Chapter 6

Our unit of mounted Infantry were billeted in an around a big farm well short of Lookout Mountain and the entrance to Chattanooga. The men were in high spirits but I had the instinctive feeling that would not last very long.

I searched my memory for what little I remembered about the Battle of Chickamauga and the movements of the Union Army into Dixie. I wished that I had taken my Military Science courses at the Education Center in Camp Pendleton a bit more seriously because we had spent almost a full semester on the Civil War. I remembered my paper was on the Battle of Gettysburg and my focus was on that particular battle not Chickamauga. I did remember that it was the first engagement of that bloody Civil War that saw the Confederate forces shift major units around on the battlefield in an effort to establish a concentration of battlefield power to slow the Union advance into the Deep South.

If my memory served me correctly, the entire scope of the battle was more accidental rather than planned and both sides made numerous strategic and tactical errors that came close to causing early defeat in the struggle. The Union Army definitely had the momentum in that fall of 1863 and should have been victorious but the Confederate forces made several tactical moves that won the day and caused the Union forces to retire from the battlefield in defeat. I remembered it was just a momentary setback and that the Union forces continued on their invasion of the south and that General Sherman made his famous "March to the Sea" laying waste to all in path leaving only weeping widows in his wake.

The place where we had bivouacked was well stocked with chickens that were soon victims of the hungry stomachs of the Union troops including yours truly. The Negro troopers that were assigned to the medical section as stretcher bearers were able to show off their plucking and dressing out skills to the rest of us waiting impatiently for the final result. I couldn't help but marvel at their adroit handling of the sharp knives that reduced the live chicken population to stacks of roasting chickens over fires of hot coals and little or no flame to damage the birds.

The daughter of the farm manager pleaded with us to spare a number of the chickens for future egg production and our commanding officer a young Captain from Pennsylvania raised on a farm himself made certain one out of four of the poultry units were saved for purposes of laying eggs and replenishing their numbers.

The young lady's name was Hope and she had two sisters younger than she called Faith and Charity. I had seen her flitting around the camp with her multi-layered ensemble of ankle-long dress and petticoats. It would have been far better for all the men if she were a plain and harsh-toned female but she was quite beautiful and was of a happy, charming personality wherever she went. Her younger sisters were dedicated Rebel supporters and never let a moment pass that they didn't remind the laughing troops that they were not welcome in Confederate territory.

Hope was a contrast to her two sour-faced sisters.

She delighted in telling the Union soldiers about the error of their ways in "messing with our State's Rights" and stamped her foot in a petulant display of female cuteness. I felt certain the Captain was much smitten by her resolute firmness but was hesitant to express his urge to tell the young woman of his obvious infatuation. I found it most amusing because such reticent was not the normal way of things in modern society.

She bristled at the suggestion that the South was the guilty party in the dispute because of horrors of slavery. In a way, she had a point because precious few of the farms in the Tennessee area used slave labor to take in their annual harvest. They relied more on the cooperative effort of groups of farm folk to move from farm to farm and get the job done as a group effort. I thought it similar to the Amish way of banding together to take care of the "surge" of farming and constructing new buildings and barns for their members. The states further south were the true slave states with their huge plantations and need for vast pools of farm-hands to work the fields.

"We don't go up to New York City and tell your factory owners to not employ the children of new immigrants from the old country. Those little children are as much slaves as those darkies down on the big plantations. Besides, everyone knows that sometimes the so-called "slaves" get better food and better treatment than our own poor relation "share-croppers" that have no education and no opportunity to better themselves."

It was a good argument from a young inexperienced girl and I hesitated to remind her that "slave" means "slave" and "free" means "free" no matter what the economic circumstance or the generosity of the owner. Still, the men were not impressed by her argument and the Negro troopers just shook their heads in disgust at her vehemence.

It didn't stop me from enjoying the tasty chicken and I stuffed my mouth with enough food to last me two days without another meal. In these battlefield conditions one never knew where the next meal was coming from.

I approached young Miss Hope and asked her if she had any family members fighting for the Rebel cause.