Chapter 13

My platoon was one of many that lined up on the long pier inside the Navy Yard to wait patiently to be fed by the volunteer citizens doing their patriotic duty. Our regimental support units were still back in Savannah getting read y to hit the trail up through South Carolina into the better militarily organized defenses of North Carolina with several State-based divisions of battle-scarred veterans of earlier battles.

The sea journey up from Savannah was a piece of cake with only the worry of sudden tropical storms posing a danger. I had been posted for a few years in the primary Marine Corps base at Camp Lejeune, North Carolina and had constantly been put on the alert for the nasty hurricanes that popped up in the Atlantic Ocean from time to time and seemed to make the North Carolina coastline their secondary target after the primary choice of Florida.

Our unit was comprised of my full company and a second company that was reinforced by an artillery battery of six guns and almost one hundred additional ammunition transporters. So, we were a fighting force of almost four hundred heavily armed men and with artillery in support. The other two ships continued up the coast a bit further and landed in New Jersey to allow those troops a bit of extended leave before returning to the battlefield. We were the unlucky ones slotted to join in the final campaign to surround General Robert E. Lee.

I thought it strange that the ship that had carried us up the coast was still tethered in deeper water offshore and that none of the sailors had come ashore. It was not the general practice to leave the sailors on the ship in port too long because it was dangerous for morale.

I shrugged it off as “none of my business” and would have forgotten all about it except for the fact I spied another transport ship enter the harbor and drop anchor right next to our vessel recently arrived from Savannah. It was riding high on the waves, so my assumption was it held no cargo or troops at present.

The civilian volunteers, including a number of fairly attractive female Union sympathizers, were dishing out some delicious soup and crisp crackers from some local bakery that had donated all their stock to feed the hungry troops. It was the sort of support that would probably never get recognized and complimented by medal or award, but was vital for the morale of the troops that were often forgotten when the danger had subsided.

I reclined against a bale of cotton watching a pair of young Virginian girls bending over and stirring the fresh meat into the soup pot to make it stretch a little bit further. I confess my interest was taken by their youthful buttocks moving sensuously and without constriction of corset or restraining undergarments. It was not a ladylike expression of public display but in the circumstances it was appropriate because it allowed them to move with the flexibility needed to feed the troops.

The railroad track that stopped just outside the port area had been deserted all morning and suddenly it was filled with car after car of Union troops. They were carrying the banners of the State of New York and looked to be fresh troops just recently finishing their basic training and ready to meet the enemy. I believe I had not soon so many young unshaven faces since my last deployment to Vietnam when we were scraping the bottom of the barrel for replacements with the prerequisite advanced Infantry training required for “In-country” assignment. They were chattering and a bit boisterous although that might have been a defense to cover their nervousness with fear of the unknown.

Our unit was actually all that remained of a reinforced battalion of soldiers and we barely had enough to fill the rosters of a couple of companies. I knew that some of the men were missing in the short space between our docking and the present moment. It was probably only a couple of dozen but I knew the longer we stayed in this port, the more men would melt away into civilian territory to avoid eventual certain death on the vicious battlefields of the Civil War. Of course, we had a hard core of committed soldiers just like in every unit but some of the replacement soldiers taking the place of “draftees” for a few coins were unlikely to have any motivation to remain much longer.

A group of officers got off the Union troop train and conferred with our command element at the rear of the improvised soup kitchen.

I scuttled up close enough to listen in on their conversation and was surprised that the Colonel in charge of the train unit was taking command of our recently arrived contingent from Savannah. I was even more surprise to discover that we would all be getting back on the same ship and sailing back down the coast to the port of Wilmington in North Carolina about halfway back on our recently traveled route up the coastline.

I kept that knowledge to myself because I knew it would not go down well with the troops.

It was beginning to look like we were getting back into the fight in support of General Sherman who was starting his northward push up through the Carolinas and into Virginia from the south.

There was a lot of grumbling as we loaded back up on the ship. Still, the men were well-fed and they were tired of just sitting on the empty pier, so they all just followed orders since it was far too complicated to make a decision of their own that required some knowledge of the full picture.

The other unit from the train was more of a complete clustered chaos with shouting commands bordering on physical intimidation. They eventually boarded the other ship but with obvious distaste and reluctance to trust their souls to some sailors they didn’t know. Our little flotilla of three ships which also included a gunship bristling with cannon made our way down the coast and the offshore winds were favorable helping us to make good time back the same way we had just recently traveled in the opposite direction.