The Bozeman Trail

On this particular day, four of the young men who did not leave with the regiment were sitting around a table in the Oasis Saloon. The four were James Cason, Bob Ferguson, Billy Swan, and Duke Faglier. Although Duke had arrived in San Antonio only a few months earlier, he had already formed a friendship with James, Bob, and Billy.

Nobody knew much about Duke, for he was a very quiet-spoken young man. James was curious about his new friend’s past, but would never presume to question him.

“Has anyone heard from the regiment?” Billy Swan asked.

“Pa said that Mr. Murback got a letter from Abner,” James said. “The letter came from somewhere in Louisiana.”

“Are they fightin’ in Louisiana?” Bob asked.

“According to the letter they hadn’t seen any fighting yet. They were just marching every day. He said he thought they might be going up to Tennessee.”

The men were silent for a long moment, then James spoke again.

“This is turning out to be a lot harder than I thought it would be,” James admitted.

“What is?” Bob asked.

“Staying behind while all our friends have gone to war. Knowing that they are facing dangers while we are safe at home.”

“You aren’t having second thoughts, are you?” Bob asked.

“I don’t like the way others look at us, or what they think of of us. And I don’t fault them for their opinions. But as for the war? No, I’m not having second thoughts. No good can come of this war, and I don’t want to have anything to do with it.”

“I agree that no good can come of this war,” Bob said. “But I must confess that I feel a little like you. I feel guilty about being at home while all the others our age, and some much older, are doing our fighting for us.”

“That’s just it, though,” James said. “I don’t really feel that they are fighting for me. This isn’t my cause.”

“True. But it is our state. Also, there is something to be said for the glory of battle.”

“There is no glory in battle,” Duke said, emphatically. It was his first comment on the subject, and he punctuated his statement with a swallow of his beer.

In the few months the others had known him, this was the most resolute statement Duke had ever made.

“Oh, come, Duke, are you saying you weren’t just a little stirred by the flags and drums and excitement?” Billy asked. “I don’t have any personal stake in this war, but I would be lying if I said I had absolutely no desire to test myself on the battlefield.”

“Your first test would be to keep from soiling your britches,” Duke said.

“Wait a minute!” Billy bristled. “Are you saying I would be afraid?”

“That’s not what I mean by soiling your britches. It’s just that by the time the fighting starts, nearly everyone is suffering from camp diarrhea, and many a man embarrasses himself when the shooting begins. But yes, I’m sure you would be afraid. Although I’ve only known you a short time, you don’t strike me as a fool, Billy Swan, and anyone who isn’t afraid is a fool.”

The others were quiet, giving way to Duke’s observations. He continued.

“Then, when the fighting does start, you feel completely alone, even though you are in the middle of thousands of men. You think that every bullet, every exploding shell, every cannonball is coming straight for you.

“But you learn you aren’t the only target when you have to step over the dead and dying; men lying on the ground with their guts spilling in the dirt, or with bloody stumps twitching uncontrollably where arms and legs once were. Finally, you realize that all the dead on that field are the same. It doesn’t matter whether they are Yanks or Rebs, they all speak the same language, pray to the same God, and die in the same mortal agony. They are your neighbors, friends”—Duke paused for a moment before he added softly—“and brothers.”

Duke took a swallow of his beer, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, knowing that he had the complete attention of the others. “No, my friends,” he finished. “There is no glory in battle. And believe me, any guilt you may have about avoiding that madness is misplaced.”

James, Bob, and Billy were totally shocked by the intensity of Duke’s comments. But if they were waiting on him to elaborate, they were disappointed, because he said nothing else.

“So, you reckon Abner is going through all that, now?” Bob asked.

“I reckon he is,” James said. He held up his glass. “To Abner,” he said.

“And to everyone else caught up in this war,” Duke added.

They drank the toast, then James sighed. “I agree with everything you said, Duke. Still, it’s going to be hard to hang around here and face our neighbors. And as the war goes on, it’s going to be even harder.”

“It won’t be hard if we aren’t here,” Billy suggested.

“If we aren’t here? What do you mean? Are you suggesting that we should go somewhere?”

“Yep,” Billy replied.

“Where?”

“Dakota Territory.”

“Why do you want to go there?”

Billy smiled, clasped his hands together, put his elbows on the table and leaned forward. “Gold,” he said, simply.

“Gold?”

“I got the news from a whiskey drummer this morning,” Billy said. “They’ve recently discovered gold in the Dakota Territory. They say it’s as big a strike as what happened in California a few years ago. Only thing is, the whole country is so caught up in this war that hardly nobody is paying attention to it.”

“If that is true—” James started.

“It is true,” Billy interrupted. “The drummer swears to it. In fact, he said he was giving up his sales job and was going up to Dakota himself.”

“What do you think, James?” Bob asked. “You think maybe we ought to go up there and have a look around?”

“Well, if you want my opinion,” Duke said before James could answer, “I think we would be fools not to. Think of how many people got rich out of the California strike, and who knows how many went out there. If everyone back here is caught up in the war, there won’t be that many people out there. That means our chances of getting a piece of that gold pie would be much better. And more importantly, the fewer the people, the larger that piece of pie will be.”

“What do you say, James?” Bob asked again, his voice now hopeful.

Though no one had elected James to the position, he was the unquestioned leader of the little group and everyone waited now to see what his response would be. They knew that, without his support, the adventure would be stillborn.

James smiled broadly. “I say let’s do it,” he said.

“Yeah!” Bob said, and the boys laughed and shook hands as they contemplated what lay before them.

“Lord, wouldn’t Abner like to go with us, though?” James said.

Corinth, Mississippi April 5, 1862:

Though the day had begun with rain, it was ending now with a clear, red sunset, shining through oaks that were green with new growth. The moon, in crescent, rose in a dark blue twilight, then, finally, the sky darkened and the stars came out.

Standing out on the porch of the house, Abner could hear faint bugle calls in the distance, and he looked toward the dark woods that separated the two armies. On the other side of the woods was the enemy. There, men dressed in blue were bedding down for one last night before the killing began.

Whippoorwills called from the woods, and as Abner looked out across the field where the Confederate army was bivouacked he could see the glow of campfires around which men in gray, sharing the same language, culture,