeb said. “Wait until I’ve done the first one, then head for the corral.”
Jeb made his way forward and crouched down beside a bush. As the first sentry past he rose, clamped a hand over the man’s mouth, pulled back, and stabbed his hunting knife into the exposed neck. He pushed forward, dropping the already dead soldier onto his face. No alarm was raised and, after dragging the body into the cover of the bushes, he settled to await the next guard. Afterwards, he crept into the camp.
One further guard stood attendant at the two larger tents. Jeb dealt with him. He stood and looked at the tents, deciding which one to go into first. He silently mouthed ‘Hana, man, mona, mike’. The outcome of the nonsense rhyme gave the tent on his right and he stepped towards it, then changed his mind and went to his left.
Story by stuartcturnbull, art by ArtTower on Pixabay
