Chapter 14: More From Before -- Reynoldsburg Island

Late that afternoon, I found my old regiment.

Captain Bostick insisted I give my report directly to Colonel Bischoff -- except he was Brevet Brigadier General Bischoff now. But we still weren’t saluting him, or the captain, either.

Upon hearing the report of our colored scout platoon’s last action, General Bischoff exclaimed, “That was you?” He shook his head. “I should’ve known.”

Shrugging, I said, “Well, General, it was me and twenty seven other scouts. Those men haven’t eaten in two days, and since our regiment was surrendered at Dalton, you might say we’re at loose ends. I brought the men back to the barn we’d been using as our camp before General Hood came by.” I was in my buckskin trousers as I’d given my spare uniform trousers to Sergeant Odette, and the pair I’d been wearing were awaiting a wash. Fortunately, the Whitworth and my other belongings were still where I’d hidden them.

Captain Bostick remarked, “You turned them into scouts in less than a month?”

Shaking my head, I said, “I showed ‘em the basics and began to organize ‘em into a platoon. General Hood was the one turned ‘em into scouts. I reckon you saw their graduation party.”

Bischoff nodded. “Indeed. More of a war party. We captured a company of Reb cavalry, two four-gun Napoleon batteries, and a regiment of infantry, all bottle-necked below that road cut, blocked by a pile of dead horses and overturned artillery you left behind. Nicely done, Corporal, nicely done.”

Then he looked at Bostick. “Captain, would you see that Seneca’s war party gets the supplies they need?”

“Seneca’s War Party?” he chortled. “Gladly, sir.”

Bischoff said, “Come see me first thing in the morning, son, and we’ll decide what to do with your platoon. Are you the ranking soldier?”

“We picked up a sergeant who’d escaped from the Rebs. He was with us at the road cut, watching our rear. He’s saying he’d like to stay with us. We have to test his shooting, yet. So far, though, he’s insisted that I be in charge. He’d mostly been the regiment’s accounts manager.”

“Better bring him along in the morning. We’ll have to see where you’ll be attached. I believe Colonel Johnson is in Chattanooga at present.”

“Of course, sir.”

“Is there anything else, Corporal?”

“Just my congratulations on your promotion, sir.”

“Thank you, son. It’s probably only temporary. But it’s men like you that make men like me look good. So I thank you with all sincerity, Seneca.”

Later, after a hearty lunch of salt pork stew and corn bread, and coffee, we had a visitor.

Zeke Saltell, on sentry duty, stuck his head in the door and said, “Seneca, there’s a stub of a white boy corporal out here, askin’ if this be the place that Seneca’s War Party is bivouacked. You know what he’s talkin’ ‘bout?”

I got up from the floor and walked over to the door. As I expected, Leprechaun was standing there. He grinned when he saw me and came up to embrace me. I wrapped my arms around him, in turn.

I turned to Zeke and said, “Zeke, meet Corporal Leprechaun O’Kelly of the Fourteenth Ohio Infantry’s scout platoon. And know that you’re shaking the hand of the best scout in that platoon, now that I’m no longer with them.” Leprechaun laughed, but I’m doubtful Zeke understood the Irish references.

Zeke confirmed my suspicions a moment later when he asked, Lepercon? What kind a’ name is that?” This sent Leprechaun back into laughter.

“It’s his nickname. Do you know what an elf is?”

“A little magic person?”

“Right. Leprechauns are Irish elves. Corporal O’Kelly is from Ireland.”

“Where’s Ira Land?”

“Across the ocean.”

“Oh. But he’s not really a elf?”

“No, he’s not. We just called him that ‘cause he’s short.”

Zeke grinned. “That’s a good ‘un. Good to meet you, Lepercon.”

“Me, too. It’s a pleasure to meet another scout, ‘tis.”

“They call me Youngster, since I’m the youngest, even though I’m just two months shy of Seneca.”

“Then Youngster fits you like a glove, laddie.”

I said, “Good job, Sentry. C’mon along, Paddy. I was just leaving for our firing range. It’s a couple miles from here. The men went over a while ago.”

“You’re not there for the practice?”

“Just the end. The men take it in turn to be the range master, and there’s a vote at the end, yea or nay, whether he did a good job. Charlie Muldoon is running things today.”

“Muldoon? Is he an Irish lad?”

“Black Irish, if he is.” I’d learned something of Ireland from Leprechaun.

