ALL THAT'S LEFT OF ME

By Jo Anzalone

Chapter 2:

The day was warm, the sky blue, their bellies full, the band playing, the citizens all yelling and cheering as they marched east out of Louisville toward the railroad at Macon. Jonathon couldn't help himself. He grinned as he marched, his heart swelling fit to burst.  War. And he was a part of it.

The day only got better.  A mere half mile out of town they came upon a large group of wagons, carriages, all sorts of vehicles waiting for them.  The city had come out to take the men to the railroad depot.  The order came to break ranks and use the available conveyances for transport. 

Then the jockeying for position came, one wagon trying to push ahead of others, accompanied

by wild yells and laughter.  The lead wagon hit a rock, a wheel breaking in half, tipping it over

enough for the five men in it to spill out, rolling, laughing, cursing as they did. 

"Gotta do better than that, Jimmie!" Jonathon called out as the wagon he was riding in took

the lead.  He leaned back, shaking his head, chuckling with pleasure.

That night they camped near where Wiley Coleman and Richard Willis lived and both men

invited as many as could fit to partake of their hospitality.  Jonathon stayed out by a campfire,

though.  Like a number of his friends in the company, he enjoyed singing and a whole group of

them went through every song any one of them could think of.  The night was filled with a sense

of camaraderie and excited expectation. Briefly he closed his eyes, listening to the camp sounds.

Yes, this was good.  There was nothing in him that was not glad to be a part of this.

The next day, about ten miles out from Macon, they all stopped at a church with water nearby

and a beautiful shady grove.  The wagon teams were pulled into the shade to rest and the men

given an hour or two to refresh themselves. 

Harrison Barron and Joe Beard were gathering men for wrestling matches and soon shirts

were off and bodies slick with sweat as a dozen young soldiers loudly engaged in the sport of it.

Nearby, others were seriously testing who could jump the furthest.

"Hey, Johnnie!' Jimmie Ellis called. "Wanna join the footrace?"

Jonathon had been walking alongside the water, idly skipping flat stones, and turned, looking at

his friend. "You runnin'?"  he called back with a grin.

"You scairt to find out?"

Jonathon laughed.  "You ain't beat me yet, James H. Ellis."

"Always a first time, JohnnieBoy. Always a first time."

"Not today, Jimmie. I got wings on my feet today."

"Yeah, I hear ya.  You gonna need them things to outrun the Yankee bullets."

Jonathon punched Jimmie lightly on his arm. "You talkin' or you runnin'?"

"You two gonna race?" John Gideon trotted up with three more men.

"If Jimmie ever stops talkin' long enough, we plan to," Jonathon said.

The six young soldiers lined up at the edge of the grove, eyeing the mutually-decided-upon

finish line of a fallen tree some distance across a large, flat meadow.  John Paul Hopping,

a Louisville druggist who was the same age as Jonathon, signaled the start and they were off.

A group of other soldiers had formed along the sidelines to watch and began cheering their

favorites on.

Jonathon wasn't aware of them as he ran, not even of the other five racers.  As always, there

was this intense sense of self that filled him in the running, something that expanded through

him with a near ecstasy, the pounding of each footfall like a drumbeat, urging him on more surely than the yell of any watcher. 

With a wild whoop, he dove over the log, turned a somersault, came up on his feet, hopped

back and was sitting on the fallen tree as the other five panted up.

"Dammit, Johnnie!" Jimmie puffed. "It ain't no fun racin' you."

Jonathon lifted his left foot, tapping his heel firmly. "Wings, JimmieBoy. I told you. Wings."

The railroad was a mile west of Macon and when they arrived around 3 in the afternoon, they

stacked arms to wait for the train.  Captain Bradley ordered them to form in order to march

through the town and, once again, the band was playing and the citizens turned out to welcome

them.  They were all fed dinner in town then marched back to the depot, arriving there only

minutes before the train. It was dusk as they boarded and the townspeople had come out with

them to the depot, seeing them off with cheering. 

