The Living History Engineer's Memoirs

Part 3

I walked into the dimly lit room, set my sketch box, valise, and saddlebags on the floor, and shook McKay's big hand.  It was good to see my old teacher and commander again.  I took a chair next to the major's desk, and without invitation, reached for the whiskey bottle next to the lamp.  Pulling the cork with my teeth, I filled the two glasses on the desk.  Two glasses.  I guess he really did expect me to show up.  "Make yourself at home", McKay said in mock resignation to my having done just that.  I grinned back, took a cigar from the inside of my coat, bit off the end, and spit the tip into a waste basket near the desk.  Lighting it off the desk lamp, I settled back into the chair.  "Tell me what the job is," I said simply.  McKay took a sip of his whiskey and settled into his own chair.  "Richard", he began, "Only a damned fool could fail to see the war coming.  And I mean war.  To the finish.  The South doesn't have much in the way of an industrial capacity to produce munitions, but, they will start off any conflict fairly well armed, compliments of Secretary of War Davis. Davis?  I knew he was a slave owner.  Also a West Point graduate and a war hero in Mexico.  And a traitor?  "What has he done?"  McKay took another drink." As Secretary of War, Davis has quietly had large numbers of muskets transferred to southern arsenals along with substantial amounts of ammunition and percussion caps.  They now sit in these arsenals waiting to be confiscated with the first hint of succession.  It is also suspected he arranged for supplies to either be diverted or withheld from southern forts to diminish there ability to withstand any prolonged siege.  Oh, some will hold out.  Many are in locations where the Navy will be able to bring in what ever they need.  They will be valuable as enclaves from which we can raise some havoc of our own in the enemy's backyard sort of speak.  Enemy forces will have to be posted in an attempt to keep them bottled up.  But, the initial supply of muskets will keep them going for awhile.  Then they can, if their military position is favorable, contract and purchase arms from Europe, particularly, England.  "What stake has England got in this? I asked.  "Cotton, Richard, cotton", he replied, "The British textile industry needs it.  The majority of the world's supply comes from the United States, and they will do what they have too to keep it coming."  He took a long drink and emptied his glass.  I filled it again.  "Can the South raise an army, Major?"  "The feeling in the South is such that I fear hundreds of thousands will answer any call for succession.  And they will be led by experienced officers.  He leaned forward in his chair.  "Two months ago I made an inspection trip for the Colonel.  Essentially, I went to West Point to examine and make recommendations on changes to the engineering curriculum.  But, the mood at the Academy is the Army's in miniature. Cadet discussions on slavery have gone from words to fisticuffs.  The Corps of Cadets has split into factions of North and South.  No one can be neutral and survive there for very long.  You take one side or the other, or resign and go home.  Some promising young men have left rather then commit, and turn their backs on friends who believe in the other side".  As he leaned back into the stuffed chair, I could see the too plainly evident pain he felt for his beloved Academy.  The school where he hoped one day to teach engineering.  It's traditions of honor, duty and courage on the verge of crumbling.  The Army was his home and family. West Point was in essence his birthplace.  It had given him his place, and a purpose for existence.  And now, all of it was endangered.

"Major", I asked "How are we set for cartographers?"

The Major's mood did not change.  "Right now we have less than fifty officers in the Corps of Topographical Engineers.  Knowing most of them, I predict we may lose at least half a dozen to the South.  I don't know how the feelings run with the mechanics. The two corps don't talk much.  Too damn much rivalry stirred up by that windbag Totten.  But, even with them, the Treasury's Coast Survey, and the Navy's Depot of Charts and Instruments, not enough.  But, if we can find bright young men willing to learn mapping...," he let it trail off.  I knew what he meant.  With war came glory and promotion.  It would not be easy to convince a young officer to join a corps that gave limited chance of advancement due to it's small size and heavy work load, when a posting to the infantry or cavalry branches gave a chance of rapid promotion and a war record that could some day make you a general or a governor.  It was late, and we were both tired.  "Major, I'm going to have to find some lodging".  The Major seemed to brighten a bit. "Oh, yes, yes!  I arranged for your quarters.  Just down the street is a boarding house waiting for your arrival.  Get some rest, and come back at one tomorrow afternoon and we'll discuss the activation of the detachment".  I drained my glass, clenched the nearly finished cigar in my teeth, and left the Major's room carrying my belongings. 