He grinned at my twist of meaning, but then got serious. “So how are these colored men to work with?”

I shrugged. “No better or worse than the scouts in the Fourteenth. In truth, they’ve all become ordinary men to me, and I don’t even think of their color any more.” I paused to catch an idea, then said, “Keep in mind that most of them have been intentionally deprived of knowledge because that’s how the slave system worked, but they sure load up with it when it’s presented to them. One day they won’t know how to count beyond ten, and the next day they can do long division, or so it seems. Even more, the idea of freedom is like a new world they have yet to explore.”

“Huh, I never thought about that. Me Ma and Da often mention how different ‘tis here compared to the cursed English rule of Eire.” Then he glanced at me as we walked. “So these men don’t, uh, smell different?”

I laughed. “You mean, do they stink? Honest to god, Paddy, they’re like any other man in this army save for some things like the color of their skin or the breadth of their noses. They’re decent men, Paddy. Weren’t for everyone’s prejudices, they’d fit in without notice with the Fourteenth’s scout platoon.”

“Everyone’s prejudices? An’ do they harbor them about us?”

I sighed. “I’m afraid so. The only white people they’ve known have either lorded over them or worse. And most whites they meet now are hardly better. Even the army treats them only a bit better than the draft horses. They look with suspicion on everybody with white skin, fully expecting the worst. But, in spite of that, they’re willing to fight and die for what America says it means.”

“They’re soundin’ more Irish all the time.”

Now we could hear sporadic rifle fire. Leprechaun asked, “What rifle have you?”

“We have the ‘sixty three Springfield.”

Just then, there was another shot. He said, “That sounds like a Spencer.”

“Me and the other white man, Digger MacTavish, carry Spencers. Colored troops aren’t allowed repeating rifles. Before, they were shooting the old smooth bores, so the rifled muskets are a leap forward for them.”

As we walked up to the firing line, I noticed Jordie squatting off the end of the line, peering at the man firing.

After the next shot, he called over to me, “What for he be shootin’ up in the air rather than straight at the target?” He was pointing his arm at an upward angle.

I’d been avoiding this moment.

Sighing, I said, “Okay, men, gather round. Who’s the target marker?”

“Doc’s down there,” Muldoon, a round-faced, medium height man, said. “Want me to call him in?”

“Maybe you’d better. He might be able to explain this better than me.”

Muldoon hung a white flag from a tree branch over the shooter’s bench. Soon enough, Doc could be seen jogging back from the three hundred yard target line.

“Gotta take a piss,” somebody called.

“Rest easy until Doc gets here,” I said to the group. “Everybody, this is Corporal O’Kelly, from my old platoon. Please give him more respect than you give me.”

“Shouldn’t be hard,” jibed Ben Smith. Then he called to the rest of the men, “Don’t spit your tobacky at the red-haired white boy, fellas. He be a Very Important Person.” One messy habit some of the former slaves had brought from their plantations was the chewing of tobacco.

I said to Leprechaun, who was chuckling, “There, see, now you’re an honored guest.”

He said, “Just like in the Fourteenth.”

Doc got there a minutes later and I told him, “As I get into this lesson, any time you think you have a clearer explanation of what I’m trying to tell them, just jump in.” Then I called the men together.

“Okay, scouts, I’ve got two ideas for you to learn about that will make you smarter sharpshooters. The first idea is called gravity and the second one is the ballistic curve; ball-is-tic curve. Ya’ll know what a curve is.” I looked around at the generally expectant faces. “Well this is one type of curve. But first, gravity.

“Who knows or thinks they know, what gravity is?” About a third of the men raised their hands.

I said, “Good enough. Here’s the way I understand it. Most of this was explained to me by an artillery officer, the captain of the battery where my brothers were assigned.

“Gravity is an invisible force that draws everything toward the earth. When I say ‘an invisible force’ I don’t mean it’s magic, or voodoo, or juju, or anything like that. It’s like when you feel the heat from a campfire from a few feet away, or the heat from the sun. Those are invisible rays of heat, not magic. It’s just how things work, like the light from a lamp. Gravity is the same kind a’ thing. It’s just how things work. Like you can smell Jodie’s farts, even though you can’t see them.”

“But you can hears ‘em,” Zeke said.

“Not always,” Ben responded. “Sometimes sounds like I fart, but it’s really Jordie.”

“Luckily, gravity works the same all the time, for everybody,” I quickly said, into the laughter.

