When Thunder Rolls

Turning and riding back up the road I stopped where I had fired on the soldier from and collected the casings from the cartridges I had spent. There couldn't be too many Henry's in this area so why leave a trail for someone to follow? Riding back to the body I looked down at the corpse and silently said a prayer that I would be forgiven for what I had done to him and what I was about to do to his accomplices. That's when I noticed that he wasn't Infantry, he was a Cavalryman. His boots and trousers were Calvary issue, not Infantry. Was there a Cavalry unit in the area as well that I didn't know about?

Looking down at the ground I easily picked up the trail again but surprisingly, about a mile before I got to town, the trail turned south away from Williamsburg and the Union camp on the west side of it. I could tell by the tracks that these two were making for a small ridge to the southeast of town. Given the terrain in the area it would be a perfect place to lay low and avoid anyone but the occasional hunter or unwary local. Worse than that, should they glance back, it would give them a perfect vantage point from which to spot me as I followed them.

When I had been a young and inexperienced trooper I was privileged enough to ride on a reconnoitering mission with General JEB Stuart. The General made a comment in passing that I had always tried to follow. "Never ride toward the enemy in anger. Anger will destroy your good senses and a soldier needs those to survive." It always stayed with me and not listening to it almost got me killed.

Shortly after noon, I topped a small hill and looking south I saw two horses break out of the tree-line heading toward me in a full gallop; their riders were pushing them almost to the point of abusing their mounts. Seconds later, I saw why as the tree-line exploded in a sea of blue clad cavalrymen, hell-bent on catching the two fleeing riders. I sat atop Thunder smiling at the irony of the Union Army helping me bring those two to justice when a miss cracked sharply above my head, causing Thunder to momentarily flinch.

When the two men I had been following got to within a hundred yards of me, I slipped the Henry from it's scabbard and took aim on the lead rider. I fired two rounds in rapid succession and then turned my attention to his companion, firing once I watched him fly backwards from the saddle. Turning back to the lead rider I saw an empty saddle and moments later both horses galloped by me in a panic.

Replacing my Henry in the scabbard I sat there motionless, wearing the uniform of a Confederate officer as I was swarmed by thirty or so Union cavalrymen. A red-faced Captain brought his lathered mount to a stop beside me and pointing his pistol at my chest demanded that I surrender and dismount immediately. As I did a Private foolishly attempted to grab Thunder's reins; until I reached up and jerked him unceremoniously out of his saddle, depositing him on the ground beside me.

"Private, don't touch my horse." I said, looking down at the bewildered trooper.

"Who in Hell do you think you are Reb?" the Captain spat out.

"Thaddeus Thatcher, Major, Confederate States Army." I replied, with a sense of pride in my voice that I had not had in months, before adding, "I've been tracking those two for over five hours now Captain. They burned a barn down a few miles from here. It belonged to the family I am staying with. I am assuming they were deserters, so what is the issue with me killing them for you?"

"The Confederate Army no longer exists Major. And yes, they were deserters. However, General Richardson, the Commanding General of this brigade, wanted them brought to trial instead of being summarily executed; especially by a damned Rebel officer." the Captain responded, still leveling his pistol at me.

"Captain, you may put your sidearm away. I have no intentions of fighting or of attempting to escape. Am I to assume that I am now your prisoner?"

"You most certainly are sir." he replied, uncocking his Colt and returning it to his holster.

"Brigade? An entire brigade?" I thought to myself. I had not ridden alone into an Infantry Company, led by an immature Captain. I had ridden alone into an entire Cavalry Brigade, led by a Brigadier General. My odds of walking away from this incident unscathed had just gone from naught to nothing.

Trotting into their camp with my guard detail an hour or so later I realized that I was truly in a major predicament. It was centered around a small farmhouse, much like Beth's with the Brigade Headquarters and presumably the Commanding General inside. I wasn't allowed to find out for myself because I was taken to a small shed behind the barn, unceremoniously stripped of my boots, cartridge belt and jacket and then thrown inside. Looking out of one of the many cracks between the boards, I could see a trooper struggling to lead Thunder to some unknown location.

