By Mr. Green
Journal Entry
This is the Journal of Pvt. John Henry Owens. It is to chronicle my time as a soldier, in these letters to my beloved, Ida Rose McKinney. If you find this journal on the battlefield, please return it to, General Don Carlos Buell.
Date: March 30th, 1862
My Darling, Ida Rose
It is cold this morning, the fog is beginning to roll through the trees like a messenger from hell. Standing in the distance, always in the distance, he stands silent on the battlefield. His dark hood covering his head, he waits with scepter in hand, hiding in the shadows, he waits for one of us to fall.
A new soldier came up to me yesterday morning before we started to break camp. He was scared, I could see it in his eyes. He missed his family back home, as so many of us do..., Ida, he could not have been more than seventeen years old... and here he is, fighting in this war.
He told me he was thinking I might be able to help him deal with the things he saw during the last few days on the battlefield, being how I just turned nineteen, and have been fighting in this war for close to a year now. I had no idea what to tell him, not after the ugliness he had witnessed.
I just could not find the courage, to tell him, that what he saw over the last few days, was only the beginning of the nightmares that were coming. There was a time in our conversation that he looked right at me and asked, what it was like, the first time I killed an enemy soldier.
My stomach turned when I heard that question. How could I explain this act of war, on a battlefield where the unspoken reality is, kill or be killed, where your desire to go home, over rules the morals of humanity.
There are only the memories, and the nightmares, the nightmares I have somehow learned to live with, but this war... watching friends die every day, tires a man's soul.
I asked him when he enlisted, he said, he enlisted just six months ago, as a replacement soldier for a senator's son.
I asked if he had killed anyone, since he enlisted. I could tell, he did not want to answer my question. He just looked up from his cup of coffee. The look on his face changed as I saw the tears well up in his eyes.
I told him we would talk again, next time we set camp.
Ida, my darling, there are too many things a soldier sees during war, and he has no place to put those memories, no place to hide the horror of war.
No one can really hear you, no one can truly feel you, when you tell your story. No one would understand, but for another soldier, who has himself been to war.
I heard talk around camp today, that we will be marching to a place called Shiloh soon. I was told that the word Shiloh, means a quiet place, or a place of peace.
It sounds like a perfect place, where I can try talking to this young soldier, and let him voice his fears, and the nightmares that are coming.
I believe that our cause is just, but I fear many of us will not be coming home.
They tell me that Mr. Lincoln is faced with many difficult decisions, but I know his heart grieves over this war, and I will pray for him.
I miss you so much Ida Rose. I dream of you often, waiting just like you promised, for my safe return. Damn this war, damn it all.
Your lonely soldier,
Johnny
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Henry Card looked at the letter for several moments before giving it back to the curator at the museum where he was doing his research. Sitting back in his chair, he wondered what it would have been like to know this young soldier, and to see the world through his eyes.
Professor Card started his research looking to write a definitive understanding of the political world President Lincoln was hurled into.
He did not want to define Lincoln's life, and the decisions he was faced with during his time in office, by today's social morals, mores, and hindsight, but by looking into Lincoln's world, of the 19th century.
To see the law through his eyes, to view their social customs, and the accepted morals of his day, to feel the political pressures of his time.
He placed his coffee cup on the table and sat back in his chair. He had to close his eyes, even if, for just a moment or two. He was tired, he said quietly under his breath, as he rubbed the soreness from his eyes. He would return tomorrow. but for now, his head was filled with history, and he needed time to rest.
Tomorrow he would have the energy to begin his research once again, only he would begin tomorrow with President Abraham Lincoln and his journey, into 19th century politics.
| Author Notes | I wanted to take a look into the political life of the 19th Century and the accepted social conduct of the day. Not to judge, but to understand. To look at that world through their eyes, and not through the sometimes biased views of hindsight. |
By Mr. Green
It was getting dark out on the Nevada desert. The sun was low, and the horizon was a mixture of reds and yellows. I knew very well how the dry heat of the day could bake the ground and dry up the land.