Part 4

I stood outside the boarding house, bit the end off a cigar, and lit the end.  I had found after arriving that the place was virtually a bachelor officer's quarters with new, and veteran officers ranging in rank from second lieutenant to captain.  Which brought to mind that in our resent discussion, the Major had not only forgotten to give me my commission, but, I didn't even know what my rank was to be.  Not that it mattered much to me.  Promotion was not a priority.  Getting out of the coming war alive was my goal.  But, the shooting hadn't started yet, and even though I had just completed a long ocean voyage I wanted to be able to walk more then seventy-five feet without having to turn around and go back the way I had come.  I began to walk through the Capitol's streets. Though it was getting late, the city was still in motion with men and women on the walks and in carriages.  Sometimes mounted soldiers would go by and I was sure that soon I would know the locations of all the fortifications in the area and what regiments were at each.  Which put me of the mind to have another drink.  I halted a cab.

"Where to, Sir?" the driver asked.

"Take me somewhere soldiers drink."

The driver's face gave me a look that was a cross between fear and disbelief.

"Sir?" He seemed unsure.

"Just take me to the nearest gin mill."

"Yes, Sir."

It was obvious he was not used to driving his patrons into the part of the city I wanted to go, especially when he stopped and politely told me he was running late, had a sick child at home, and would the gentlemen mind walking the last few blocks.  He did give me directions to an establishment I would like, or so he claimed.  I have always despised cowardice of any kind, but as I walked through the seedy neighborhood I decided that perhaps this place was a bit beyond his limit of courage. But, not mine.  I found a likely looking place, and went in.  It was noisy, smoky, stunk like the cheap liquor it served, and reminded me of the last place I was thrown out of in St. Louis just before the exploration with McKay.  And it was half full of soldiers. A rank and file enlisted soldier's place.  Cheap liquor and friendly ladies.  I went up to the bar and ordered whiskey.  The suspicious bar keep looked my clothes up and down, which were much better then what most of the other civilians in the place had on.

"Don't worry about the clothes," I said sarcastically, "The underwear is dirty."

He sullenly poured me two fingers of rot gut whiskey.  I downed it in one gulp and asked for another.  I carried the refilled glass toward the back of the saloon on the off chance there might be a poker game in back.  Chance?  In a place like this it was a sure thing.  The back room consisted of two old. mismatched carpets strung on a length of wire to separate the players from the rest of the patrons in the main barroom. As I got closer to the flimsy partition, I could hear what was obviously trouble brewing in the "back room".  As I looked into the inner space through a gap in the carpets, I saw four men seated at a round table with a  half emptied whiskey bottle in the center.  Three were civilians, but, the fourth wore an army frock coat.  On the sleeves were the orange stripes of a sergeant major of dragoons, and the short, wiry man, was angry.

"You son of a bitch! you dealt from the bottom of the deck!" roared the sergeant major.

"No man calls me a cheat!" roared back the ugly civilian opposite him at the table.  As the two men argued, a tall, bearded player to the soldier's right reached into his boot, and began to pull out a long dagger.  I reached into the back of my coat, pulled the Bowie knife from my belt, and threw it into the table in front of the sergeant major.  As the bearded man stood with the dagger to thrust, the sergeant major jerked the Bowie from the table top and slashed upward.  The bearded man gasped loudly as the dagger, and three severed fingers, fell onto the table.  As the other two reached into their coats, I stepped into the poker room with my drawn revolver.  Without looking over his shoulder, the soldier handed me the Bowie , downed the whiskey left in his glass, swept the money from the table into his hat, picked up the bottle, and disappeared through the curtains.

"Don't even think about following me." I said flatly, then backed out into the main barroom in time to see the sergeant major leave through the front door.  I hurriedly crossed the bar and followed.  Once outside I heard  a familiar voice from long ago to my left.

"Over here!"

I followed the retreating figure down the dimly lit street to a darker alley.

"Damn, but you saved my bacon again, Meyer!  What the hell are you doing here?"

Sergeant Major Del Van Gorder and I had been corporals at Jefferson Barracks.  The maneuver we had just performed was nothing new.  A dozen times in some of St. Louis worst river front taverns and saloons we had done the same thing to "save his bacon".  It seemed that Del never could find an honest man to play poker with.  But then, Del 's luck at cards wasn't always attributed to skill either.  Del and I had fought drunks and Indians, and soldiered together.  Except he kept his stripes while I lost mine.