“Gravity grab us?” Zeke asked, sounding worried.

“Indeed it does. It helps us walk around without floating off into the air. It keeps the soup in your bowl. It makes the rock you throw fall into the pond and make a big splash. It keeps your money in your pocket and your ass on the ground when you sit. Gravity makes all things be drawn down to the earth -- including rifle balls.”

I held up a minie ball in each hand between thumb and forefinger. “Zeke, what happens if I let go of these minie balls?”

“They gonna fall down.”

“And what invisible force makes that happen?”

“Uh, gravtee?”

“Gravity. Exactly right.” I paused and raised the bullets above my head. “I will now demonstrate gravity. Digger, drum roll, please.”

Digger began rapidly slapping his knees. I dropped the balls and he stopped.

Everyone looked at me as if I’d started quacking.

I said, “It’s gravity. What did you expect, fireworks?”

Babe said, “I’d a paid good money not to have seen that.”

“Sorry, no refunds,” I said, picking up the lead bullets. “But I will tell you something about gravity that may surprise you.

“If you were to fire a gun straight and level, over straight and level ground, and drop a bullet right next to the barrel as the fired bullet left the muzzle...” I took a moment to do finger demonstrations and gestures while restating the premise, concluding, “ ... then both balls are going to hit the ground at exactly the same time, one by your feet and the other way the hell out there.”

I saw a number of skeptical looks and a few head shakes. I looked at Royal Higgins, who was shaking his head, and asked, “Why not, Royal?” Higgins was a thirty-two year old man with burn scars on his face from a hot oil spill from a cookstove, when he was a child.

“Dee rifle shootin’ keep it flyin’.”

“Not flying forever?”

“No, it come down, jus’ not dat fast.”

“Let’s see if I can demonstrate.”

We had constructed two levels of shooting benches with boards between close-set tree trunks. One of the standing benches was at forty inches, and the narrower sitting table at twenty inches and meant to be used while sitting on the ground. Two other benches were three inches lower, to accommodate different height men. I walked over to the higher standing table and said, “I’ll need an observer and two timers. The observer will make sure I release both bullets at the same time, the timers will call ‘Now’ as soon as the bullets hit the ground. Jordie, how ‘bout you be the observer. Ben, you call the ball I drop and Royal, how ‘bout you call the ball I’m gonna flick with my hand, instead of shooting it from a gun?

“Fellas, lets everyone gather around this open patch of ground and we’ll test gravity.” I explained what I wanted my helpers to do in a bit more detail, then proceeded to place one minie ball near the edge of the table while holding the other near it in my left hand just over the edge of the table above the ground.

“What I will do is sweep this minie ball forward off the table with my right hand while dropping the one in my left hand. Both Mini balls will be released to gravity at the same time, but one will be propelled with forward movement, like a very low-powered gunshot.”

“You gonna be makin’ smoke, too?” Ben jibed.

“No, but I could fart if it would help you understand this, Ben.”

“Smoke just be a bother, any case,” he said.

“All right. Jordie, watch to make sure I release and sweep at the same time. Timers, call the ground strike. Ready? One. Two. Three.”

It felt like I hit the mark on the release and both men called “Now!” at the same instant.

“Like to see that again, some’un else be timer,” Royal said.

“Me too, I want to see it.” Jordie said. Then he added, “Seneca, looked to be both went free at the same time.”

I performed the demonstration twice more, so that everyone was satisfied.

“Never would’a thought,” Royal said. “‘Preciate it, Seneca, showin’ it like that.”

I said to the group, “I’ll have a different demonstration tomorrow, about how we keep our bullets in the air long enough to go five or six hundred yards to a target. But that’s enough for today. I’m supposed to meet with General Bischoff in the morning, so how ‘bout you boys do two hours of fox and hounds up on the bluff after breakfast tomorrow. I’ll join you up there soon as I can. Ben and Doc will be squad leaders. Double time it to the bluff.”

“An’ no hike tomorrow?” Ben asked.

“No. I’ve a feeling we’ll be getting marching orders from General Bischoff.”

I called, “Let’s head back, fellas,” and we set off back toward the barn.

Leprechaun said, “Where did you learn that gravity show?”

“That’s all from Captain Eddy. He loved to talk about guns and the ballistic curve. Say, do you know where his battery is?”

“Further north. We’re sort a’ at the hind end of Thomas’s army, now. We expect to move out tomorrow or the next day. What about you?”

