Sully had a different perspective of it. He hope that enlisting would be a quick, honorable way to die. He didn't stop to think whether Abagail would approve or not. He didn't want to think about it because deep down inside, he knew the answer.
On the morning of the 8th, he found the enlistment office. The door creaked open and he jumped, having not been inside a real building for over a month.
"I'm - I'm here to sign up," he tiredly told a Union officer who was sitting at a desk.
The man, who was completing paperwork, didn't even look up. "Name?" he asked, grabbing a new sheet of paper.
"Byron Sully."
"Birthdate?"
Sully was so flustered, he didn't even have time to answer before the man said - "Don't know? Don't matter." He opened a drawer and rummaged through it.
"But I do kno-" Sully started.
The officer interrupted. "Sign here," he said, pointing to a spot on the paper. "If ya can't, just make an X." He slammed down some greenbacks and a Bible down on the table. "Got any kin?"
"Kin?" Sully hesitated for just a second, fondly thinking of Abagail and their baby, and then Charlotte and the Cooper children. He shook his head. "No."
"Well, then, here's some money for your pocket and a Bible for your soul. Report to Rolla and Benton barrack at 1300 hours for training. You'll get everything you need there." He held out his hand without even looking up. "Welcome to the Union Army."
It had been a month. A month without seeing Sully. And Charlotte knew he was gone. Gone. Gone without a trace. Gone without even telling her.
She was hurt. Over the past four years she'd thought they built up a strong friendship, one that could outlast anything. Even this. She understood his pain, understood why he wanted to leave. But she was still hurt.
Since Abagail's death, Olive and she had become good friends. Like Abagail, Olive had taken to her children, especially Matthew. He spent many an afternoon down at her cattle ranch.
The whole town knew Sully was gone. And they despised him for it. No matter that his loss had been equal to or greater than Loren's, the fact that he had "absquatulated" knocked him down a peg or two in their eyes. Not that he was all that high up there already. Those who had approved originally of Sully's relationship with Abagail now merely nodded when Loren's backers said "I told you so." He couldn't have loved Abagail. Practically the day of her death he had cleared out of town.
Charlotte, of course, knew better. But she was having too many problems of her own to stand up for Sully. Practically out of the blue, Ethan began spending time again in the saloon. Though she didn't know what was the reason, it happened something like this:
Ethan had spent the better part of three years out of Hank's drinking establishment. Especially after Sully's marriage to Abagail, he no longer felt the threat of Sully hanging over him. But after Abagail died and Sully left Colorado Springs for a destination no one knew, he noticed Charlotte always quiet, always moping. A normal man would have known that there was a simple reason: her closest friends had been torn apart. A good man would have given his wife comfort; held her through these tough times. But Ethan was none of these. His own insecurity and selfishness got the best of him, and he began thinking - "Maybe all this time, Charlotte's been hankerin' after Sully. Now that he's disappeared, maybe she'll leave and run away with him. After all, the whole town knows Sully couldn't really have loved Abagail."
These thoughts drove him crazy night and day, until one day, as he was passing by, he finally went into the saloon.
He sat down at the bar. "I'll have a flip ," he told Hank.
Hank nodded coyly and got him the drink. "Bin awhile since I seen you here," he said pointedly. "The missus been keepin' ya in line?"
Ethan angrily shook his head. "The missus don't give me no orders."
So angry was his voice, Hank decided to leave him alone. He stepped away.
"Hey Cooper!" A well-dressed man yelled from behind him.
Ethan swirled around.
"Cooper!" The man, laughing, came up and pumped his hand.
"I'm sorry, do I know ya?" Ethan asked, confused.
"It's me, Townsend," the man said. "I never forget a face. Guess you do though," he joked.
Ethan thought back hard.
"Don't you remember? We met in the Denver saloon? Must've been nigh four years back now! You were looking for a place to settle down an' I was headin' to Calee-fornee-ya!"
The way the man said "California" stuck in Ethan's head.
"Oh! Townsend!" Ethan remembered. "My, my," he clucked as he checked Townsend over. "You do look mighty fine!"
The man looked down at himself proudly. "Goin' to Calee was the best thing I ever did for myself. Found me a rock this big!" he held up his hands. "But enough about me. How'd you do here in Colorado Springs?"
"Well," said Ethan, scratching his head. "Didn't find no silver. But the view's right pretty."
"Didn't I say so?" cajoled Townsend. "Now lookee, here Cooper, I'll be staying in Colorado Springs for some time yet, but you should come back out West with me to Calee. The gold rush has died down, but tradin's picking up somethin' fierce!"
