Knights of the New Republic - A Victoria Revolutions multi-writer AAR

[cthulhu]

Welcome to the Knights of the New Republic, a multi-writer AAR which will feature the adventures and hardships of a fictional confederate unit - 1st Independent Virginia Mounted Rifles Company. This will be a role-playing game of sorts in the tradition of Lord Durham & Co’s legendary Free Company series. I will act as the game master and decide how my (future) game of Victoria Revolutions will affect the unit, when the time in the game catches up with this tale. Apart from the narrative style post, there will also be history books style posts describing the political and strategic situation of the Confederate States of America.

Comments from readers regarding the actual story are welcome in this thread. Contributors will discuss the project in the OOC* thread. Those of you who are interested to join or have other questions are welcome to post there too.

Singleton Mosby’s Introductionary post will appear soon. We hope you’ll enjoy this story.

Contributors and their Characters:

Jacko the Panda - Private Jacob Sytefroth
Sir Humphrey - 1st Lieutenant Nathan Bassett
Singleton Mosby – 2nd Lieutenant Singleton Mosby
Jape - Sergeant Jonah Appleton
Draco Rexus - Galen McHennessy
Anarhco Liberal - Corporal Jesse Rodriguez
HannibalBarca - Corporal William "Will" Barca
VILenin - Quartermaster Sergeant Josiah Beaumont
cthulhu - Captain Edmund Duke
Oranje Verzet - Corporal Sean Updike
Hajji Giray I
coz1
Alhazen - Private Solomon Brown
Brownbeard - Eugene Francois LeJeune
east_emnet - Private Daniel Hays

* Out Of Character

[Supreme Emporer]

What a brilliant idea for an AAR, and I'm quite glad to see some of the best on board. I shall follow this one for certain. Is it going to be according to historical fact or will there be twists?

[cthulhu]

Supreme Emporer: Glad you like the idea. And yeah, we have been fortunate to get a talented gang on board.

Expect twists...

[Singleton Mosby]

"Blazing fires in the devils forest"
Introduction

The Confederate forces in Kentucky and Tennessee had suffered a series of reverses, culminating in the loss of Nashville. The blow was severe: immense quantities of war material had fallen to the victor, together with all the important strategic points. General Johnston, the Confederate commander in the West, withdrew general Beauregard’s army to Corinth, northern Mississippi. Here he hoped to recruit and equip it as to enable it to assume the offensive and retake the lost territory.
The town of Corinth was a wretched place, the capital of a swamp. It was roughly two days march west of the Tennessee river, which ran here from the south to the north. It is navigable to this point, that is to say, to Pittsburg Landing, where the road from Corinth got to it after running through a thickly wooded country seamed with ravines and bayous. Here, in 1862 where some fields and a house or two.

It was at Pittsburg Landing that Grant established his army, with the river in his rear and two steamers as means of communication with the east side, wither General Buell with thirty thousand men was moving from Nashville to join him.
On the grey morning of the 6th of April, when Buell’s leading division was encamped ten miles upstream, Johnston, having moved out of Corinth two days before, fell upon Grant’s advance brigades and destroyed them. Grant was with Buell’s troops and hastened to the Landing in time to find his camps in the hands of the enemy and the remnants of his beaten army cooped up with an impassable river at their backs. The first day of the Battle of Shiloh had been an utter failure for the Union forces. Nevertheless, Johnston wasn’t able to finish the work he had begun in the morning and endeavoured so intensely throughout the day as he was wounded and incapacitated during the day only to succumb to his wound during the night.

The second day of the battle proved to be an intense battle in which none of the sides had a distinct advantage. The Confederates had won the field on the first day and thus their moral was boosted to a very high level after the series of failures they had suffered. But, they where, for the moment leaderless, unable to finish job started so well and as the dark fell in still very much disorganized from a several miles running battle.
The Union army, on the other side was able to strengthen their last remaining beachhead, defended tenaciously during the afternoon by a handful of regiments and some gunboats. Most of Buell’s forces arrived on the field of battle during the night, truly worn out from the exertions of the day but confident in their commander and their comrades.
After all of Buell’s men had been ferried across the Tennessee the scales of numbers was once more tipped in favour of Grant and thus the moral disadvantage of defeat and rout could be compensated, he would throw his men at the Confederates in the morning.
On the other side General Beauregard had taken over from his fallen and dying chief. His forces where fought to a standstill at the last remaining Union beachhead like a wave battering a rock. Nevertheless he was truly confident his men, after being rested and organized once more could dislodge Grant from his final position in the morning and drive his counterpart into the river.