"Del, how have you managed to stay alive without me? I asked.

"Stay alive?  In spite of you I stayed alive at St. Louis !  If I hadn't gotten out the back of Lucy's when the fight started, I would have lost my stripes too."

Almost twenty years later the realization hit.

"You bastard!  You ran out on me!" I said.

"Yeh", he said chuckling. We both started to laugh and passed the bottle between us.  I took out two cigars, offered one to Del , and we walked out of the alley, passing the bottle and catching up.

"You a lieutenant!" said Del , "I never thought you would hold onto sergeant when that engineer gave it to you."

"I didn't even see a bottle of whiskey for nearly two years." I replied.

"Tell me, how did Lt. Standish die?  he asked,  "We got word, but nothing as to how." I told him about the run in with the Crows. They had gone on an unsuccessful raid against another tribe, and we were the next best thing to come along.

"One thing I can say about Standish, all the bullet holes were in the front of him." I said.

"He was bitter about being passed over for promotion.  If he were still alive he might make captain in the fight that's coming," said Del. We continued to talk about the old 2nd Dragoons.  O'Hara and Mitchell were killed by Indians.  Hanson died in Mexico .

"And Regimental Quartermaster Sergeant Malcolm now owns the finest saloon and cat house in St. Louis ," Del said with authority, "With special rates for his friends".

"Yes," I said fondly "Sam aways looked out for his friends."

"And guess who he has running the house?  Lucy."

"No joke?" I asked.

Del may have had undependable honesty in a card game, but he would never lie.

"Wouldn't be surprised if he joined up again when the shooting starts. That domestic life can get boring," he said shaking his head.  "Rumor has it that within a year, all the dragoon regiments will be redesignated cavalry, but it's all horse-soldiering to me." The glow in the Eastern sky told us we had best be about our own business.  Del had to roust up his regiment, I had to get some sleep so I could report to the major that afternoon.

"Stop by the regiment some time, old Crenshaw is first sergeant of H troop now," Del told me, "Three old corporals could have quite a time together, LIEUTENANT."

"Don't make it sound worse then it is," I said.

"Good to see you again, Dick."

"Same here, Del."

The Sergeant Major walked off to his regiment.  And I made my way back to my lodgings as the sky brightened

Part 5

The streets were already busy as I climbed the steps of my boarding house, opened the door, and stepped inside.  I was met at the stairway to my room by the landlord, who handed me a packet.  He said a messenger had delivered it shortly after I had left the previous evening.  I thanked him, and tiredly climbed the stairs holding the packet.  I was getting too old for this kind of carousing.  But, it was the most fun I had had in years.  Upon entering my room, I hung my coat on the hook behind the door, pulled the Colt and Bowie from my belt and placed them on the small desk, then sat on the bed to pull off my boots. I then turn my attention to the packet which I was sure came from the Major.  I broke the wafer holding it, and unrolled a beautifully written commission for a Brevet-First Lieutenant in the Corps of Topographical Engineers that had my named written on it in the Major's bold hand. First Lieutenant.  That was more then I had expected.  Not that it made any difference with pay.  All lieutenants, first or second, brevet or confirmed, received the same pay.  The first increase wouldn't come until an officer made the rank of captain.  And McKay, holding a brevet-majority, was still a permanent captain and would draw his pay as such while doing a major's duties and  responsibilities.  The Army knew how to get the most out of its officers while avoiding paying them what they were really worth.  Why the hell McKay stayed in the Army working for so little when he could have gotten much more working for the railroads was beyond my reasoning.  I had brought along a substantial draft from my bank in Sacramento for uniforms and expenses.  Money was not a problem.  But he was expected to supply his needs and do the entertaining that went along with his commissioned rank.  Enlisted ranks did the physically dirty jobs, but officer politics could be much dirtier.  I had heard gossip from one of the California posts of an infantry captain named Grant who was rumored to have been forced out of the Army for drinking, while others defended him and said the charges were brought about by an engineer that he had argued with.  It all depended on who the seniors officers believed. Or, who they didn't feel threatened by.

