The Campaign: A MacGyver Story Chapter 4
[AN: Many of the campaign vignettes described in this story are adapted from and used by permission of Literary Classics of the U.S. and are from Memoirs of W. T. Sherman, 1875, 1885, 1990]
The road to Cheraw was narrow and muddy and clogged with our ordnance, but I struck up a conversation with a helpful local who directed our headquarters group and a guard detail to other roads to Cheraw that bypassed the congestion and we were soon encamped near the village called Cheraw, well ahead of much of the column. It gave me a little time to catch my breath and to look around the area a bit ('reconnoiter', as they say). It also gave me time to make some notes in a handy little blank journal I'd found among the general's things. Seems he'd been keeping a journal of the progress of the war, so I kept it up, in addition to using the blank one for one of my own. That way, if anyone saw me writing in it they wouldn't question what I was doing.
Come evening I was studying some dispatches and maps when a rather bedraggled looking soldier came in and saluted, most likely the most recent in a long line of requests for leave to go home. He came to attention and saluted, "Sergeant Connors reporting, Sir."
I wasn't really paying attention and nodded my head toward him, "Yes, Sergeant?"
"With the general's permission, Sir?"
Well, that piqued my curiosity and I nodded again to have him continue. He presented a large bag at my feet and opened it. It contained three hams, half a side of bacon, two live chickens, four cheeses, yams and onions. Then he unslung a shoulder bag to reveal almost four dozen eggs! I was stunned!
"Where'd you get all this?"
"Forage, Sir!" he answered proudly. I was about to protest when I remembered the policy of living off the land – or in this case, off of the local residents. I and my staff certainly didn't need all of this, as much of it would be spoiled within a couple of weeks.
"Tell me, does every mess have this much?"
"No Sir!" he told me proudly. "I aporpiated these for the General hisself! …er, Sir!"
"Well, distribute it."
He was crestfallen. "Sir? But…"
I reminded myself that this man had been out since early morning, gathering what he could for the army and had chosen the best of it for our table. "Wait!" I told him as he was about to leave. I picked out a small cheese wheel and set it on the table. "Dayton?"
After a moment Dayton entered, "Yes, Sir?"
"See the staff cook gets some of the onions, half of the eggs, ten of the yams and one ham. Sergeant, take the rest to the teamsters' unit. They're always the last to set up camp and hardly ever get a fair share of the forage. They should be getting into camp soon. That'll be all, Sergeant. And thank you!"
Connors smiled broadly and saluted, "Yes, Sir! You're welcome sir! My pleasure, Sir!"
After Connors and Dayton left to sort out the provisions, I pulled out the diary to make some notations, then opened it to some folded papers stuffed into a cut-out in the pages of the book. I removed a partly finished sketch map and continued copying one of the engineer's maps onto it. I don't know whether I'll be able to take this back with me when I leave, but if I can, I will.
I could hear someone approaching and put the maps away just before Dayton entered the tent. He looked like he'd swallowed a lemon. "You should see this, Sir" I looked up to see him holding out a copy of the New York Tribune.
I glanced up, "Oh good! Not even a week old!" I quipped.
"I've circled an item on page four…" (the last page of the paper)
The newsprint was so fine; even squinting my eyes didn't help to make it legible.
When I was little, Harry had tried to teach me how to tie flies. I learned – eventually, but so often I would be too anxious to finish the job to set down the pliers I was using and pick up the fine needle-nose ones to use. Harry'd get this exasperated expression on his face, give me a sigh, and hand me the correct tool. Well, Dayton was looking an awful lot like Harry right about now. He handed me the little wooden box that held my glasses.
"Your reading specs, Sir? You really should use them more… Sir."
I reluctantly took them and put them on. "Thank you, Major."
I was shocked to see that he had circled an article that laid out our plans to go to Goldsboro – printed! Right there in the New York newspaper!
Dayton added, as if it was significant, " It was found in a house recently vacated By General Hardee, Sir!"
Grr! I began begging forgiveness of Mrs. Field with the faint hope that she would hear me and send me some of the knowledge I had ignored in her class! What was I to do? So I put on an act. Feigning confusion and horror, I replied, "WHAT? You mean…?"
Dayton replied grimly, "Yes, Sir. General Hardee now knows of your plans to head for Goldsboro!"
Now I understood, as little bits of information clicked into place. Sherman's plan was to feint toward Raleigh which would leave Goldsboro open to attack. "So, it's no use feinting toward Raleigh. They know! Seems the South doesn't need spies: they have our own NEWSPAPER REPORTERS! They're more efficient and better informed than any agents the South could hope to enlist and train… And why should they? When we are ordered to feed and clothe these scoundrels ourselves!"
I tossed the paper aside and wrote a message to General Howard, folded and sealed it and handed it to the Major, "See this gets to General Howard… and send me that Pike fellow you told me about."
"Right away, Sir."
I looked at my surroundings and shook my head. This HAS to be a dream! If it's not, I sure hope I get a chance to make amends for all this destruction and waste … even if it means I have to find a way to put a swift end to this war!
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Oh! He's really in the thick of it now! R & R, if you like!