Not all of Beauregard’s forces where as exhausted as the brigades which had fought so valiantly during the day. One fresh brigade and a few small detachments had arrived on the field during the afternoon unable to take part in the battle during the waning hours of the day. One of those detachment was the 1st Independent Virginia Mounted Rifles Company which had been recruited and formed by Captain Duke in August 1861on the Confederate victory surge after the battle of First Bull Run (July 21,st). They where directed by one of the most gifted Confederate cavalry commanders on the field, Colonel Nathan Bedford Forrest, to a position on the Confederate left from where they received orders for their future mission.

[coz1]

A good intro. And, poor Albert Sydney. He never does survive the day, does he? And the battle of Shiloh brings back memories from one of the first big battles of Into the West. Seems quite a long time ago, now.

Let's see some more.

[Anarhco Liberal]

Nathan Bedford Forrest as our commander.*does evil laugh* those yankees wil be toast.

[cthulhu]

Corinth, Mississippi
7th April, 1862



Edmund Duke, Captain of the 1st Independent Virginia Mounted Rifles Company, was a powerfully built man, with his rather long black hair combed back. He looked a bit older than his 32 years of age, and his strong jaw, the scar on his left cheek, which was an ever reminder of First Bull Run, the thick moustache, and the cold blue eyes, were features that very much impressed the ladies of his native Richmond. What impressed his fellow soldiers, were his ferocity on the battlefield, and his coolness under fire, which sometimes bordered on stupidity. Captain Duke and Second Lieutenant Singleton Mosby were standing with their mounts outside a modest town house that served as the temporary head quarters of Nathan Bedford Forrest. The men were busy speculating on what their unit’s orders would be when a party of officers exited the house. One of them, a 1st Lieutenant of the Cavalry walked up to Duke and Mosby.

“Captain Duke? Colonel Forrest will see you now. Right this way, sir.” Duke followed the man into a room in the back of the house. The room had been emptied from all but a table covered with maps and four crude wooden chairs. Behind the table, just below a painting of Jesus hanging on the wall, stood Colonel Nathan Bedford Forrest. The accompanying Lieutenant left the room at a nod from Forrest who then turned to Captain Duke. Both men were well-built, but Forrest was a head higher than the Captain, who felt nervous when the older man sized him up.

Nathan Bedford Forrest

Without a smile, Forrest said, “Captain, I’ve heard good things about you and your soldiers.”

“Thank you, sir. It’s an honor serving under you.”

“I assume you’re aware of the unfortunate developments at Shiloh, Captain?”

“I am, sir.” Duke scratched his moustache.

“The Yankees are more numerous than we anticipated and they’re advancing, if but slowly, as we speak. We have sustained atrocious losses in our attempt to push the enemy back into the river. I do not want to diminish the sacrifices of the common soldier, but the loss of General Johnston has seriously aggravated our situation. General Beauregard is a very capable replacement, but the loss of a leader of such a stature as Johnston’s is hard to replace over a night. General Beauregard has decided to withdraw to Corinth and halt the Yankees here.” Colonel Forrest flashed a wolfish smile, “It’s not really my nature to sit and wait for the enemy to make his next move, and although I’ve only had time for a brief conference with General Beauregard, I think chances are good that he will take kindly to my ideas. However, before anything can be decided, we will need information…how soon can your men be ready to move out, Captain?”

“They need a little rest…at first light tomorrow, sir.”

“Good, good. I want you to get to Murfreesboro as swiftly as possible and avoid contact with the enemy if possible.”

“Murfreesboro?” Duke was obviously bewildered.

Colonel Forrest smiled again, “Yes, Murfreesboro, Captain. After a day of rest there, I want you to scout the defenses of Nashville. Then you’ll return to me as fast as humanly possible. That is, when you’re confident that your report will paint an accurate picture of the Yankee presence there.”

Now both men smiled. “Yes, sir! Anything else, sir?”

“No, Captain. The rest of us will move up north within an hour, to keep those damned Yankees preoccupied while our boys retreat here. Good luck and God speed.”

“Thank you, sir!” They saluted and Duke marched out of the house. As he met Mosby’s gaze, he realized that the men would probably be disappointed. Most of them were eager to give the Yankees a good thrashing.