"Maybe someday I'll be a major," I told myself with a chuckle.  Fat chance of that.  I would not want the pressure the Major would be under in a few months.  I turned my attention to the message that had come in the packet.  It was short and told me where I could find a tailor for a "proper" uniform.  He obviously distrusted my judgement in attire.  And he was right.  I didn't have any idea what an officer's clothing needs were.  I would need a lot of guidance to get around this Army and not embarrass McKay or the Colonel.  Placing the commission and the message on the desk, I undressed and got into bed, hoping that the few hours of sleep I would get would be enough to get me through the afternoon's session with the Major.

I arrived at the Major's rooms that afternoon and he immediately briefed me on the detachment.  Robert Stacy, now brevet-captain and a builder of lighthouses and another of the old Red River hands, would be coming on board as adjutant and would be back in a few days.  Wayne LeFleur, another Red River man, had accepted a second lieutenant's commission and was coming up from Texas .  The Major had recruited one questionable group by Army standards.  But, they would be stuck with us until the end of the war as things turned out.

"Now, Richard," McKay said, it seemed with more resignation then warranted, "Here is a copy of U. S. Army Regulations." He handed me a thick volume.  "Please familiarize yourself with it." I stared at the book with obvious distaste, which the Major was quick to notice and probably expected.

"Richard," he said, "It will likely make your time in the Army go more pleasantly, and God only knows I'll sleep better!"

I accepted the volume and the challenge.

"Now," said the Major seriously, "I need this assignment done immediately."

He pulled two maps from those rolled up on his desk and had me roll them out on the floor.  Both read " Commonwealth of Virginia " in the marginal information, but, while they were both of the same area one appeared to be an updated map dated 1859, while the other was dated 1827 and appeared to be the original map.

"I want you to ride into Virginia and check the accuracy of this map for military purposes.  When the war starts the Army of the Potomac 's area of initial operations will be in Virginia.  Especially in the tide water areas we have got to know where an army can, and cannot, travel.  Draw your supplies and equipment from the Topog Drafting Room.  Take whatever you need.  Go in civilian clothes, leave your commission with me."

He hand me a stuffed envelope.

"In that envelope you have a contract signed by a Richmond surveying firm.  It identifies you and states that you have been hired to survey some land claims and boundaries in Virginia .  It will provide you with a cover story.  One thing we don't want is Southern sympathizers knowing a Federal engineer is at work in a slave state.  They would kill you." He stated simply.

"You mean they'd try," I said.

The Major grinned.

"That's why I'm sending you. I want you back in six weeks. Do not attempt to contact me for any reason.  Make it thorough.  You leave day after tomorrow."

That afternoon I visited the address of the Georgetown tailor to be fitted for uniforms.  The next day I arrived early at the Drafting Office and requisitioned compass, transit, pencils, paper, crayons and everything else needed.  Once back in my room, I carefully inspected each item to remove or cover any marks that would designate it as Federal property.  I then visited the livery and obtained a saddle horse and two pack animals for my gear.  Up long before sunrise the next day, I was riding up the Northern bank of the Potomac River .  I had planned to cross into Virginia at Harper's Ferry rather then from Washington City .  People from both factions were already watching for anything that might look out of the ordinary, and a surveyor with load of gear coming out of the Capitol might arouse suspicion.  For the next six weeks I would be on my own.  And for my first Army assignment, I couldn't complain.

Part 6

The summer of 1860 seemed to pass into autumn swiftly, almost with an urgency.  The unrest in the slave owning states increased with every new day.  After spending six weeks in Virginia the future looked blacker than before.  The population was gearing up for the presidential elections and the candidate of the new Republican party, Abraham Lincoln, was anti-slavery.  If he took the election the southern states would react.  Everyone knew how.  Few wanted to face it.  I had gotten back to Washington City , again taking a route that was not directly to the Capitol.  I re-crossed the Potomac at Harper's Ferry and took a circular route through Maryland and approached from the Baltimore side. My report for the Major would not be well received.  But, the truth can be hard to swallow.  It was late afternoon on an early fall day when I arrived at Willard's.  The Major had turned his hotel rooms into his office and headquarters for the detachment, but, had kept it so low key that except for the messengers that came and went several times a day to bring reports to Colonel Abert, everything seemed nondescript.  I knocked, entered at his acknowledgement, and in a few minutes gave him a summary of my findings.  The Major leaned forward in his chair to study the maps and my list of observations, then slowly shook his head. "I had hoped it wouldn't be that serious," he said with concern, "Even the 1859 update?"