“Word has it that Colonel Lewis Johnson, who commands the Forty-fourth Colored, is up in Chattanooga, so I reckon we’ll be sent that way.”

“We heard six hundred men were taken back to their slave owners.”

I nodded my head. “We watched ‘em march by, hand to shoulder, in lock step, thirty in a line, none with shoes or uniforms, some of ‘em bare-assed. It was the saddest damn thing I ever saw.”

“Why didn’t they fight?”

“They did. Colonel Johnson called a cease fire and surrendered his command to General Hood. Sergeant Odette, who escaped by sheer luck and guts, said that, even had they continued to fight, there was barely enough ammunition for six shots by each man, and I knew there weren’t enough guns to go around. I think there were only four hundred fifty smooth bores for the six hundred men, and most of those didn’t have bayonets. Plus the Rebs had better range on their rifles, so maybe the fight would have ended in the slaughter General Hood promised. The men started off fighting, but Colonel Johnson agreed to a parley. Maybe he thought a return to slavery was better than bein’ butchered.”

I paused and said, “Hold on a second, Paddy. Hey, Digger, I need somethin’ for tomorrow.”

General Bischoff said, “There’s a Sergeant Michael Jones on his way down here from Chattanooga, Seneca. He’s bringing orders for you. Do you know him?”

“Yes, sir. First Sergeant Jones was with the First Platoon of Company A, to which we were attached. I reported to him.”

“Good man?”

“I think so, sir. Knew his stuff. We got on well.”

“And what about you, Sergeant Odette?”

“I was with Company B, Second Platoon, General. I reported to Lieutenant Kensington. Last I saw, he was saluting us as the Johnnies marched us out.”

General Bischoff wanted to hear the story of Odette’s escape. Odette made it sound like we’d played a larger role than we had.

“And you want to stay with the scouts?”

“If I pass my shooting test, sir.”

“When is that?”

“Supposed to be this morning, sir.”

“Then I’d best not keep you. Thank you, gentlemen, for attending me.”

As we were indoors and carrying our caps, we came to attention, but didn’t salute. Captain Bostick led us out.

“Seems like a decent man, your old commander,” Odette said to me.

“I think he is.”

“What about this captain?” I caught Odette’s tone, and the Captain, who was walking in front of us, could hear us.

“Couldn’t wait to get away from him.”

“Sounds like you’re teaching those colored men some bad habits, Seneca,” Bostick said, without turning his head.

“Yes, sir.” Then, as an aside to Odette, I said, “See what I mean? Always on your back.”

Bostick said, “I think hanging out with that Captain Eddy may have taught you a few bad habits.”

“Do you know where they are, Captain?”

Now he stopped and turned to us. “Most of the artillery is with the lead elements of the Army of the Cumberland, in northern Alabama and southern Tennessee, trying to head off General Hood. We’re supposed to head out tomorrow, by train, to Chattanooga. Or at least part of the way by train. They’re repairing the mess Hood left, but there’s still breaks in the line.”

He looked off in the distance for a moment, then turned to us again. “Let me ask you something. Leprechaun’s come up with the notion of your scout platoon operating under the Fourteenth Ohio until Colonel Johnson organizes a new regiment. Apparently he’s been given permission to recruit colored men in Tennessee. Even if he’s successful, they won’t be ready to fight for weeks. O’Kelly’s been talking up the idea with his men. Not that we’d combine the two platoons, but you would have to coordinate with them, probably occasionally cross paths or even cooperate on a mission or two. Do you think that would work?”

The duty as target spotter rotated through the platoon. The man assigned would shelter behind some large trees, then mark the shot with a red-painted plate that we could see through our binoculars, the instrument compliments of Digger. We used a system of colored flags to signal safe and active firing ranges and to otherwise communicate over the hundreds of yards between the shooting benches and the spotter.

Today, we had a mid-range spotter, as well.

I had begun my discussion of the ballistic curve by referencing the gravity demonstration from the day before. I pointed to the minie ball I would sweep off the bench in a simulation of a ball that had been shot from a rifle and I asked, “How can I make this ball go further?”

Ben said, “Quit swattin’ at it. Put it in a rifle with some powder,” earning the laughter he wanted.

Zeke said, “Hit it harder?”

“That’s right, Zeke. But, like our rifles with a safe powder load, let’s say I can’t hit it harder for fear of injuring my hand. What then?”

Doc said, “Raise the angle of the board.”