“So, are we moving out?” Mosby blurted out, unable to suppress his anticipation.

“We are…tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow? The Yankees’ll be here tomorrow.”

The Captain mounted his horse. “I doubt it, but we’re going for a trip to Murfreesboro, and then Nashville.”

“Nashville? Why?!”

Duke couldn’t help chuckling at the sight of Mosby’s disappointed face. “Well, Colonel Forrest didn’t state the reason for our little excursion, but I do believe it’s his intent, that if possible, to seize Nashville while the enemy is busy here, and then strike at his rear.”

“Well, I’ll be damned” Mosby slowly got up on his horse with a thoughtful expression. “So we’re going to scout the area around Nashville?”

“That’s right Lieutenant, and we have strict orders not to engage the enemy if we run into him…if we can avoid it. Let’s go.” The men rode back to the company’s camp just east outside of Corinth proper.

[Anarhco Liberal]

Nashville hopefully will fall.

[Alhazen]

Corinth, Mississippi
Evening of 7 April, 1862

*****

A black mood had descended upon private Solomon Brown. First and foremost, his horse had thrown a shoe on the long march to Tennessee that was beset with problems from the onset. A cavalryman without a horse about as good as a soldier without a rifle, and thus he had ridden like a sodding cripple in the provision wagons the last three days of the journey, and then only to be late for the very battle they had marched to join! It was condemnable, to be robbed of the opportunity for loot like that, seeing as it was the only good reason any man chose to up and join the army in the first place.

Solomon was a darkly formed man, taller than most by an inch or two, with broad shoulders and strong legs that made him a born horseman. His beard was black as coal and well-groomed, and he kept his shoulder long hair slicked back and tied in a tail in the back. Dark eyes lurked beneath a heavy, overhanging brow that jutted above his hawk-like nose that had been broken more times than he could recall. He didn't know his age, to be exact, but placed himself at twenty-six whenevery someone bothered to ask. At least that's what his enlistment papers said.

He had not joined the army for looting. He joined out of sheer desparation, with a death sentence hanging over his head in Virginia and a family that cursed his very name. Aye, the hangman's noose was what awaited him back home, but Solomon had always possessed more than a fair shake of luck. Devil's luck, his father had once told him, bastard that he was.

Perhaps it was Devil's luck that had caused them to miss the fighting, though. Bitter fighting up there at Pittsburg Landing, they said. Slaughter would be more apt a term, and word was General Johnston himself was slain in the chaos. He had watched all afternoon as ragged looking men retreated down the Corinth road south from Shiloh, many wounded themselves.

Solomon sat chewing on a blade of wheat in the old barn that had been taken up by the company's blacksmith, a grizzled man name of Morrison with arms like tree trunks covered in thick black hair. The smoky scent of the burning oven filled the room and with it the sweltering heat from the fire, as the craftsman used a small hammer to beat out the imperfections in the horseshoe he made.

"How much longer, old man?" He asked, irritated. Everyone else save the pickets were either fast asleep or drinking around the campfires, while he wasted away here in the sweltering barn.

"Damn you, Solomon, first you wake me and beg me to make you a shoe, and now ye are complain' to me?" Morrison growled.

"Oh, come on Morrison, you owed me for what I did for you.We're square now, I promise. Unless you want me to tell the sergeants..." He stood, and walked to the open doors to get a breath of fresh air. Such that there was that night, in the humid, warm air of Mississppi in springtime. Fireflies appeared here and there in the night and the scent of pollen on the warm wind was mixed with that of smoke.

"Aye, that I did, that I did, and no, we're square, you're right. We'd better be," the older man said, chewing on a stubby cigar that hung in his beared mouth. He used a pair of tongs to hold the shoe up to the lantern, and grunted in dissatisfaction.

"Figure the yankees will be comin at us?" Solomon asked without looking back.

Morrison shrugged, back to work on the imperfect shoe. "Either they will or we'll go back at them again, whose t'say? Don't matter none, there'll be more blood bein' shed before we're through here, I'll wager. Now, lets go get your horse."

[Singleton Mosby]

"Singleton’s worries"

Singleton Mosby was a young, twenty-four year old gentleman hailing from one of the better families of Virginia’s Shenandoah valley. After the war family his family was perhaps beter known for his nephew John Singleton Mosby. As both of them had been named after their late grandfather their personal bond was strong.