I opened the window to let the smoke out, and lighted a cigar.

"Major, if it wasn't for the fact it would alert Virginia to what we've been doing I'd tell'em about it so they could prosecute the man for fraud."  I took a long draw on the cigar and exhaled the smoke,  "The map, even the revision, is seriously inaccurate.  Rivers in the wrong places,  bridges mislabeled, heights inaccurate.  Square miles of marshes along the coast incorrectly plotted or not on the map at all, passes through the mountains that are actually box canyons," I shook my head, "It's all in the report, Major."

I sat down in a chair next to the Major's desk, and grabbed the bottled of good bonded whiskey the Major always had on hand.  But, as I broke the seal, pulled the cork and filled my glass, he didn't seem to noticed.  He was reading my report and appeared to focus on nothing else.  I puffed my cigar and sipped my whiskey.  I was crushing the stub of my smoke against the outside of the window sill when the Major finally eased back from the desk and spoke.

"Virginia is probably the best mapped of all the states south of Washington , and by your report these maps are useless for military operations," he said, "Or anything else for that matter.  I will brief Colonel Abert on your findings.  Get yourself a uniform, they should be ready at your tailor.  Get some rest, too.  Fine work, Lieutenant, fine work."

I thanked the Major, and left him with his thoughts.  Reading my report seemed to sober him.  I understood why.  The Army of the Potomac would fight in Virginia , and without an accurate map a commander would stumble into one unforgiving terrain feature after another.  The man with the knowledge of the land had the key.  When I returned from Georgetown later that evening, and the full fatigue of the past six weeks sunk in. I was dead tired.  Some nights I had been lucky enough to sleep in small hotels or inns.  But, many more I had slept in the hills or marshes I was investigating so as to be ready at first light to measure, map and survey.  I had only completed a small part of the map, but enough to expose it's serious flaws.  The weeks past, the weather began to cool, and I worked under the Major's orders in the Mapping Office of the Army of the Potomac .  I again was working with Robert Stacy who I had not seen since our Red River days several years earlier.  A brevet-captain now, and our adjutant.   He handle the Army bureaucracy like he was born into it.  The clarity of his reports gave the senior officers fewer reasons to question our operations or inspect what we did.  The Major had fewer questions to answer, and the Colonel could devote his time to keeping General Totten out of the picture.  The gloom that had settled over the Major with my report had lifted as the detachment came together and we prepared for what lay ahead.  Each night I would return to my boarding house with extra work that I would complete and return to the mapping office the next morning.  So far, military life was not intolerable.  The Major was the buffer between the senior officers and the captains and lieutenants, but even junior officers eventually must,---socialize.

I sat in the cab next to Major McKay in my new dress uniform feeling like a circus clown.  I wore a long frock coat, and upon the shoulders were a pair of epaulettes to designate my rank and branch.  The epaulettes had a black strap, at the end of which was a brass crescent that nearly encircled a gold embroidered shield and the metallic silver letters "T. E.".  From underneath the crescent hung gold bullion.  The dress hat on my head was a heavy felt monstrosity that had one side of the brim tuned up and secured with a brass pin.  But, the ostrich plume sticking out from behind the turned up brim was, to me, ridiculous. The Major enjoyed every bit of my discomfiture.  I'd rather have him screaming at me while I had a hangover.

"Major," I asked, " Is it really necessary for me to go to this fandango?"

"I explained before, Richard," he said in a patronizing tone, "It is only proper that a commander introduce his junior officers into the social circles that could lead to advancement."

"Horseshit."

The Major's booming laugh even startled the horses.

Part 7

The cab stopped in front of a large mansion that rivaled Colonel Abert's.  For a large man, the Major alighted from the rig with ease in spite of his heavy cape and sword.  As for myself, I caught the blasted sword on the door jam of the cab and nearly fell headlong onto the sidewalk in front of two captains of the corps of engineers, who chuckled and my clumsiness.  My cold stare cause them both to stop laughing.  They took to the steps of the large house and as the orderly outside opened the large red painted door, they stepped inside with apparent haste.  The Major was enjoying every minute.

"I trust Major, that the second it is proper for me to leave you will let me know so I can get the hell out of here?" I inquired.

