When Johnny Came Marching Home Page 4

  Abel and Johnny and I wandered through the crowd, our pockets stuffed with fireworks, mostly miniature explosives called "salutes," that we would drop behind young girls as we passed by and then laugh raucously as they squealed with mostly false fear. We were sixteen and full of ourselves and even the stern looks we got from some of the older women had little effect on us. All that mattered was getting the attention of the girls we were trying to impress.

  "The three of you are being very annoying." The soft yet stern voice had come from behind us, and when I turned I found Abel's sister Rebecca staring at us. "If you're not careful you're going to hurt someone with those dumb salutes," she added.

  Rebecca was fourteen and something miraculous had begun to happen to her. The skinny, awkward little sister who had tagged along after us for years had experienced a physical transformation. Almost overnight, or so it seemed, breasts had begun to appear, hips suddenly became more rounded, and there was a new graceful sway to her movements that I had never noticed before. Abel said she had also become impossible to live with, and would get mad or just burst into tears at the drop of a hat.

  "It don' matter whatcha say ta her. Either she's mad, or she's cryin'. Then my ma gits mad an' I git it from both ends. My ma says Rebecca's developin' early, whatever that means, and that I gotta be extra nice ta her." He rolled his eyes. "I don' remember nobody bein' extra nice ta me when I was fourteen."

  Now she stood before us and I was afraid to answer, not wanting to make her mad, and certainly not wanting to make her cry.

  "We're just havin' fun," I said.

  "Well, maybe everybody doesn't think it's fun." She tilted her head to one side and her voice had become almost haughty.

  "The girls don't seem to mind," I said, a bit defensively.

  "They just want the same thing you want, a chance to show off."

  Her words defeated me and I didn't know how to respond without saying something mean.

  "Look, we have a plan for a real good prank that we're gonna pull off as soon as it gets dark." I glanced at Johnny and Abel. "How about we let Rebecca help us?" I asked the others.

  "Why do ya wanna include a girl, especially one who's still a little kid?" Johnny said.

  I turned to Abel for support. He just shrugged and I wondered if he feared driving Rebecca to tears and having to deal with his mother.

  Rebecca was glaring at Johnny, and it made him squirm a bit; now she turned back to me. "What are you talking about?" she demanded.

  I glanced around at the crowd. "Let's get somewhere where nobody can hear us," I suggested.

  "Where ya wanna go?" Abel asked.

  Rebecca looked at me with suspicion. "What are you up to, Jubal?"

  "Let's go to my barn and we can show you what we've got," I said.

  * * *

  We had hidden our special firework in the hayloft. One of the drummers who sold goods to Abel's father had offered it to Abel on the sly. All Abel had to do was say how much he liked the cheddar cheese the drummer was trying to get his father to lay in. Abel had taken the bribe, and a wheel of the drummer's cheddar now sat on the counter of the town store.

  I climbed down from the hayloft carrying the special firework. The drummer had told Abel that it was called a Roman candle, and while we weren't really certain what it would do, he had assured Abel that "folk's jaws will surely drop" when we set it off.

  I held up the firework for Rebecca to see. It had a flat base with a foot-long tube rising out of it.

  "What does it do?" Rebecca asked. "Does it explode?"

  "I hope not," Johnny replied. "It's as big as a stick a dynamite."

  "It don't explode," Abel said. "The drummer said it sets off a kinda display of bright lights. A real shocker, he said, but it ain't gonna blow anythin' up. But that's why we wanna do it after dark. It sure as heck is gonna surprise a lot of people."

  "We'll be Fourth of July heroes," Johnny said. There was a wide grin spread across his face and his eyes glittered, but I couldn't tell if he was being serious, or making fun of us all, himself included.

  "Where are you gonna set it off?" Rebecca asked.

  "Right on the bandstand," Abel said.

  "And you can help us do it," I suggested.

  "How?" Rebecca's voice held a note of suspicion, but her eyes sparkled with excitement.

  "You could help sneak it up on the bandstand," Johnny said. "Kinda hide it under yer skirt."

  "Yeah," I added. "Then kind of ease it down on the floor, someplace where we can sneak up along the outside of the bandstand and light it up."

