“Eternally grateful,” Falcon said, whispering the words. Folding the letter, he put it in his pocket, then pulled his hat down over his eyes and folded his arms across his chest, and in that state of half-awake, half-asleep, he recalled a place named Palmetto Hill in Southern Texas.
It was in late May of 1865, and elements of the Texas 15th had boarded a train for its run south over the bucking strap-iron and rotted cross-ties of the railroad.
The regiment that boarded the train was less than thirty percent of the mustering-in strength. Of the thirty-five officers who had taken to the field with the brigade when the war started, all had been killed except for Dooley Perkins and Falcon MacCallister. Both were majors now, though they had started the war as second lieutenants.
Lieutenant Colonel Matthew Freeman was now in command of the regiment, having been put in that position by General Wade Garrison.
“Major MacCallister, I gave Freeman the command because he outranks you,” Garrison told Falcon when the regiment received the assignment to proceed to Palmetto Hill. “But in truth, you have more experience, and a better knowledge of the regiment than anyone else. So, even though Freeman is in command, I’m going to be counting on you to keep an eye on him. And to be honest, at this point, it doesn’t really make that much difference who is in command. I just got word this morning that General Lee surrendered back in Virginia, in a place called Appomattox. For all intents and purposes, the war is over.”
“I beg your pardon, General?” Falcon said. “Did you just say that the war was over?”
“Yes.”
“Then would you mind tellin’ me why we are going to Palmetto Hill?”
“Duty, honor, country,” Garrison said.
“General, if we’ve surrendered, we don’t have a country,” Falcon said. “And if we don’t have a country, then we have no duty.”
Garrison held up his index finger. “You may be right, my boy,” he said. “But we still have honor. We’ll always have honor.”
Falcon was quiet for a long moment, then, with a sigh, he nodded.
“You’re right, General. We still have our honor,” he said.
“Look, Falcon, I know your soldiers are tired, hungry, and dispirited, and I doubt that many of them could understand the concept of fighting, and perhaps dying, for something as abstract as honor.
“But tell them this. Some of the Yankee commanders are not paroling the men they capture. They are putting them in prison. Especially those of us out here in Texas. They consider all of us to be irregulars, not covered by the rules of civilized warfare. They’ve even hung a few. If we make a good showing at Palmetto, we can at lest sue for better terms.”
Falcon chuckled.
“What is it? Why are you laughing?”
“General, the terms don’t have to be all that good to be better than hanging,” Falcon said.
General Garrison laughed as well.
“I guess you’re right at that,” he said. He sighed. “I am sorry about having to put Colonel Freeman over you.”
“Don’t worry about it, General. Colonel Freeman is a good man. I’m fine with him in command,” Falcon replied
“God go with you, Major. I’m eternally grateful for all that you have done for the South. It would pain me greatly to see you killed now.”
They were less than a mile from their final destination when the train came to a sudden and catastrophic halt. Though neither Falcon nor anyone else in the train knew exactly what had happened, an accurately placed cannonball had burst the boiler and knocked the engine off the track. As a result of the sudden stop, the first three cars of the train telescoped in on themselves, causing a tremendous number of casualties, killing Colonel Freeman and five other regimental officers.
Falcon was riding in one of the rear cars, and his only indication that something had happened was in the fact that the train came to an almost immediate stop, throwing men onto the floor. Even as some of the men were swearing about the incompetence of the engineer, Falcon realized that something drastic had happened, and he started urging the men to get off the cars.
The same soldiers who had attacked the train were now waiting in ambush, and they opened fire as soon as the men of the regiment began pouring off the train.
Falcon and Major Perkins rallied the regiment.
“Take cover in the train wreckage!” Falcon shouted, and the men scrambled to do so.
The Yankees had one artillery piece, the same cannon that had destroyed the engine. And now they were using it to devastating effect, sending the heavy balls crashing through the remaining cars, sometimes using solid shot to further break up the wreckage, other times using shells to burst overhead and spray the soldiers with flaming bits of hot metal.
In addition to the effective artillery piece, the Yankee solders were bold and well led. Three times they came across the field, and three times they were repulsed, but not without casualties on both sides. Falcon was hit in the left arm and left leg. Fortunately, the bullets only creased him, rather than remaining buried in his flesh, but the creases were deep, bloody, and painful.