"But of course, Lieutenant." In a pig's eye.

"Richard," McKay spoke seriously, "I know you are a bit out of your element here, but, please remember the General is looking for any chance to discredit the Topogs and the Colonel in particular.  The General's staff knows who you are and may try to provoke an incident at this party.  Be on your best behavior.  I know a courts-martial doesn't scare you, so I'm asking as a friend."

He could really fight dirty.

The orderly opened the door and we stepped into a well lighted foyer. On each side was a long table on which were lined a row of swords.  One table for majors and up, the other for the junior officers.  Removing my white gloves, I dropped them into my hat before handing it to a corporal standing behind the junior's table.  The well dressed NCO then handed me a small wooden chip with which I could claim my things when I left.  I unhooked my sword and aligned it on the table with the others.  The Major and I then walked down the short hallway and entered a large, richly furnished room filled with officers of all ranks and branches. There was the blue trouser stripe of the infantry, yellow of cavalry, red of artillery, and the orange of the dragoons and emerald green of the mounted rifles, both of which would be eventually redesignated cavalry.  Of course, there was the gold stripe of both engineer corps. And as the pecking order went, junior officers stayed distant from the most senior officers.  The separate branches also appeared to segregate into their respective branches.  This was the old school network.  I didn't like it, but it did work for them.  I just wasn't one of them.  I was glad to see Captain Stacy was already there, and as the Major was making small talk with several senior officers, I slipped away to see him.

"Lovely party," I said sarcastically.

"I'm glad to see you're enjoying yourself, Dick."  He said with a laugh.

"I did promise the Major to behave.  Do they serve whiskey at these affairs?"

"Yes, but not in amounts you would consider substantial."

"Pity.

I remained basically silent as we waited to be called for dinner as the talk in many cases consisted of the Capitol's gossip of which I cared little about.  Captain Stacy on the other hand, engaged in the conversation as easily as he did the adjutant's duties, and the other officers were surprised to find he was not an academy graduate.  I tended to stick out in spite of our identical uniforms, and I noticed that the captains I had encountered prior to entering the General's residence appeared to snicker at my obvious ill-at-ease.  A parade-field perfect sergeant announced that dinner was served and we entered the large for a dining room that was illuminated by a large crystal chandelier and a half dozen candelabras set at precise interval along the center of the table.  I wondered if this was the room where the General might eat his bacon and mush for breakfast.  Being one of the more junior officers, my place was one of the farthest from the head of the table were General Totten sat as if holding court.  To his right sat a balding coast artillery colonel with saggy jowls that reminded me of a hound my father owned when I was a boy.  That damn hound bit me more then once. To his left was Colonel Abert.  Halfway down the table from the Colonel was the Major who also was right at home with the social gathering chatter.  He looked upon it as a necessary evil.  I imagine he was right.  You had to keep these people in Washington friendly if you wanted anything done.  And even that didn't always work.  Major McKay was getting all the support from the Colonel you could ask for as far as drafting supplies went, the problem was transportation.  Colonel Abert was having trouble getting wagons for the detachment and the Major suspected Totten had something to do with it.  But of course, trying to prove it was not possible.  The roast beef was rare and tasty, only no where near the amount I would consider feeding to a hungry working man.

The two mechanic captains I had "met" seemed quite absorbed with looking at me, whispering to each other, and them softly laughing about what ever their private joke was about, include the taller man's obvious miming of removing a pair of imaginary spectacles from his nose.  I had chosen to wear my own continuously as my curiosity was greater then my vanity.  I could also shot better.  I sipped my Madeira and pretended not to notice.  Following the meal, the sergeant announced brandy and cigars in the salon.  I hoped the good General was more generous with his brandy then he was with his food.  As we followed the senior officers into the smaller room, we were met by waiters carrying trays.  As each group stopped and formed, a waiter would come by with a tray of refreshments.  I couldn't help but observe while the serving trays were all silver, the vessels containing the junior officers brandy were glass, while Majors and above drank from crystal.  Again with the small talk.  It would never end.  Finally another waiter came carrying a large tray on which was a box of cigars, a cutter, a small plate for the cigar tips, and a lighted candle.  As I selected a cigar I could see the tall mechanic captain staring at me from another group across the room. Stifling the urge to bite the end with my teeth, I neatly snipped the end with the cutter and light the end off the candle with one long draw. I didn't like that man.