  A slow smile spread across Rebecca's face. "I can do that," she said.

  * * *

  Full dark came at eight o'clock and we waited patiently for Edgar Billingsley and Cory Jimmo to take a break from their music and clear the bandstand. As soon as they did Rebecca slowly climbed the stairs acting as if she just wanted to be able to look out over the crowd. When she got to the far end of the bandstand she stooped down as though picking up something she had dropped, then quickly stood, walked to the stairs, and climbed back down into the crowd. At the back of the bandstand, where no one could easily see it, stood the Roman candle she had left behind.

  Abel and Johnny and I approached that side of the bandstand as casually as we could.

  "I'm gonna light it," Abel said, opening a box of wooden matches he had taken from his father's store.

  "Why you?" Johnny demanded. "We should pull straws or somethin'."

  "Cause I'm the one who got it," Abel said. "I even got the matches."

  "Well I got matches too," Johnny countered.

  "No, Abel's right," I said. "He got us the firework, so he gets the right to light it up."

  Johnny grumbled but finally agreed. Rebecca had joined us and now she and Johnny and I stood shoulder to shoulder so we could shield Abel from view as he lit the fuse. As soon as the fuse was going all four of us moved back.

  Josiah Flood came up to us. "Whatcha all doin'?" he asked.

  "Shh," Johnny hissed. "Jus' watch."

  It took several long seconds for the fuse to burn down and for the Roman candle to begin to spit out its balls of colored flame, each one coming with a whoosh of air that shot it up into the rafters of the bandstand.

  "Oh, shit," Abel whispered.

  We watched in horror as the bandstand caught fire.

  "You boys in trouble now," Josiah said. "I don' wanna be no place near ya." He turned and moved quickly away from us.

  "Abel, what have you done?" Rebecca asked. Her eyes were wide in disbelief.

  "Oh my God," Johnny said. "We are gonna get skinned fer sure."

  As the Roman candle spit its last fiery ball, I saw my father race up onto the bandstand. He had a blanket in his hands that he had plucked from the lawn and he began beating back the flames. Others came up behind him with buckets of water and within minutes the fire had been extinguished.

  The four of us were slowly easing back into the crowd when my father's voice boomed down at us: "You kids jus' hold it right there. Don't ya take another step."

  My father hurdled the bandstand railing with one hand and took two long strides to where we stood.

  "It was them, constable," one of the churchwomen snapped, pointing a finger in our direction. "It was them boys fer sure. They been settin' off firecrackers all day."

  My father towered over us, his eyes hard and angry. "You three boys intendin' ta burn this whole town to the ground, or was the bandstand gonna be enough?"

  No one said anything. I glanced at Rebecca who stood off to one side. She looked back at me. She seemed terrified. Then her back stiffened. "Mr. Foster, I helped too," she said. "It was supposed to be a display of pretty lights. It wasn't supposed to do anything bad."

  My father stared down at Rebecca and shook his head. "Well it sure did light up the night." He turned back to us boys. "You all see the damage ya done?" he asked.

  We all nodded.

  "Well, it looks ta me like the three of
ya"—he paused and peered back at Rebecca—"like the four of ya are gonna have some work ta do this summer."

  * * *

  Martinsburg, Virginia, 1861

  We moved through a tree line on the outskirts of Hoke's Run, searching out the Confederate force that was retreating before our advancing line. It was early summer in the first year of the war and it was our first battle. Johnny and Abel and I had been among several hundred Vermonters who had been seconded to Major General Robert Patterson's division on the Maryland border as it prepared to cross the Potomac River and engage Rebel forces at Martinsburg, Virginia.

  On July 2, two Union brigades crossed the river near Williamsport and marched on the main road toward Martinsburg, where we encountered a single Confederate brigade that almost immediately began to fall back before our superior force. Later we would learn that it had been nothing more than a delaying tactic, luring us to the west and diverting our southerly advance, thereby taking pressure off Confederate forces in the Shenandoah Valley. In three weeks those delaying tactics would help secure a Confederate victory at the First Battle of Bull Run near Manassas, while our force was benignly encamped at Harper's Ferry.

  We, of course, knew nothing of the tactics. We were just three boys exhilarated by our first encounter with Rebel troops who fled before us.