“Exactly,” I said. “There are two ways to make the bullet go farther: more powder, like Zeke said, or raise the angle of the shot, as Doc said. Ben, who would you pick to demonstrate this?”

“Hell, let Zeke do it.”

“Me?’ said Zeke.

I looked at the men. “Any objections? The reason I’m asking is because we’ll depend on the man to give it the same push with each of two sweeps.”

“Zeke’s a fair hand,” Micah Josephs said, smiling at his choice of expression.

I said, “C’mon, Zeke, this is easy work and you’ll get an extra ration of smoke from the cook fire for your trouble.” Zeke was known to sit too close to the cook fire when he was hungry.

“Wait,” Ben interrupted, “you never said nothin’ ‘bout no reward.”

“Too late, Smith. You’ll just have to choke on Jordie’s farts, like usual.”

“Maybe you come closer, tonight,” Jordie said, in a sweetly ominous way.

By that time I had Zeke next to me at the same bench I’d used the day before. I’d brought another board to lay atop the bench and I set the minie ball on it.

“Go ahead and sweep that off so it will go as far as possible. Use this stick.” I handed him a foot long, straight piece of a branch.

I knelt on the ground and held the end of the board to the bench top as he stepped forward with some hesitation.

I said, “Go ahead, give it your best whack.”

He did.

“Excellent. Doc, mark the spot where it first hit.”

I put another ball on the board, then raised the board about six inches and rested the end on my clenched fist while my left hand still held the board in place.

“Same thing, Zeke. Give it a good one.”

He did and the ball flew about five feet farther.

“There you go, Zeke. What does that tell you about getting your bullet to fly farther?”

“That I need to get you to hold up the end of my musket barrel?” he said, with a sly grin.

“Smart ass. No beefsteak for you, tonight.”

“That ain’t fair,” he mocked, “I din’t get none las’ night, neither.”

“Siddown, but not near Ben. His manner is rubbin’ off on you.”

“Here’s the point, men.” I was bouncing a couple minie balls up and down, one in each upturned hand. “The way you get something to stay in the air longer is to toss it higher.” I tossed the ball in my right hand up a couple feet while I caught and held the other one. “That way it can fly farther before gravity brings it to the ground.”

“Now let’s see how our rifle sights do that. Who wants to do the honors and shoot at the five hundred yard target?”

Digger had obtained a ten foot by twelve foot canvas tarpaulin which I’d had tied, stretched vertically, between two trees midway down the range, its lower end at eight feet above the ground, its upper end at twenty. The height was based on Captain Eddy’s explanations. Zeke and Davy Maltry had done the climbing and tying off. Fortunately, being in the creek bottom, we had plenty of trees to choose from.

“Royal, you want to shoot?”

“You bet, Seneca.”

“Spotters, get down to your targets.” Alfie Quiller and Jedediah Iverson took off running, apparently in a footrace. A couple minutes later, both were in place

“Royal, go ahead and hang out the red flag and the target is yours. Everybody, cotton wool.” We put wads of cotton wool in our ears when firing.

Royal unrolled a large red flag on a short spindle and hung it from a tree branch visible down range. Alfie Quiller, at the target, took down a white flag and replaced it with a red flag. Midway down range, Jedediah Iverson, near the suspended tarp, did the same. Both spotters then disappeared behind cover.

Royal got down to sit at the lower bench. He tucked himself under it and rested his elbows on the surface, taking a wide stance with his left hand well up the fore stock. He lowered the shoulder stock to the table and tipped up the five-hundred yard sight leaf and, as he slipped a percussion cap on the nipple, he called out “Firing.” Then he leaned in, lifted the stock to his shoulder, leaned into the stock, and began a brief breathing exercise ending in the sudden roar of expanding gasses as he sent the minie bullet down range.

Several men remarked as they saw the tarpaulin suddenly ripple.

Royal got up, changed the flag to the white one, then began reloading his rifle.

Down range, the flags were switched to white, and the men emerged, Quiller to the target, then Iverson, with a long sapling in hand, to the tarp.

Quiller held the red plate over the right lower quadrant of the target and Royal waved the white flag to show he saw the marker. Meanwhile, Iverson held up the twelve-foot sapling with a wad of paper wedged into a split in its end, to locate the paper wad over a spot on the tarpaulin about fifteen feet above the ground.

I let Zeke and Davy take shots, as a reward for them having climbed the tree to set the tarpaulin, then I called the men together.