I sat in there for what seemed like an eternity before I heard a commotion outside and the door opened. The Captain who I had surrendered to was standing there with a circus gorilla in a Yankee uniform. He honestly was and remains the largest man I have ever seen or met, to this day. He had a set of leg shackles thrown over his massive shoulders and was carrying a set of wrist shackles in his right hand. When he approached me I immediately held out both arms signaling my acquiescence to the inevitable.

The bastard hit me so hard in the center of my chest that I broke one of the boards on the back wall of the shed when I slammed into it. Fighting to get my breath I opened my eyes just in time to see his armed cocked back and his fist coming toward my face with the shackles wrapped around his knuckles. That was the last thing I remembered until I woke up, several hours later in a great deal of pain and in pitch black darkness.

Shortly before midnight I woke up again when I heard the door open. I scurried into the corner of the shed like a rat, trying my best to wad into a tight ball to avoid and more damage. Looking up I saw a Yankee Sergeant staring down at me with a look of rage in his eyes. That didn't concern me nearly as much as the half empty whisky bottle in his right hand. The shackles prevented me from ever having a chance to defend myself.

Just after sunrise I had another visitor; this one was a Colonel who politely introduced himself as the Brigade Provost Marshall. He surveyed the damage done by his men and then admonished me on resisting when I was obviously under military arrest. Then the bastard asked me if there was anything I needed.

"Two things."

"Yes?"

"Unshackle me and let me have a fair discussion with the Sergeant that visited me last night."

"And which Sergeant would that be?" he replied with a smirk on his face.

"May I at least have some water?" I asked, licking my parched and bloody lips.

"Not until I get a question answered."

"Sir?"

"Where is this farm you are staying at? General Richardson wishes to investigate your claim that the deserters you shot did in fact burn down a civilian barn."

I gave him directions to Beth's farm and slumped back against the wall. Looking at him I asked for some water again and was relieved when he stepped out of the shed and told one of the guards to get me water and some food. One of them walked away and within a half an hour I had a bucket of water and several hardtack crackers delivered by a silver haired black man in civilian clothes, who stared at me with utter contempt as I tried to wash the blood off my face.

"Massa ain't so damned uppity now. Is he? How do it feel washin' the blood from a beating you didn't see a comin' off your face?" he hissed at me.

"Pretty shitty." I said, drying my hands off on my trousers and groaning as I sat back against the wall of the shed.

"Uh huh. Funny ain't it? Here you is all caged up and it's the nigger who gets to walk away a free man."

"I wouldn't know. I never owned any slaves."

"Don't matter. You fought to keep 'em."

"No. I fought to survive." I whispered at the dirt floor of the shed.

"Me too and for lots longer than you did." he said as he closed the door.

I had just heard the Bugler sound the Mess Call the following morning when the shed door opened, and a Captain I had never seen entered my humble abode. He looked down at me with an emotionless stare on his face as he told me to stand up and follow him. I did as he said and found myself shuffling along beside him headed toward the farm house.

I was led into a small room just off the parlor and given a washbasin full of water and a rag. Looking into the mirror I finally saw the damage to my face. My left eye was all but swollen shut and both cheeks looked as though I had the mumps. I looked at the settee and saw my boots sitting beside it and my jacket wadded up on the floor beside them. Glancing around the room I also saw a painting of a young man wearing a blue uniform, standing beside a horse.

I cleaned up as well as I could under the given circumstances and then waited for the Colonel to return. When he did he looked at my boots and then asked why I had not put them on.

"It is a little difficult to put them on over the shackles Captain."

"I'll send someone in to remove them, but they will go back on after you are finished dressing."

"Thank you." I replied as he walked away.

Within minutes a Private appeared and removing the shackles he waited until I had pulled my boots on to replace them. The Captain stood off to one side and after the Private departed he introduced himself as Captain Lawrence Williams, aide de camp to Brigadier General Theodore Richardson.

"You will meet the General shortly." He said stiffly, adding, "Please remember that you are a prisoner of war Major. This farm is his boyhood home, he is, as are a majority of the troopers under him, Kentuckians, through and through and they see you as a major threat to the peace in the area."