After being introduced to several of his old friends, the Major informed me I could leave if I wished.

"And, thank you, Richard," he said.

"It wasn't easy," I said.

He just smiled and returned to his friends. I walked to table holding the swords and immediately saw an empty space where I knew mine had been.  I also saw a sword leaning against the wall by the door.  The corporal behind the table nervously took my chip and returned a few moments later with my hat, cloak, and gloves.  As he handed them to me, his eyes gave a quick glance down the hall.  His signal caused me to see the tall engineer officer standing at the doorway of the salon.  I dressed, picked up the sword, and thanked the corporal.  The captains smirk never wavered.  Once outside the door I withdrew the sword from the scabbard.  Brandy dripped from the blade.  The rest I poured from the scabbard.  What a childish prank.  That sort of thing was beneath an officer of his rank.  Some wet-eared cadet on the Hudson might do this, but, what the hell.  I took out a cigar, bit the end off, spit the tip against the door, and waited.  When the captain stepped out of the door I tapped him on the shoulder.

"Yes?" he said, not immediately recognizing me in the dim light.  I drew his sword out of scabbard, stuck it into the leaf pattern wrought iron around the flower bed, and snapped the blade off with one quick jerk.  I tossed the hilt with it's remaining three inches of blade into the startled captain's fumbling hands, and walked back to my boarding house.

When I arrived I found I had a visitor.

"Hello, Lieutenant!" It was Del.

"Evening, Sergeant Major."

"Where have you been?"

"Officer's party.  I need to drink with a soldier, I've got a bottle upstairs, come on up," I said.

We climbed the stairs with Del chattering on about nothing in particular, but, he never chattered about nothing.  Once in my quarters we sat and I poured us each a full glass.

"So, what brings you around here Del ?"

"I guess I just needed to talk to someone who could understand,"  he said. He was leading up to something.

"It's this damn reorganization," he began, "The dragoons and mounted rifles are all going to redesignated cavalry in a few months and it's just going to change everything."

"Why? One of the reasons for it is because the dragoons and cavalry have adapted similar tactics, you can't hardly tell them apart.  And with more regiments all the same the promotion for officers will be better." "Doesn't do me any good, I'm already Sergeant Major." I began to suspect that while promotion was not his concern, keeping sergeant major was.

"And another thing," he went on, "You know how spit and polish those band box cavalry regiments are.  We'd be cleaning and polishing tack all day when we should be soldiering.  I should be doing something more worthwhile then organizing dress parades and retreat."

Del was a good field soldier in spite of a disciplinary record that Abe Lincoln couldn't have defended in court.  Even more infamous was his unrecorded offences.  Out on the isolated Western posts, many a young troop officer would neglect his spouse's needs while seeking duties that would advance his career in his chosen profession.  Del , was known for being very attentive to those needs.

"All right, Del , what's her husband's rank?" I asked around my cigar.

"Brigadier General."

I almost bit the end off my cigar.

"Brigadier General!"

"It's only a brevet," he said easily," his permanent rank is only colonel."

The window was open, I could say he tripped. " Del , I am not going to jeopardized this detachment, or betray the trust that the Major has in---,"

I sat back in my chair and gazed at the golden opportunity the sergeant major's love life had placed before me.  The answer to a lot of our supply problems sat before me.  Not only that.  Del had grown up in the mountainous, Western portion of Virginia , he knew the land.  At Jefferson Barracks he would describe entire areas in detail from his boyhood.  And nothing much could have changed since then.  We needed the Sergeant Major.

"Del," I began, "Perhaps we can help each other."

It was the Sergeant Major's turn to squirm. "What?" he asked.

"The detachment needs wagons..,"

"Ask the quartermasters,"  he said.

"We're having trouble getting them.  But, I know you can.  You get me three wagons, and I'll speak t the Major about getting you assigned to the detachment."

Del smiled. "Sure thing, Dick! When do you need 'em?"

"Tomorrow"

"What!  Even I can't get wagons that fast!" he protested.

"The faster those wagons show up, the faster you'll be out of that future cavalry regiment with all those stripes.  Now, I want them in the livery down the street by noon tomorrow," I told him.

  Noon ! who do you think I am, God's other son?"