"Oh, I don't know," said Ethan. "I got me a family, we're settled down here…"
"Pshaw!" The man spit. "So you get settled anew it Calee! Plenty a folks a doin' it."
"You got a family?" Ethan asked.
Townsend leaned in privately. "Just between you and me," he confided. "I like bein' a free man. Can git up and leave when I want, do all the entertainin' I want - oh yes! Bachelorhood's the life for me!"
"Oh…really?" Ethan asked wistfully.
"Well, I'd better be going," said Townsend. "Gotta go send a telegraph back East. Like I told you, if you ever get the chance to go to Calee, take it! And if you ever find yourself in San Franscisco, look me up."
Ethan grinned. "I'll do that."
He did see Townsend again, night after night in the saloon.
Sully left the enlistment office stunned. In his hand he held three U.S. Notes - all $100 bills. He didn't know what to do with it.
One o'clock was hours away, so he milled around the town aimlessly. He'd been to St. Louis before, had traveled through it on his way West as a kid. There was nothing he wanted to see now, until a thought struck him. He headed to the Post Office. Inside he bought some writing paper with the small bit of change he found in his pocket, and placed the three $100 bills inside. He then grabbed a government-issue steel pen, and with shaking hands wrote a small note accompanying it. He folded it, then licked it closed. Turning it over, he addressed it:
It cost him $.25 to mail it. This he hadn't thought of, and as he searched through his pockets all he came up with was a three-cent piece and a short bit . He glanced at the postmaster helplessly, who shrugged. Sully sighed and reached up with his enlistment paper in hand to retrieve the
envelope.
"Wait a sec," the man reached for his paper and read it. "Well, why didn't you say you were enlisted!"
"Huh?" Sully asked, confused.
"Don't worry about the postage, sir," the postmaster said. "I'll take care of it for you."
"Oh - ok," Sully said stiffly and stupidly. He took his paper and left, shaking his head.
He arrived promptly at 1pm at the Rolla and Benton barrack, along with ten other men. All of them crowded together, talking loudly and playing with their guns. Sully stayed alone.
All of a sudden an officer in a fresh blue Union uniform came riding into the yard on a grulla horse. The men straightened up. He pulled the horse to a stop and without dismounting said," I'm Captain Henry Taftner. I'm in charge of getting you men ready for your perspective regiments. A - TEN- HUT!" he shouted.
The men stood in line. "Quartermaster Sergeant!" the Captain yelled.
A younger man came over, saluted the senior officer and passed out rifles.
"In your hands, you are holding a Springfield rife. This gun will be at your side for the duration of your stay in the Army. It will go with you everywhere, when you eat, when you sleep, when you PISS! Do you hear me?!" The men nodded. "When I ask you a question, you will answer, yes sir! Do you understand, Privates?"
"Yes sir!" the men shouted in unison.
"Load up your rifles!"
The world came rushing up to Sully in an instant. He looked down at his rifle and remembered...
NEW YORK CITY - November, 1844
Doug and Byron were playing tag on the pier. "I got you!" Byron yelled triumphantly as he tagged his friend. The boys, exhausted from their game, sat down on the edge of the dock, their feet dangling over the water.
Doug sighed. "This is boring," he said. "I don't wanna play no more."
Byron shrugged. "So, what d'ya want to play?"
Doug brightened. "Cops and robbers!"
Byron was confused. "What's that? We never played it before."
"One of us is the constable and the other the robber and you get to chase 'em!"
Byron frowned. "Sounds like tag to me."
Doug shook his head. "Aww, it's the beatingest game! C'mon, me and Jimmy play it all the time."
"I don't know..." Byron began.
"Ronny, you ain't even heard the best part yet," the boy whined.
"What's that?"
Doug leaned in privately. "We use *real* guns."
Byron laughed in his face. "Oh yeah, Doug," he scoffed. "Where you got a real gun?"
"I do too have one!" said Doug defiantly. "I'll show you."
The boys raced off the pier into Doug MacAllister’s shabby tenement building. They crept through the apartment until Doug stopped at a wooden box in the corner of the room.
"Pa don't know I know it's here," he whispered to Byron. "I always put it back when we finish playing with it."
He opened the box and took out several blankets, then two revolvers. He handed Byron one of them.
Byron took it. The cold steel glistened in his hands. "Wow," he breathed.
"C'mon!" The boys stuck the guns in their shirts and ran to the back alley. "Let's practice first," Doug told Byron as he set up several cans on the wooden crates that lay about.