From an early age he had grown up with his father, Robert Mosby, travelling through the beautiful Blue Ridge Mountains. Robert had been a horse trader and thus their travels had been far and wide . Singleton grew up to be a rough, tough boy and when he was send to the Virginia Military Institute to get an education and learn more about the ‘way a gentleman behaves’.

Unfortunately Singleton’s life at the VMI was short. After only five months his teachers, amongst whom future general ‘Stonewall’ Jackson where fed up with his undisciplined behaviour. The young boy was expelled and returned home in disgrace.
The remainder of his later youth hood where spend at a local college. Singleton didn’t do very well but he wasn’t the worst student either. It was just he didn’t care very much for his education.

Aged eighteen the young, long haired, whiskered man entered the service of his fathers business and aided him in the horse trade until the war broke out six years later. Singleton Mosby, twenty four years old set out to join the first mounted Virginia rifles company of captain Duke at Amelia Court House. After receiving minimal training they where send west early in 1862 where hey would meet their adversary for the first time.

Corinth, Mississippi
Evening of 7 April, 1862

Captain Duke had just told lieutenant Mosby of their new mission informing his overeager subaltern any contact with the Yanks had to be avoided. The only thing Singleton could grumble back at him was ”Too bad, I would like to like ‘em. Show ‘em what we are made of.”

Duke, whom hadn’t heard the exact words of his officer but could guess what he had said told him the time would come for a brush and even a battle with the enemy. ”Colonel Forrest sure is a hard riding man. We are now part of his command and sure will se some action sooner or later.”
Singleton Mosby recalled Forrests exploits at the battle and siege of Fort Doneldson. As his commanders had surrendered the indefatigable Forrest wasn’t ready to do so likewise and had taken most of his cavalry and a full infantry brigade on a march out of the lost citadel. The fort had fallen but due to Forrests daring the cavalry had been saved to fight another day.

”Which road will we take to Murfreesboro sir? And do you want me to inform and ready the man right away or shall we wait till later this evening and give them a little peace of mind after the horrible news of the loss at Shiloh church?”

[coz1]

Good introductions, everyone.

And so it's to be north to Nashville eventually. Good luck with the plan.

[Anarhco Liberal]

The Morning of April 8, 1862

Jesse Rodriguez woke up all grogy with a bad taste in his mouth and he still had his cold. He checked his watch it was 3:00 in the morning an hour before the bugles would sound waking up the men. It looked like it would be a tense day all the of the officers in A company were pacing and doing abnormal stuff like many men did before a fight. He thought about how far he had come from his hacienda in Texas as a boy. He had ridden a horse since he was 5 and was one of the riders in the company. He remebered when he was ten and his father put much of his stuff in a wagon and they moved east to Richmond where his father had run a succesfull business. He was only half Mexican his mother had immigrated from Prussia to San Antonio. He remebered how many in Richmond had always called him and his father damn greasers. His grandfather had fought in the Texas Rebellion and the Battle of San Jacinto and yet many did not respect his familiy. He was only 18 and had as a 17 year old joined the Cavalry many did not know why he had not been promoted to an officer when he first joined he was one of the smartest in his class and knew much about history and a little about tactics. He knew why he wasn't a lieutenant it was because he was to young so they made him a corporal and that was how he got hear. He looked at his watch he had thought about things for an hour and the bugles were sounding. He got ready to move out.

[HannibalBarca]

Midday, April 8, 1862
On the road to Murfreesboro, TN

Corporal William Barca, or Will as he preferred to be called, took another swig from his canteen as the company advanced down an average dusty, ill-kept road common throughout the great swathes of rural land claimed by the Southern Confederacy. Born near the small town of Jug Tavern, near an old fort called Yargo, about 50 miles from Atlanta, Georgia, Will had made his way towards the fighting in Tennessee after hearing about 1st Bull Run. Like almost all Southern men, he had been caught up in the patriotic fervor of the moment. However, despite his bona fide fervor towards the Confederate dream, he had no love for many of the South's more...deplorable institutions. That, however, he kept under his gray cotton hat.

Upon arriving in Tennessee, Will had joined up with the first unit he found that had an opening, the 1st Independent Virginia Mounted Rifles Company, captained by a man named Edmund Duke. After some...hurried training, the company had relocated to Corinth, Mississippi and then shortly after that, they had begun moving out towards Murfreesboro. Will had little idea where that was, or what sort of welcome they would recieve there...