"I always took you for the Devil's spawn.  And when you get them, print "U. S. Corps of Topographical Engineers" on the sides.  And if you steal them from the Army, paint the whole damn wagon."

"But how do you expect me to get three wagons by noon tomorrow," he continued to protest.

"You've got about six hours of darkness left," I said, "You'll need all of it."

Del took a long drink of his whiskey.  Then he began to smile.

"You gonna need tack?" he asked." And grease, tires, everything." I replied.

He drained his glass with the next gulp.

"You'll have'em Lieutenant!" he said happily, and rose quickly from his chair.

"See you at the livery at noon tomorrow."

With that he was out the door.  I bit the end off another cigar and lit it from the lamp.

Part 8

I got up from my chair and took off my frock coat, hanging it in the wardrobe at the other side of the room, glad to be out of it.  But, as I hung it up, I noticed the coat I wore each day to the Mapping Office. It was of the same cut, but, rather than the gaudy epaulettes on the shoulders it had smaller shoulder straps with an embroidered gold bar at each end on a black background.  I wore this coat with a comfortable kepi, or forage cap as some called it.  I thought it was a smart uniform, though the long coat would be impractical for field service. At least to my way of thinking.  But, I did like the way it fit and looked.  I guess you could call it pride.  Maybe I was getting used to this Army.  Being an officer was different from my time in the ranks, though it did have it's own problems like tonight's dinner.  Not enough food or whiskey.  I hoped I never became that much of an officer.  I shut the wardrobe door and went to the stove in the corner of the room that my landlord had considerately fired prior to my return.  I didn't need to stoke anymore coal from the shuttle as it warmed the room nicely.  The feeling that makes you think everything is well with the world even when you know it isn't.  My thoughts went to my wife in Sacramento.  I really hadn't thought much about her these past few months.  Probably because of all the work the Major had for me.  I should make time to write, let her know all was well.  A knock at the door stole my attention, and I instinctively went to the table for my revolver.  Old habits are hard to break.  Especially when they have kept you alive for 35 years.

"Who is it?" I asked.

"Message from Major McKay, Sir," came the answer.  I recognized the voice of a private who was assigned as an orderly in the Mapping Room. I crossed my small room and opened the door to find the soldier bundled in a greatcoat, and holding a folded parchment sealed with wax.  I took the paper he handed me, broke the seal, and took it into the room to read it by the light of my desk lamp.  After reading it I returned to the door where the soldier waited.

"Thank you," I said, "My compliments to the Major."

The man saluted and then walked off down the hallway as I closed my door.  I walked back to the desk and sat down, re-reading the message. Well, the match was on the fuse.  South Carolina had broken from the Union .  The garrison at Charleston had abandoned Fort Moultrie on Sullivan's Island and moved to the incomplete Fort Sumter in the middle of the harbor.  I wondered if anyone had ordered to spike the guns.  I opened a large trunk at the foot of my bed and searched through the maps I had requisitioned from the Coastal Survey and the Navy's Office of Maps and Charts.  I found the one of Charleston 's harbor, and unrolled it on the sketch table I used for my work.  As I suspected, Fort Sumter as in easy artillery range of the shore and neighboring islands.  But, that's how defenses were laid out to provide supporting fire for each other. No one considered any fort being captured ad used against the other defenses.  That wasn't supposed to happen.  But, it did this time. Thanks to Jeff Davis and Secretary of War Floyd the Southern garrisons were small.  Sumter had less than 130 men.  South Carolina surely had Fort Moultrie now.  And if the guns weren't put out of action before abandonment . . .

Resupply could be by ship if the gunners ashore let it happen, and if President Buchanan even ordered it.  Buchanan did not want to shoulder the blame for causing a rebellion.  No one in the Army believed he would do anything.  He'd sit tight and wait for Lincoln's inauguration to start it.  Following South Carolina's lead the states in the deep South would secede now, Florida, Alabama, Mississippi and Texas.  Shame about Texas.  And the Rangers.  But a serious concern were the border states like Maryland.  Even Delaware had a large slave population.  But that wasn't my job to worry about those things.  I would be concerned making maps.  It wouldn't be difficult convincing the Major we needed VanGorder now, we needed someone with knowledge of the land.  I rolled the map, placed it back in the trunk and closed the lid.  I sat back and refilled my glass.

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