  "These Rebs are just gonna wear us out chasin' 'em," Johnny said as he moved through the tree line, his rifle at port arms.

  "Maybe that's their victory plan," Abel said. "Just get us so damn tired chasin' their asses that we up an' quit an' head on home."

  Before I could add my own comment to the mix a minie ball struck a tree inches from Abel's head and we all hit the ground.

  Abel spit dirt out of his mouth. "Sumbitch, I think they heard what I said."

  A sergeant crawled up beside us. "There's a Rebel company massing behind that hedgerow over yonder. I expect they'll be charging us, so get yourselves ready. Check your loads and fix bayonets."

  We had been issued muzzle-loading Springfield muskets, with the promise that they'd soon be replaced with breech-loading Spencer carbines. Our cap-and-ball sidearms were a hodgepodge of varying calibers. Mine was a six-shot .36-caliber Navy Colt, while Abel and Johnny carried the heavier .44-caliber 1860 Colts. In short, we had gotten whatever the quartermaster had at that given moment, and ammunition for all weapons was severely limited.

  I rolled over on my back and fixed my bayonet to my Springfield, then checked to make sure my Colt revolver was fully loaded. I glanced over at Johnny and Abel and they each looked as fearful as I felt. Tremors moved along my legs and arms and I rolled over on my stomach and tried to ignore it.

  The reason Vermonters had been seconded to General Patterson's division as sharpshooters was our demonstrated ability as marksmen. Almost every boy in Vermont grows up hunting deer, which is a mainstay of our winter meat, and as such we could usually be counted on to hit what we aimed at. Of course the deer we hunted didn't charge us in force, or shoot back, and combined with the trembling in my arms, I wasn't certain how all that would affect the accuracy of my aim.

  The Rebel attack came without warning, as several hundred surged out into the small meadow that separated us, screaming like wild men when they moved into the open ground. Only fifty of us had set off into the tree line to flush out Rebel forces, but now fire erupted on both of our flanks and I realized that more troops had been brought up out of our sight.

  I fired my first shot of the war and missed my target. Rolling over on my back I quickly began to reload. As I did I heard the concussion of artillery in the rear, and when I looked back the meadow erupted with three successive blasts as twelve-pound howitzer rounds, loaded with grapeshot, sliced into the advancing Rebs like a scythe. The howitzers were devastating at 250 yards or less, the favored grapeshot having the same effect as a giant scattergun.

  I watched in disbelief as the Rebels who had not been hit rose to their feet and resumed their charge. They were no more than twenty-five yards from us now and I fired again, this time hitting my target in the chest and hurling him back. Fire from our line came from all sides now, howitzers and rifles alike, and within seconds where there had once been some two hundred Rebs, fewer that twenty-five remained.

  With no time to reload I drew my Navy Colt and shot another Reb as he reached our position. He screamed, spun in a half circle, and fell to the ground. Now a second Reb breached the line where Abel and Johnny lay. He swung his rifle butt at Abel as he and Johnny struggled to reload their Springfields, barely missing his head. Afraid to fire my pistol into our line I jumped on the Reb's back, pulled my knife from my belt, and plunged it into his chest. He let out a grunt that seemed to come from deep inside him, ending in a gurgling sound when blood bubbled up into his mouth, and as I fell to the ground on top of him I felt bile rising in my throat.

  "It's over. It's over."

  I heard Johnny's voice as I rolled off the dead Reb and looked back into the meadow. It was true. The Rebs were finished, the attacking force all dead or wounded. I rolled onto my back again and looked up through the trees. The sky was obscured by a haze of burnt gunpowder. It seemed that night was about to fall, but it was only ten o'clock in the morning. Ten in the morning, I thought, and I just killed three men.

  I looked back at Johnny. He was kneeling over a Reb he had killed with his bayonet, the blade still buried in the man's chest. Suddenly, he spun away and vomited.

  As I watched I heard Abel's voice next to me, although it sounded like it came from far off. "Oh God, it was so fast, so fast," he said. "I thought we was dead fer sure."