[Jape]

The road to Murfreesboro
April 8th, 1862

‘…From the time when the Revolution brought down to the masses its Gospel - not the mystic but the rational, not the heavenly but the earthly, not the divine but the human Gospel, the Gospel of the Rights of Man - ever since it proclaimed that all men are equal, that all men are entitled to liberty and equality, the masses of all European countries, of all the civilized world, awakening gradually from the sleep which had kept them in bondage ever since Christianity drugged them with its opium, began to ask themselves whether they too, had the right to equality, freedom, and humanity…’

Jonah’s concentration broke and he quickly pulled back the reins of Aurora, narrowly avoiding a collision with one of the other men’s horses. Ever since joining the 1st Virginian Mounted Rifles, Jonah had developed the possibly dangerous habit of reading on the march, and so far on the road to Murfreesboro had bumped into other riflemen several times and almost fallen down a ditch, yet it hadn’t discouraged his reading.

Sergeant Jonah J. Appleton had been born to English immigrants in Charlottesville in 1828, his mother Margaret, a history teacher and his father Jeremy, a former NCO of the Somerset Light Infantry turned blacksmith. Margaret had encouraged his education, leading to an insatiable appetite for books of all descriptions and supporting his entrance into the University of Virginia, virtually bankrupting the Appleton family.

His father on the other hand had encouraged the idea of a military career, and in 1855, after only three years of following his mother’s footsteps as a history teacher, he had joined the dragoons serving in the Oklahoma and Dakota territories, becoming a sergeant by 1858. However Jonah’s taste for fighting Indians faded and in November 1860 he resigned, hoping to return to life as a teacher in Charlottesville. Only months later the Civil War had begun and Jonah, who had been imbued with a deep love of Virginia by his parents, reluctantly signed up once more, briefly becoming a trainer at Camp Lee in Richmond before his skills as a dragoon were noticed and he was assigned to the newly formed 1st Virginian Mounted Rifles in August of 1861.

Finally, Jonah closed his book and slipped it into his satchel, deciding it was probably time to act like a sergeant. He straightened his back and scratched his short blonde hair before riding down the line of riflemen, kicking up more dust on the dry road.

“Come on boys, don’t look so glum”, he bellowed, waking up the tired men “Why don’t we all sign a song”!

A few of the men chuckled, and a few more groaned before Jonah, using his powerful Cornish-born lungs, began:

“We are a band of brothers
And native to the soil,
Fighting for the property
We gained by honest toil;”

Soon the rest of the Company joined in:

“And when our rights were threatened,
The cry rose near and far--
"Hurrah for the Bonnie Blue Flag
That bears a single star!"
Hurrah! Hurrah!
For Southern rights hurrah!
Hurrah for the Bonnie Blue Flag
That bears a single star.

As long as the Union
Was faithful to her trust,
Like friends and like brothers
Both kind were we and just;
But now, when Northern treachery
Attempts our rights to mar,
We hoist on high the Bonnie Blue Flag
That bears a single star"...

[Draco Rexus]

The road to Murfreesboro
April 8th, 1862


Riding a short distance behind Sgt. Appleton's squad, McHennessy groaned as the Cornishman and his troopers burst into their early morning hymn to the Confederacy.

It was not so much that Sgt. Galen McHennessy objected to the ballad the troopers ahead of him were attempting to sing, in fact he found the song quite enjoyable, it was just that his whiskey soaked ears and mind were not quite prepared for such an assault. Arising before the sun, saddling and riding out of Corinth, that he was able to do on instinct alone, but dealing with off key singing was almost like torture.

If he had not known that Captain Duke and Lieutenant Mosby would not only have his stripes but would also force him to serve under Appleton, McHennessy would have taken his cherished Walker Colt and fired a round from the big-bored hand cannon to spook Appleton’s horse and cease the singing. That and he knew that if the singing was paining his whiskey soaked ears, the retort from his pistol would be near unbearable!

Taking a sip of water from his canteen and swooshing it around his mouth before spitting it out, Galen pondered upon how Fate had placed the last three generations of men of his family in three separate wars in the last sixty years, and if his father at the Crimea and his grandfather in the Peninsula Campaign dealt with the same issues in the British Army that he was dealing with in the Confederate States Army. Probably, he thought, as an army is an army nearly every where.