"Wonderful." I thought to myself.

"Do you have any questions?"

"No. Lead the way Captain, let's get this over with." I said softly, finally beginning to understand the danger I was in.

"What happened to your face Major?" the General asked immediately as I entered the room and presented myself to him.

"Northern hospitality General." I answered defiantly.

"Are you implying that my men treated you harshly?" he asked.

"I am not implying anything General, I am stating a fact. Two of your men beat the Hell out of me last night. One of them under the watchful eyes of the Captain that brought me here.

"Those are some serious accusations young man." he said, becoming red faced.

"Again General, it isn't an accusation, it is a statement of fact."

"I will look into it. Now, with that said, would you care to explain your actions yesterday Major," the General began as he glanced briefly at a sheet of paper on his desk, "Thatcher is it?"

"If I may be allowed to do so in private, gentleman to gentleman, the answer is yes. If not, I fear the answer is no." I replied, adding quickly, "Sir, as an officer, I was accustomed to being treated as a man whose word is his solemn oath and bond. If I am unable to gain that courtesy from you, then I am afraid that I must remain silent on the matter and take my chances with your military tribunal."

The General looked at me strangely for a moment, then subtly nodded his head in the direction of his aide, who immediately came to attention, saluted and silently left the room; closing the door behind him. Leaning forward in his chair General Richardson placed his palms on the desk then stood up and walked around until he was standing in front of me.

"You killed two of my soldiers Major and seriously wounded a third. That cannot and will not be overlooked. Technically you are now, again, a prisoner of war and an accused murderer. I could simply have you shot."

"One of them lived?"

"Yes, although he lost his left arm to the surgeon's bone saw last night."

"They were deserters General. Your own Provost stated as much when his troopers apprehended me. They were terrorizing the local civilian population and raiding farms. Had I been a civilian, a true civilian, it would simply be a matter of me protecting property. However, since I am, or was, Confederate officer, it is not such a simple matter. I understand that sir, and I have no choice but to accept any sentence that you see fit to hand down." He nodded thoughtfully, so I continued.

"I took an oath General, a solemn oath when I enlisted and again when I received my commission, to uphold and defend the Constitution. Granted, it was the Confederate government that I swore my allegiance to, and at this point, that means nothing. I do know where my loyalties are now, but I will continue to defend those that I care about by every means possible." I offered as my only defense.

"How long did you serve in the Confederate Army Major?"

"Four years. I was a Private at First Manassas, a Lieutenant by Gettysburg and a Major at Appomattox." I said quietly.

"And if you had to do it over again?" he asked.

"I'd personally shoot the bastard who fired the first cannon on Sumter." I said, looking him directly in the eyes.

Smiling sadly and returning to his chair he sat down then looked up at me. Pausing for a moment he motioned to one of the chairs in front of his desk and said, "Have a seat Major."

"Sir?"

"Sit down Mister Thatcher. My interrogation is over. It ended yesterday when the patrol I dispatched to Missus Sullivan's farm returned with confirmation of your story. She wished me to inform you that she hopes to see you soon and that you are unharmed. Again, have a seat Major.

"Thank you General." I said, easing into the chair.

"I remember reading a story set in ancient Greece where a Greek soldier ran some twenty-six miles to inform the government that there had been a huge military victory." he began speaking as he walked back to his chair and sat down.

"Marathon. I remember that story as well." I interrupted.

"Yes, Marathon. I only bring that up because it is twenty-five miles from the field at Bull Run, Manassas for you, to the hallowed halls of the Capital in Washington DC. I made that run in '61; only we weren't delivering news of a great victory. We were in full retreat off the field and it was shameful. It still pains me greatly to admit that I fled in fear. I was a Second Lieutenant then, three years out of West Point, and our generals were telling us that we were saving the Union from traitors and Satan's spawn." He shook his head and quickly looked away, lost in his thoughts for a moment before he added, "I would give anything to have that kind of naivety back."

"With all due respect General, not me. That kind of naivety gets men like us killed." I responded.