"This here goin' off to war ain't half bad," Jimmie cracked, waving out the window to a particularly fine-looking young lady.  "Ain't half bad at all."

From Macon, the train headed due north, traveling all night, making a few stops from time to

time, until it arrived at Corinth, just a little south of the border with Tennessee, at sunrise on

the 15th.  Jonathon had had his hat pulled down over his eyes and, pushing it up, blinked

sleepily as the order came to form two lines near the railroad cars. He'd never seen so many soldiers all in one place. Captain Bradley managed to get a place for his men at the Methodist Church for the night.  The morning of the 16th, they went out into an old field and set up tents for the next two days. 

Spring didn't seem as far along up there and when the Corinth merchants offered the loan of

overcoats, they were accepted with much gratitude.  Food was plentiful enough and not too

much happened in Corinth but the official mustering in on the 16th, some drilling,  and a dress parade. Their camp was moved up into the woods on the third day. Colonel William Barksdale assumed command of the regiment on the 23rd. After nine days in Corinth, the men were pleased to hear they'd be leaving for Union City, up in the northwestern corner of Tennessee.

Once again Jonathon found himself on a train full of soldiers. He was already further from home

than he'd ever been and heading steadily further. It was 9 in the morning when the train pulled

out of Corinth. Jimmie was more interested in playing cards with the fellow across from him,

but Jonathon stared out the window, surprised to see more cotton growing up here than he'd

expected. 

Their train pulled into the depot of Jackson, Tennessee at 8 that evening and the soldiers were

told sleeping accommodations would be every man for himself.  Jonathon looked quickly around,

noticing a decent-looking stable down the street. Poking Jimmie on the shoulder, he said, "Look,

there."  Already several groups of young men were heading toward it.

"You got them wings on, Johnnie?" Jimmie grinned.

"Never take 'em off," Jonathon replied, half-way into a sprint as the words left his lips.

With Jimmie following closely in his wake, Jonathon raced by the men walking at a leisurely

pace, pulling himself up to a halt before a highly-whiskered, middle-aged man standing near

the stable's entrance.

"You the owner of this establishment?" Jonathon asked, smiling, ignoring the shouts of the men

he'd passed.

"What's it ter ya?"

"Well, sir, that whole trainload of soldiers is headin' off to fight for you an' some of us are

wonderin' if you'd be right kindly enough to let us bunk for the night in your loft."

The older man eyed Jonathon and Jimmie, then looked past them at the others coming down

the street.  "Not all'n you. Twenty at most. An' no smokin' in the hay."

"Mighty obliged, sir," Jonathon said, stepping quickly toward the ladder.  He and Jimmie

had barely chosen sites to bed down when the loud voices of about thirty young men rose up

from just outside.

"I done tol' the feller in the loft twenty o' yer kin stay the night. Two's up. That leaves eighteen

more spots ter my addin'."

"Johnnie!" John Gideon called up. "I swear I'm gonna toss you out with the muckin'!"

Jonathon's laugh came out of the darkness. "You come up an' try it, Gideon!"

When John and seventeen others made it up the ladder, Jonathon and Jimmie already had

their bedrolls spread and were lying on their backs, arms folded behind their heads, grinning.

John kicked Jonathon's boot as he passed.

"You're damn lucky, Johnnie, I'm too tired to lick you tonight."

Jonathon made a little ooOOoo sound and John turned back but was pushed from behind by

other men, eager to find a place to stretch out.

The next morning all that was left as Jonathon and Jimmie walked alongside the train were

several boxcars, most of them already stuffed with men. They squeezed into one of them, barely

finding seats on the six-inch wide boards that were being used for the purpose. As the morning

wore on, the air inside the boxcar became almost suffocating and soldiers began using their

musket butts to knock planks off the sides of the cars to let air in.

At one in the afternoon the train pulled into Union City, men spilling quickly out of the boxcars.