Once our spotters had returned, I said, “In answer to the question that Jordie asked, that’s why it looked like the rifle barrel was tilted up, because it was. The leaf sights let your eye take a level view, but in gaining that level sight, you tip up the end of the rifle without realizing it.”

Jordie asked, “How high does it go with the middle sight?”

“About three and a half feet above the rifle’s muzzle. So you’d have to add in the height of the muzzle from a prone, sitting, or standing position.”

Iverson said, “But do us knowin’ make for better shootin’?”

“You tell me. Does being a smarter shooter make you a better shooter?”

Jordie said, “He a tricky one, Jed. No shame in cryin’ when he poke you with your own words. Make me wanna cry, time or two.”

Sergeant Jones had been more than happy to greet us, as he stepped off the train at Dalton. He’d had to endure a hike around a portion of the tracks still under repair, but still managed to arrive in time for supper. Sergeant Lange and the Fourteenth Ohio Infantry scout platoon’s two corporals, Leprechaun and Fran Booth, joined us. Supper that night was rice and chicken -- one chicken for all of us.

Marcus Renfro, a cheerful man, cooked most of our evening meals and knew how to stretch our rations. We had plenty of rice, once more, after the Johnnie Rebs had carried off our old supply. Renfro slow-cooked the chicken in water, pulled the meat off the bones, put the bones back in the water to cook another hour, strained out the bones, cooked the rice in that water, with salt, bacon grease, and some wild onions and watercress we’d found in the creek bottom.

“How come you blokes get the good rations?” Fran asked. That got our whole platoon laughing.

I explained the real story to him and he was surprised.

Sergeant Jones added, “Before Seneca showed up and recruited Digger, Jordie and a few others, they were shooting the old Springfield smoothbores.”

Sergeant Lange asked, “So how did you get hold of the model ‘sixty-three rifles?”

Jones said, “Would you like to tell them, Seneca?”

“I’d like to, Sergeant, but I’m under orders not to speak of it.”

Jones was smiling. “And don’t you forget it,” he looked around, “or any of you who were involved.”

Lange said, “A non-standard requisition, then?”

“You might say that,” Jones agreed.

“Too bad you couldn’t come up with new ones,” Leprechaun observed.

Thems is new,” Zeke said. “We duh-skieds ‘em as old, so you white boys wou’nt be takin’ ‘em away f’om us.”

Sergeant Lange said to Sergeant Jones, “Let’s go for a walk. I’ve something to talk to you about.”

After they left, Leprechaun looked like he was about to burst. Fran Booth looked at him, shook his head and said, “Oh, go ahead, flap your yap. You won’t be happy ‘til you’ve spilled the beans.”

Looking around, he said, “General Bischoff has offered to take on your platoon temporarily until Colonel Johnson has organized a new regiment.”

There was a Cherokee settlement just outside Chattanooga where they made and sold leggings and moccasins similar to mine. A half dozen of the scouts -- Digger MacTavish, Jordie Tipton, Zeke Saltell, Doc Fraser, Ben Smith, and Davy Maltry -- decided they wanted buckskins, but the price was too dear.

Digger worked out a trade for two bolts of sail canvas and twenty-five feet of copper tubing, which he obtained by non-standard requisition. As a concession to the army, we dyed the leggings and the upper part of the moccasins with laundry bluing; I did the same to mine. It wasn’t perfect, but it served to approximate a blue uniform, with capture behind Reb lines as the concern. I then showed the scouts how to further waterproof the moccasins.

We spent two weeks in Chattanooga and invited the Ohio scouts on our twenty-mile hikes and to play games of fox and hounds, and even held shooting contests. The two platoons were well matched, with the exception of our better performance in the hikes and the Ohio boys scoring points in the tracking games. After one of the hikes, Sergeant Lange told his scouts, “From now on, three hikes a week, if we’re in camp.” As far as tracking and hiding traces, the scouts of the Forty-fourth just needed more time and experience.

At the end of October, we were on a train to Johnsonville, in western Tennessee. Johnsonville was a port on the Tennessee River and was the primary offloading site for Union military supplies for central Tennessee and northern Georgia. From Johnsonville, the supplies were brought by rail to Nashville and points south.

The Tennessee River is the largest tributary of the Ohio River, with their confluence at Paducah, in western Kentucky. Military goods would be shipped by steamboat and barge on the Ohio River, then up the Tennessee River to various points, as far as Chattanooga, in peace time.