Shaking his head to clear some of the effects of last night’s whiskey, he glanced at the troopers of his squad and smiled evilly as he found their looks mirroring his own as Appleton’s troopers who had led the Company in their song brought the song to an end. This is gonna be a long march indeed, he thought, ifin we’re to be hearin’ that lot the whole way. We’ll jus’ hav’ to see ‘bout changin’ that. Swelling out his large barrel chest in his best imitation of his father and grandfather, sergeant-majors both, McHennessy’s Scotch-Irish brogue bellowed, “Alrighty, mae boyos, if it’s singin’ dae be wantin’, it’s singin’ dae be havin’!”

Being answered by a chorus of groans, McHennessy wheeled his horse Pete around in a tight circle and barked, “Nay, there’ll be none of that now, mae darlins’! Sing out, mae boyos, an’ make dae Cap’n proud!

Then adieu, adieu, 'tis the last bugle's strain
That is falling on the ear;
Should it so be decreed that we ne'er meet again,
Oh, remember the Young Volunteer.”

Knowing that McHennessy would be a bear to live with and that he had a vast store of ideas on how to make life unbearable for them, the troopers of his squad squared their shoulders and licked their lips and followed their sergeant’s lead.

Our flag is unfurl'd and our arms flash bright,
As the sun lights up the sky;
But ere I join the doubtful fight,
Lovely maid, I would say "Good bye."
I'm a young volunteer, and my heart is true
To our flag that woos the wind;
Then three cheers for that flag and our country, too,
And the girls we leave behind.

Then adieu, adieu, 'tis the last bugle's strain
That is falling on the ear;
Should it so be decreed that we ne'er meet again,
Oh, remember the Young Volunteer.

Smiling, McHennessy shot a gleeful look at Appleton and thought, Now that’s singin’ Jonah mae darlin’! The rest of the Company, well used to the theatrical feud between the two squad leaders, shook their heads in amusement and joined in and finished the ballad.

When over the desert, thro' burning rays,
With a heavy heart I tread;
Or when I breast the cannon's blaze,
And bemoan my comrades dead,
Then, then will I think of my home and you,
And our flag shall kiss the wind;
With huzza for our cause and our country, too,
And the girls we leave behind.

Then adieu, adieu, 'tis the last bugle's strain
That is falling on the ear;
Should it so be decreed that we ne'er meet again,
Oh, remember the Young Volunteer.

Looking heavenward from his position at the head of the Company’s column of twos, Captain Duke shook his head. Looking over at Lieutenant Mosby, the Captain said with a smile, “Well, Mosby, at least we know the boys will be entertained on our march.”

“As usual, Cap’n, as usual,” Mosby replied with a fond grin.

[Alhazen]

The road to Murfreesboro
April 8th, 1862

Solomon Brown did not sing. He rode along glumly, comfortably in the middle of the column of riders who kicked up a storm of dust that clogged the lungs and stung the eyes. He was not the singing type, and his fellows knew it. They mostly avoided him, wether for his dark visage or his ill reputation as a devilish gambler or his willingness to skin a man for a slight. He was not a very good soldier, either for that matter. Oh, he could kill men alright, and had done so before, and he could sit a horse for days on end. It was the discpline that was disagreeable to Solomon Brown, and that was what had been the root of the nasty whipping he had recieved only two weeks out of Richmond that had been the onset of the current bout of melancholy.

Why, if it wasnt for Sergeant Appleton always being so damned near, he may have well taken his horse and ran already, aye, and maybe taken a few other things with him. It wasn't that he was a coward, oh, Lord knew it wasn't that. He wanted to kill Yankees as much as the next man behind him or in front. His repuation would hang over him like a dark shadow, he knew, and any skill for ridin' or shootin' he displayed be damned, no promotions for the likes of him, he knew.

He swatted a fly that had alighted too long on his cheek and then brought his half-empty canteen to his lips. The day was hot and muggy, and the flies were thick along the dusty road to Murfreesboro. He knew one day soon he'd have his chance, perhaps on this very march...