Jonathon stood there a moment, eyes squinted, looking around, then undid the knot in his neckerchief and mopped his brow. 

"'Nother hour in that there oven," Jimmie commented with feeling, "an' we coulda been served

as dinner to th' regiment."

"Try not to smell yourself," Jonathon, grinned. "It ain't purty."

The Camp of Instruction, where Jonathon now found himself, was only five miles south of the

Kentucky line and sixteen miles east of the Mississippi River.  The men were set to clean off

the camp grounds, a half mile square being allotted for each one thousand men.  They set the

tents up in perfect, regular rows, and didn't have to sleep on the ground inside them as they

had plank flooring. Soon after the soldiers' arrival, small shanties began to spring up along

the railroad, selling sundries, cakes, even lemonade.

June 15, 1861

Dear Daddy, Mama, Billy, Lewis, and Little Sarah,

I am fine so do not worry about me. We have been in the Camp of Instruction  for some time now.

I got the extra pair of wool socks you sent, Mama, and I thank you for them. Though it is hot here in the days, it can be cool at night and they come in mighty useful.

Colonel Barksdale is an older man who seems to know his business and I feel a great respect

for his ability.  He is very strict with military law and all things having to do with our life here

at camp.  He says it is in order to make good soldiers out of us and I believe him on that.

We had plenty of fresh water at first, but with so many men here, it did not last long. Now we

are digging wells, but that does not seem to be enough, so often we walk about a mile to a nice

well that has plenty.  It is that or use the muddy water in camp and I am not much inclined to do that.

We are kept busy drilling and marching and in practice with our weapons. Every place we go

is at the double quick, or so it seems, so I am strong and healthy, though also tired at night.

I am eating well and getting better all the time at this business of soldiering.  I take my turn at

guard duty and find myself thinking fondly of all of you as I stand there in the night. Please know

my thoughts, indeed, are so often with you.  Surely there will be some action before long and I

will be able to come home again soon. Perry House doesn't write well and he asks me to see if you will tell his Daddy for him that he is all right and is glad to be doing his duty even though he misses

him and his Mama a lot.

I hope this letter finds all of you well and that the crop and animals are also fine.

With fondest regards,

Your son and brother, Jonathon McDaniel

"You tell your folks 'bout your cold, Johnnie?"

"It ain't that bad, Jimmie. You want me to tell them 'bout your...bowels?"

"You know blame well most of the camp's got some sort of grippe, Johnnie.  It's all this campin' out day after day, an' the food we got to eat."

"It ain't no nevermind for them to worry 'bout, Jimmie."

"Bet'cha didn't tell 'em nothin' 'bout our false alarm t'other night, neither."

"I thought about it but decided it wasn't worth the tellin'."

On June 6th the people of Tennessee were to ratify their state's ordinance of secession at the

ballot box and Colonel Barksdale decided to put out the rumor that Union troops were moving

toward the camp.  He mainly just wanted to test the grit of his troops.  About 11 that night a

sentinel challenged an imaginary being, probably a hog, and fired his rifle. The next post also

fired, the drum began to beat, and the men, armed for the first time with three cartridges,

formed battle line in the dark...waiting.  For an hour they waited tensely, clutching their

weapons, but when no enemy appeared they were ordered back, but told to keep their arms

ready. For nearly all of them it was their first taste of even the possibility of facing an enemy.

Thinking about it now as he held his letter, Jonathon recalled every moment of that long hour

waiting in the dark woods, not knowing when shooting would begin.  His hands on his rifle

were sweaty despite the cool air.  This was, he'd thought, the real thing, the reason why

they had all come.  Then...nothing.  There had been some grumbling, some sighs of relief, and

no one wanted to admit how scared they'd felt.  But Barksdale was right. Never again could his

regiment...for the first time...form a battle line, expecting opposing troops. 

On July 11th they boarded trains again, leaving the Camp of Instruction behind, heading for

Virginia, destined to arrive at the little town of Manassas Junction on the 20th.

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