Chapter 3

They formed us up in our unadorned uniforms on a huge grassy field over in New Jersey with a full contingent of civilians from the nearby villages and town watching us go through our paces in learning how to march. The entire affair could only be described as "comic opera" but most of the drill Sergeants were not laughing. In fact, they didn't even crack a smile.

I was lucky enough to have a better than average knowledge of the American Civil War. When I was in the service I took night courses in Military Science on the base overseas and one of the courses was devoted to the military battles of the Civil War. I concentrated on what I could remember from 1863 and the Battle of Gettysburg dominated my thoughts. It seemed fairly certain we were not going to get involved in that bloody chaotic mess because the Sergeants had already given us the unit emblems that we had to sew on our tunics that declared us to be members of the "Army of the Cumberland". I remembered that this large unit was formerly known as the "Army of the Ohio" and was not considered to be a top notch outfit.

My choice of the Spencer was because I had done a study on the field weapons of the Civil War and the reports on the Spencer made it seem the best choice overall against the Sharps, the Henry, the outdated muskets and other muzzle loaders such as the Enfield's and the Springfield's which were much slower to load and less accurate by a large margin. My memory was pointing to the Battlefield of Chickamauga as the most likely entry point into the fray but there was always a chance that I would get involved in some other confrontation on the way to Chattanooga. I was certain I would have plenty of ammo with the Army of the Cumberland because if memory served me correctly the Spencer was chosen as the primary field rifle for the fighting units and they armed the Cavalry with the Spencer Carbine. It was easy to load with the spring loaded cartridge rod that held seven rounds and was contained in the stock. The sights were easy to use and since most of the Infantry fighting would be at close range there was no need for the heavy grain powder rifles that could handle long distances. My primary thought was survivability on the battlefield not winning an award for a long range shot usually attributed to a sniper.

We trained hard in New Jersey and from what I heard on the grapevine the winds of war were blowing into Pennsylvania near a farming town called Gettysburg. The forces under General Grant were starting to collect at the choke points to keep the Rebel forces at bay and away from the peaceful Pennsylvania farms and communities. General Lee's aggressive stance was similar to the last offensive moves of the Wehrmacht in the Battle of the Bulge. That had ended in failure for a number of reasons but it was a close struggle. It looked like Gettysburg would be just as evenly fought but I had the advantage of knowing the result for obvious reasons.

Unfortunately, my memory also told me that the Union Army at Chickamauga was not as lucky and that it was considered a defeat for the Union Army at a time when Grant wanted to stay on the offensive. I knew that was certain to make the Army of the Cumberland unpopular around the General Grant campfire but when I studied the battle, it was clear that the Rebels had suffered a defeat of higher casualties and logistical destruction that would make them retreat much further than they wanted to in order to defend along the most preferable lines of defense. We were training every day now getting ready for transport to the campaign to the west.

Our unit was designated as Cumberland Seven East. I understood that to mean that we were the seventh training unit to be sent to the Field Army poised to enter the fray at the end of summer. There was never any mention of numbers but my new comrades assured me that the new army would be at least one hundred thousand armed fighters. I was tempted to laugh because I had my Monday morning quarterbacking information to inform me that the maximum strength of the new army was never higher than sixty-five thousand at best and that less than half of the men would never get right up on the front line.

The bearded man in the next bunk was from New Jersey.

His name was "Parson". I discovered that was not his real name but that he was called that because he had been a church leader when he was younger and suffered a "defrocking" because of difficulties with a married church member.

Parson was forever toting around a small pocket Bible with him and he would shake it at us when we were inclined to cuss a lot or to make an obscene gesture. I always found that to be most amusing because it was in the nature of enlisted men to cuss and act generally uncouth at all times. It was up to the officers to be the gentlemen in the mix and keep the men focused on killing the enemy with sufficient effectiveness to win a battle. The cussing, the obscenities and the rude behavior was expected and seldom repressed for reasons of good morale.

I got to know Parson pretty well and determined that he was not all that bad of a person and in fact he had a humorous side that he kept well-hidden along with his superior intelligence.

When we finished our rifle training, the Sergeants told us we were all to receive a three day pass to visit friends or relatives and generally raise hell before being thrown into the hell of battle. Only the unlucky ten percent that had special duty like in the kitchen or guard duty were restricted to the base that was really only a field of tents raised hastily overnight.

I was ready to volunteer for guard duty because I had nowhere to go being one hundred and fifty years out of place and time. Then, Parson told me,

"You can come with me to my home over in Fairfield. My family is anxious to see me before we leave to the fighting out west and there is always room for another chair at the dinner table. My father is a bit of a harsh man but he is a good man under it all. Besides, I have five sisters and they are all of a "nubile" age if you get my meaning. None of them are beauties but they are friendly enough but unfortunately "off limits" to me as their loving brother. My girlfriend Jenny is close to me but we are not planning to marry until this war is over. It is not fair to make her a widow what with her being so young and still able to find a man not at the front. Just be careful with my sisters because a couple of them can be real tricky when it comes to finding male companionship."

It was the longest speech that Parson had ever made in my presence but it convinced me to forget about volunteering for the boring guard duty that was just an exercise in standing still in the cold and damp with no enemy within hundreds of miles.

We were lucky enough to get a milkman to allow us to ride on the back of his wagon pausing now and then for deliveries which went a lot faster with us helping him make his rounds. Soon, we were on the narrow backroad that led to his modest home on the outskirts of Fairfield. The front yard was a bit of a mess but it didn't seem to disturb Parson in the least. He did the last hundred feet in a run that had him knocking on the door with a heavy hand. The house fairly exploded with females shrieking and giggling and running every direction. I tried my best to be invisible because it was all obviously aimed at poor Parson who had his hands full of maniac girls.