I remembered getting shot and left to die out in this god forsaking place. When the night came, the chill of the wind could put goosebumps clear down to your bones.
There is one thing a person must learn, when traveling in this part of the country. Day or night, there are always predators.
Some of them are natures inhabitants, they will kill out of an instinct to survive, or to protect what is theirs, while others will kill you for food. But that is just the natural way of things.
I learned a long time ago, that it is the two-legged predator who is the most dangerous of all. This one will kill out of ego or vanity, or purely for profit.
The stage was making a wide turn on the trail when I heard the first shots. I had fought in the civil war when I was a young boy, I have heard those sounds many times since then.
I could only guess, but I estimated the gunshots were about a mile down the trail, and we were heading in that direction.
The man riding shotgun hollered down at us. "You folks alright?"
I glanced around at the other three passengers, then I leaned toward the opening and called back to the man above.
"Yeah, were ok, but what's going on out there? Any sign of trouble coming our way.
"No! but those shots sounded like they were coming from the Carson River Station, and that's where we're heading.
We have about sixty miles to go before we reach Carson City. The Carson River Station is where we planned on getting a hot meal and resting the horses for a time."
"What's your plans now?"
"My friend, that kinda' depends on what we find up ahead.
We're gonna slow the horses down. Sam and I are talking about holding up along the hillside up ahead, until we get a feel for the place."
"We don't want to put nun-a-you good people in harm's way. Once we get the stage stopped, I can ride ahead. Check things out.
"...tell Sam, a couple of these passengers are pretty shook-up. I think they were fearful of a hold-up. The sooner we stop, the better."
"Try to calm them down if you can. It's gonna be a few more minutes."
A young man and woman sat across from me, there was an older gentleman sitting beside me, on my left. When he heard the shots, I saw him instinctively check the location of his wallet.
If this had been a holdup his body language would have told everyone that he was carrying enough money in that wallet to make him nervous.
He struck me as an easterner coming out west for the first time.
The couple across from me, there was something about their behavior as well. I just hadn't figured them out yet.
It was about six minutes later when the stage came to a halt. The driver did the best he could to conceal our location, then the man with the shot gun got down from the stage.
I made sure everyone exited the coach safely, while the man with the shot gun watched the trail up ahead.
The old gentleman immediately headed for the shadows to relieve himself. I was guessing, by that awkward walk of his, and the way he was fidgeting at his pants.
He looked like a sober drunk, I don't think he could have held it much longer.
The young couple stayed together, I watched as he tried to reassure her that things would be okay. That couple was hiding something, and my brain wasn't going to let it go, until I figured it out.
The driver got down and began to take one of the horses out of the harness.
"You need some help with that, Sam" I called out.
"No, I done this enough times, young feller. You and Jake there, you just watch the trail for any trouble.
We won't have much time to prepare for it if it comes our way."
I turned to Jake, "How long that old man been doing this."
"Sam! The first time I saw him climb up on a stagecoach, I was about sixteen years old. He's as tough as they come."
"Are you really going to ride down to that station alone?"
"That's what I get paid for. Sam can handle things here."
We could see the lamps were lit inside the building, but I could see that one window was left in darkness. I was about to tell Jake when we heard two more shots.
Jake turned and called to Sam. "You got that horse ready yet, Sam?"
"I heard the shots, Jake. I'm almost done, just one more minute."
Jake turned to me, "That blacked out window?"
"What about it?"
"That was a sign that there is danger if we ride into the station. I have to get down there."
Jake walked away and headed to meet Sam who was walking in our direction with a horse and bridle.
Sam watched as Jake began to ride off into the darkness alone.
"Mister, that's my partner out there, and I can't go with him." He stood there, looking towards the Station.
I could hear him whisper under his breath. "Damn fool better not get killed."