  Chapter Five

  Jerusalem's Landing, Vermont, 1865

  Mary Johnson was helping a customer when I got to the store so I busied myself among the dry goods. She was a tall, slender, rather plain-looking woman, perhaps twenty-six or twenty-seven years of age and easily thirty years younger than her husband. She wore a checked gingham dress and her dull brown hair was pulled back in a severe bun; her eyes were the washed-out blue of someone who had seen their share of pain, and as I rummaged among the winter wool shirts those eyes kept glancing back at me. When the customer she'd been waiting on paid for her goods and left I walked to the front counter.

  "Hello Mrs. Johnson," I began. "I wonder if I could speak to you for a moment."

  "Of course, Jubal, but please call me Mary, or you'll make me feel very old. Is it something about the shirts you were looking at?"

  "No, Mary. I want to talk to you about Johnny Harris."

  She shifted her weight, nervously. "What about Johnny?"

  "How well did you know him?" I asked.

  "Not well, really. Walter and I only married a short time ago. My first husband—he was killed during the first year of the war, you know—well, he and I lived in Richmond before he died, so I'm afraid I never met many people from Jerusalem's Landing."

  "Rebecca mentioned that Johnny came into the store quite a lot over the past few months, so I wondered if you or Mr. Johnson had seen or heard anything that might help me understand what happened."

  "Do you mean about who killed him?" Her eyes were wide and fearful, and she turned and quickly busied herself with things behind the counter. "Lord, I certainly never heard anyone threaten him, if that's what you mean."

  "Did you ever hear any talk about Johnny having trouble with anyone?"

  She shook her head, then seemed to realize that probably wasn't enough. "I work in the store in the mornings with my husband, but then I leave to take care of our home"—she raised her eyes to the upper floor where the Johnsons had their living quarters—"and my husband works here in the afternoons, so he'd probably hear more than I would, him being here a lot more than I am."

  I had a strong feeling that she didn't want to talk and I decided not to push her. "Is Mr. Johnson here?"

  "Yes, Walter's out in the barn unpacking some stock." She spoke the words with a clear sense of relief.

  I thanked her and went to the rear door that led
outside to the barn.

  * * *

  Despite the morning chill, Walter Johnson was sweating as he wrestled a crate from a stack near the barn's wide front door. He was short and stocky and his soft brown eyes and prominent chin made me feel I was again looking at Abel, grown older that he would ever be.

  "Good morning, Mr. Johnson."

  "Good morning, Jubal. Something I can do fer ya?"

  "I just wanted to talk to you about Johnny."

  He withdrew a red handkerchief from a rear pocket and mopped his brow. "Sad thing," he said, but there was little sadness in his voice. "You three boys grew up in this quiet valley and then that damnable war came along, and now you're the only one left." He glanced at my missing arm as he spoke the final words and I knew what he was thinking.

  "You believe the war had something ta do with Johnny's death?" I asked.

  He gave his head a small shake. "I don't know, Jubal. I jus' know Johnny weren't the same boy came back as left." He paused, his eyes growing sad. "But at least he come back. God, I miss that boy of mine, miss him every day."

  "I miss him too, Mr. Johnson."

  The man drew a deep breath as if it might drive all the sadness away. He seemed to get hold of himself and went on. "Anyways, what can I tell ya 'bout Johnny that ya don't already know?"

  "Well, sir, I know there's always a lot of talk going on when people get together in your store, and I was wondering if you overheard anything about Johnny, about any trouble he might have been having with anyone."

  Walter Johnson chuckled softly. "Yeah, we are a good ol' buncha gossips, ain't we?" He scratched his head. "I did hear that he was havin' some trouble with Rusty LeRoche, but then ever'body has trouble with Rusty one time or another, don't ya know?"

  "Did you hear what the trouble was about?"

  He offered up a small shrug. "Well, I heard he was up on Rusty's land, doin' some huntin' a few weeks back. Well, ya know, Rusty's got that young daughter who folks say has a bit of trouble keepin' her britches on, an' I guess Rusty caught Johnny on his land and figured the kind of huntin' he was doin' didn't require no gun. I guess Rusty made it pretty clear that he might do some huntin' hisself if he caught Johnny up there again." He shook his head. "From what I heard that didn't scare Johnny none, an' he was up there a couple more times when Rusty was out loggin' his timber."