[Jacko the Panda]

The Road to Murfreesboro
April 8th, 1862

Jacob’s family used to be aristocratic. Until his father’s father decided to turn his funds into liquid and leave his son penniless. The Sythefroths used to have a reputation of some sort, but after Alexander Sythefroth had drunk himself to death and left a will full of debts to his son Marcus Sythefroth, that reputation was a goner. Ashamed and a few pieces of gold in his pockets after selling the family manor in England, Marcus had moved to America. There he had wandered around gathering a nice amount of money, with ”a pinch of luck and a stroke of genius”, Jacob had come to the decision that his actions had been at least shady if not completely illegal. He had moved to the countryside around Richemont, Virginia and set up a cotton farm. Jacob had grown up riding amongst the cotton fields. He had studied in a college, but hadn’t found the school life to fit in his lifestyle and soon had dropped out and started helping his dad in the farming business. When the war broke out, Jacob’s father didn’t allow his son to enlist, but when a hobo had managed to burn down his cotton fields with a misplaced camp fire, Marcus was forced to allow his son to go to war. Jacob had enlisted to the army in Richmond, Virginia in the age of 22. There he had been assigned to the 1st Independent Virginia Mounted Rifles Company. After a quick drilling they had been sent to Corinth. At the moment, they were heading to some place called Murfreesboro. And the road was rather dusty. In his twenties Jacob was quite small compared to the tall and well built men he was serving with. Maybe this was because of his English heritage or because instead of walking, he had ridden everywhere since being ten. His hair was cleanly cut and he shaved his beard when he was able to, he didn’t like the itching hair in his face. He was also a bit skinny when compared to people like Edmund Duke, their Captain.

In his mind, Jacob took a page of his own memoirs and threw it into the trash bin. That was not a good start for his war memoirs. Apparently he had been thinking so hard, that he was now way behind the rest. Sgt. Appleton’s company was singing loudly and off key, but Jacob didn’t have enough talent in singing himself that he could criticize. It was a patriotic song, used to get the men to a good mood, to have a sense of purpose. Shaking off the last bits of sleepyness, Jacob tightened his pace and soon caught the rest of the soldiers. The squad he was in was commandeered by a scruffy Scotsman called McHennessy. He seemed to like whiskey very much, as a matter of fact. The look on his face told Jacob that he was going to face Appleton’s challenge. After Appleton’s squad finished with their singing their sergeant suddenly turned around and shouted:

“Nay, there’ll be none of that now, mae darlins’! Sing out, mae boyos, an’ make dae Cap’n proud!

Jacob wanted to bury his face into his hands. Not again! If that crazy sergeant of their's was going to make them sing all the way to Murfreesboro, he was sure that when they were there, none of them would be able to speak loudly for a while. Still, the sergeant could be a pain in the ass if you didn’t do what he wanted you to do so, Jacob sang. He looked like he sang, but he just recited the words silently, humming the tone at the same time. The two sergeants had been having this little competition ever since the company was formed and didn’t seem to mind using the innocent soldiers of the company as the tools of their melodramatic duel. When the singing was over, Jacob thought he could again dive deeply into the creation process of his future memoirs, but Sgt. Appleton saw it wise to start another round of the competition right away. Ah, well, there wasn’t anything better to do but to sing...

[east_emnet]

The Road to Murfreesboro
April 8th, 1862


Private Daniel Hays was begining to dose off in the saddle when the singing began. Groggily, he yawned, accidentally inhaling some of the dust kicked up in the column in the prosses. Coughing, he took a few moments to wake himself up. Dan scaned the men in front of him. Its Appleton and McHennessy again, he thought. Sighing, the 20 year old private added his own voice to the song. His voice was by no means distinguishable from the rest, and Dan was typically softspoken compared to some of the men of the company.

Dan nevertheless sung the songs along with the company of amature soldeirs. He smirked, That is what we are, aren't we? I am not just a son of a farmer given a gun to shoot Yanks with? Most of us are civilians.

There were not very many places to enlist where he lived. There were just a few small farms, a church and a general store in a village five miles out from his farm. He had ridden out all the way to Richmond to join the Confederate forces, and wound up in this unit.

He whispered over to the trooper next to him, Jacob Sythefroth, "It just does not end, does it?"