"Sam," I said before he could walk away, "He doesn't have to do this alone."
He looked at me in silence, anticipating what I might say next.
"Sam, unhitch another horse. I'll ride down there and back Jake up."
If ever I saw anyone more expressive. The old man thanked me with his eyes and headed back to get me a horse.
Until I could get closer, I had to trust the horse knew his way, while I listened for any sound of trouble lurking in the darkness.
I got to where I could see in the dim light and tied the reins to an old dried out tree stump, then I began making my way closer to the building.
Jake didn't know I was there, and I was hoping he wouldn't shoot me before I had a chance to identify myself.
My attention was drawn to a faint voice from inside the building. I worked my way closer, then I stopped and listened.
_______________________________________________
"Tom, are you sure that stagecoach is carrying gold?"
"Look, I was informed that this stage was coming into Carson City with $5000.00 in cold coins and paper currency, and I plan on taking it."
"Now you stay hidden and wait for the stage. That station master told us all we had to do was to leave one window blacked out and that was the signal that all was clear."
"Yes! But are you sure he was telling us the truth?"
"I killed his wife and told him his son was next, didn't I.
He was too scared to tell us anything but the truth. He knew I would kill his son. So, yes, he is not going to risk his son's life."
"Where is Silas? Tom."
"He's out watching the perimeter, waiting for the stage to come in. and that's where you should be."
_________________________________________________
If someone was on the perimeter watching. I suddenly realized that I was too exposed to stay where I was at.
I started to back around the corner of the building when I felt a chill run down my spine, and the cold barrel of a revolver touch the back of my neck.
Then someone pulled back on the hammer.
| Author Notes | I am considering a new book and this will be just a few short chapters to introduce the main character and to see how he is received or how I can mold him into a more complete person. I want to have fun with this story, so I will make adjustments along the way. I hope you enjoy these chapters. |
By Mr. Green
When I returned to the museum, I thought about that letter from the civil war, written by Pvt. John Henry Owens. I recalled, his mentioning, President Lincoln. He said he would pray for him... I began to wonder, what he was like, this man, Abraham Lincoln. Some have said that Lincoln was the greatest President the United States ever had.
I for one, would agree with that opinion. But what was it that influenced him the most, what made him the man he was. Was it a sensitivity to the needs of society, was it an awareness, in the direction this country was heading? Or maybe it was much more than that.
In the beginning there were people in politics at the time, who did not agree with Lincoln, on many levels. Some even thought that he was not up to the task of leading this nation, and could not imagine him occupying such an important office as the President of the United States.
In time many of these rivals, who criticized Lincoln's ability to do his job, would find themselves changing their minds with the passing of time, as they got to know who this man was.
There were many who learned to respect him for his intellect, his wisdom and his ability to tell stories and to judge people fairly.
There are times when free loving people clash in a heated political environment, giving way to high spirited contradictions of loyalty. Such contradictions make it necessary to find leaders who are strong enough, and intelligent enough, to know the words that will provide clarity to a people yet divided.
To seek an understanding with time, and through experience. Leaders that understood the need, to accept the challenges that lay in the social chaos of the time. To be sensitive to the negative influence of a society, whose way of life was lost in the past, lost in a social structure that was introduced by a country that many were fleeing from.
For slavery was not created in the colonies but evolved through time and influence. It was viewed, not only as a social acceptance, but even more so, as a social necessity to an agrarian way of life.
As with most mores of the time, there were many people who struggled with the morals of slavery.
As these passions grew, they would divide our nation. It is during such times, that deep thought must guide our leaders and give them wisdom to evolve and to show a level of compassion that will motivate people forward. Without the ability to evolve, there can be no progress.
There have been few people in politics who have been able to do that better than President Lincoln. He understood the hardships of the 19th century, and he came to know the necessity of timing in politics.
| Author Notes | My research is helping me realize how special Abraham Lincoln was, and how blind society had become. |
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