"I suppose it does Major; I suppose it does." he said, reflecting on my words for a moment before he added, "My men, the two you killed, and the other one, were not raw recruits. They were three experienced soldiers who did, in fact, desert. They were veterans of Atlanta, Columbia, Franklin and Nashville, who ran rather than serve out the remainder of their enlistments. We don't shoot deserters these days; it is a new Army, with new leadership. However, I cannot let your deeds go seemingly unpunished because Washington would have a conniption fit. President Johnson is a Tennessean and a staunch Union man, he will not take kindly to a former Confederate officer killing two Union soldiers, deserters or not."

"I understand General." I replied, with a feeling of cold washing over my entire body.

"Last week I received a correspondence from the War Department informing me that I was being reduced to my permanent rank of Captain. I'm being retained in the Regular Army, and I am being sent to Louisiana to assist in forming a new unit by this time next year. The Ninth Calvary. Have you heard of that little experiment Major?" he asked with a sarcastic tone in his voice.

"No sir, I do not think I have." I said.

"Negro troopers under the command of White cavalry officers who will be sent into Indian country to protect the settlers from the savages there. As you can imagine, such an assignment is not looked upon favorably by several officers in the Army." he finished saying as I whistled softly at his statement.

"I can indeed sir." I said, shaking my head at the thought of it.

"Many in Washington feel that former slaves would be perfect for such an assignment. There will be less concern if it is negros who are fighting and dying to protect white settlers than if several hundred white soldiers died do it."

"A soldier is a soldier General. When one dies, we all feel it." I said.

"Interesting sentiment coming from a man who fought to preserve slavery." he replied.

"Sir, my father owned slaves; several dozen in fact. I did not. Nor did I fight to preserve the institution of slavery. I fought, because I felt at the time, that the rights of the southern states were being trampled by an abusive government in Washington City." I responded, trying to keep my building anger in check.

"This will have to be a discussion for another time Major." the General stated firmly, holding his hands out in front of him indicating that this part of the discussion had come to an end.

"I look forward to it Sir." I said, feeling the anger draining and the cold returning as I realized I was about to learn my fate.

"Would you please step into the parlor and inform my aide that I require his service?"

"Certainly Sir." I said, climbing to my feet and walking slowly to the door because of the shackles.

"Balls! I forgot about the damned shackles!" the General exclaimed as he rose from his chair. "Never mind Major, I will fetch him myself. Good man my aide; he is a distant cousin on my mother's side of the family. One day he may be able to tell you which end of a horse you should be looking at when you mount up; but he made a passable aide, so I kept him."

The General, his distant cousin and the Provost returned to the room several minutes later and despite my best efforts, it was impossible to read their faces as the two came to attention standing on either side of me. Having nothing better to do and feeling that I should at least go to my death acting an officer should act in this situation, I came to attention as well and waited for the General to take his seat behind his desk. He paused briefly to light a large cigar and after he was certain that it was lit, he sat back in his chair and began to speak.

"Gentlemen, would the two of you agree that as a Brigadier General, I am allowed some latitude in determining the fate of prisoners such as Major Thatcher?"

"Yes General." they said in unison.

"Good, that got that out of the way." he stated, staring coldly at me as he added, "Major, you stand accused of the murder of two members of my command and seriously wounding a third. How do you plead?"

"Not guilty."

"It is my understanding that most of your defense rests on the premise that you believed their status as deserters and their abusive behavior and wanton destruction of civilian property justified your actions yesterday. Is that correct?"

"It is sir."

"I concur with you Major. With one caveat, you are free to go." the General said, and quickly added, "Listen to me carefully Mister Thatcher, very carefully indeed, because your very life depends on this. If I ever see you wearing that uniform again, in part or in whole; I will personally build the gibbet, tie the noose, slip it over your head and hang you from your neck until you are dead. Do you understand me?"

"I do sir." I said, breaking out in a cold sweat as the blood drained from my face and my legs went numb.

"Gentlemen, it would I think, serve us all well if news of my clemency for Mister Thatcher spread quickly among the troopers here. It may make them think twice about deserting if they know that they can be shot dead for doing it by the local population with little or no thought given about punishment being meted out. Do I make myself clear?"