[Singleton Mosby]

"Moving out"

Corinth, Mississippi
Evening of 7 April, 1862

Singleton Mosby, 2nd lieutenant in the 1st Independent Virginia Mounted Rifles Company aproached his commander, captain Duke, and asked him what to do next.
”Which road will we take to Murfreesboro sir? And do you want me to inform and ready the man right away or shall we wait till later this evening and give them a little peace of mind after the horrible news of the loss at Shiloh church?”i

Duke rummaged through his moustache before taking an old yellowish map of Tennessee state out of his pocket. Singleton followed Dukes finger with his eyes, it went from Corinth pas the Charleston and Memphis railroad to Decatur, Huntsville and Stevenson. Here he went northwards on the Nashville and Chattanooga railroad towards Murfreesboro.
”Will we do most of it by rail?” a curious Singleton asked his commander

”No, no perhaps we can find some transport at Decatur but none can be found for us here in Corinth. They are using every train to ship in troops and supplies for the imminent defence of the city. I suppose the Yanks will be here within the week. Beauregard will have to keep them back with everything he can find in our states. He will have to scrape the bottom.
But, returning to the subject of our trip. We will ride to Decatur at least which will take us two or perhaps three days. Form here we could either take the railroad to Stevenson or ride on. I think the best route, regardless of our success in finding a train which is not hauling infantry or supplies, will be by Stevenson. This because the colonel ordered me not to make any contact with he enemy.”

Lieutenant Mosby wasn’t too happy with that and it showed on his face. He had always been a fighter and not having seen the elephant yet while having been very close to the largest battle on the American continent so far, Shiloh, chagrined him.

”Don’t worry Mosby, you will get the fight you so dearly want before you know it. Make the men ready. We will be moving out at three in the morning. Let us not spoil our time here in this Godforsaken rat hole.”

Lieutenant Mosby saluted captain Duke and passed of towards the encampment of his company. Men where busy cooking their evening meals. Most of the where chatting lively. A lot had happened over the last few days so there was enough to talk about.

Mosby walked towards a broad shouldered Englishman, known to him by the name Jonah Appleton. The man was seated next to a small cooking pot containing his dinner. ”Sergeant. I want you to prepare the boys for march. We will move out in the morning. Have them ready at half past two, we will move out at three.”

The road to Murfreesboro,
April 8th, 1862

Clouds of dust where spread as countless hooves beat the road leading out of Corinth. The column was slowly trudging along, having to halt very often for passing wagons or marching infantry units. With every mile behind them their route became less busy and by noon the mounted riflemen where alone in the woods of Northern Alabama. The solitary quietness only disturbed now and then by the passing of a train on the nearby railroad. Songs where picked up along the column and by two in the afternoon Duke ordered his troops into a roadside grove. Turning to Mosby he told him this would be their camp for the evening and the night. ”Let’s not wear out the horses this early on the march. Thirty miles is enough for this day.” The lieutenant looked for a spot with shade and water which he found besides an old negro cabin. Soon orders to dismount and make camp where shouted throughout the company by sergeants and corporals. Next day their goal would be Decatur, forty miles to the east.

[VILenin]

Evening of April the 8th, 1862

Josiah Beaumont sat by the fire, tiredly massaging his temples. It had been a long day. A long week in fact. Ah, hell, it had been a long everything. It was times like these when Josiah regretted being a part of the newly formed 1st Independent Virginian Mounted Rifles Company was a full-time task. For Captain Duke, this was probably a wonderful thing. The company was, as the name plainly stated, and Independent unit, which probably meant that the Captain had all sorts of freedom. Officers loved that sort a thing; made 'em feel like bigshots. For Josiah, however, it was one big headache. As quartermaster he'd quickly come to regard their independent status as a curse. It meant that everything had to be done without all the infrastructure and logistic support the main army had to offer. Oh sure, they said that they took care of the company, but words didn't keep the men fed and clothed.

No logistic support meant that everything had to acquired independently (there was that damned word again!) by the unit itself in order to keep going which was far easier said than done. Food and the like could be got from the countryside most of the time. Other things were harder, like boots, bullets and spirits. Josiah still hadn't decided which of those three was the most difficult, and thereby most important, to get and hesitated to ask the Captain. Captain Duke was a good man but the quartermaster feared the talking to he would get for confusing priorities if he brought up the subject.

Speaking of spiritis, McHennesy had had that bloodshot and bedraggled look this morning that told of drinking the night before. No doubt the whiskey would run out before the mission ended and it would be the poor quartermaster who had to somehow provide more. Josiah shook his head, half grimacing and half smiling.

I should have been an officer, he thought to himself, just like my brother. Then I could, he stopped himself mid-thought. It didn't pay to think on that. Not on lost oppertunities and certainly not on his brother. With a sad shake of his head, Sgt Beaumont went back to his supply problems.