"Ain't someone gonna hear it and come runnin'?" Byron asked.
Doug shrugged. "No one cares, not even the coppers. C'mon Ronny, we hear it all the time, you know that."
Byron nodded. Doug took aim at the can, cocked his gun, and fired. The bulled pinged as it bounced off the cobblestone and finally lodged in a crate. Doug laughed. "I ain't a very good shot," he told Byron. "You try."
Byron gritted his teeth, cocked the gun, aimed and fired. The can fell off the crate.
"You hit it!" exclaimed Doug. "Do it again!"
Byron tuned to another can and shot again. This time it flew into the air, where Byron shot at it once more, exploding it.
"Wow, Ronny," said Doug, truly impressed. "where'd you learn to shoot like that?"
Byron shrugged. "I never picked up a gun in my whole life," he said proudly. Must be a natural, I guess."
Doug pushed him good-naturedly. "Don't go gettin' all high-falutin’ on me now. Well, guess that shot means you get to be the constable. " He took Byron's gun, opened the chamber, and removed the bullets. He stuck them in his pocket. "Here you go," he returned the gun to Byron.
He did the same thing to his own gun, then began running. "I just stole $30!" he yelled behind him. "What're you gonna do 'bout it?!"
Byron grinned and chased him. "I'm gonna shoot you down, you no good, dirty rascal!" He pulled back the trigger and pointed it at him. "Bang!" he shouted, pulling the trigger. It didn't move. "Huh?" he looked down at the gun and tried to force it back.
"Hey Doug! Come over here!" he yelled to his friend. "I think it's stuck!"
Doug ran over to him and took the gun. "Oh man," he said, frustrated, trying to pull it back into position. "My Pa's gonna kill me if he finds out." He desperately yanked the trigger back, holding the gun between his knees with his head down, the barrel facing upwards. It didn't budge. "C'mon, c'mon," he worked the trigger, his fingers edging dangerously close to pushing it.
"Hey Doug, watch out," Byron warned.
Doug shrugged. "Don't matter," he said, still trying to force it. "It's jammed, and there ain't no bullets in there. Look, it ain't gonna do anything." He pressed down on the trigger.
"Dou-!" Byron began.
BANG!!!
Sully's head whipped forward as ten rifles fired.
"Private Sully!" He heard a man call his name out. He looked up to see the Captain, Quartermaster Sergeant, and ten fellow volunteers staring at him.
"Load your rifle, Private Sully!" the Captain shouted. Sully winced.
"I...I don't know how."
One of the boys guffawed loudly. An icy stare from the QM shut him up.
"Considering the lack of talent we have on this field," the Captain said, "it would be wise for everyone to keep their mouths shut until we see what Private Sully can do." He looked over at Sully, then nodded at the QM, who walked over.
Sully was shaking. He didn't want to touch that weapon, didn't want to fire it, but he knew he had to. Gingerly he picked it up.
"Open the powder cartridge," the QM told him.
Sully started to drop the gun, tearing the cartridge open with two hands.
"With your *teeth*," the QM said, disgusted. "Pour it down the barrel," the QM continued.
Sully complied.
"Push in the bullet," came the next order. "Draw the ramrod and push the bullet all the way down."
Sully did so.
"Pull back the hammer!" The QM's orders were coming fast and furious. "Put the percussion cap in the nib beneath the hammer."
"Aim and shoot!"
Shaking, Sully brought the rifle up to shoot...
"DOUG!!" Byron screamed. But it was too late. The bullet exploded out of the gun, shattering the boy's skull. There was blood everywhere. Byron had no idea what to do. His nine-year-old body cradled the dying boy's, whose head was nearly blown half away, and held him.
"I...I thought it was empty, Ronny," the boy mustered.
Byron just cried. "Oh God, I'm so sorry, Dougie! It's all my fault!"
"I, I thought it was empty," were the boy's final words. His head rolled to the side, blood pouring over Byron's hands.
"Private Sully! Did you hear me?! I just gave you an order!"
Sully looked up, then down at his hands. There was nothing there. He snapped into reality. "Yes sir," he said, and squeezed off a shot.
The bottle shattered.
"Well, well, well," said the Captain. "You can shoot, but the way you load, you'll be dead before you can tear the top of your cartridge off!"
Sully looked around him for the first time. Not one of the other men's bottles were broken.
The "training" continued for 5 days, the end of which placements were made. Sully learned that he was placed in Battery A, 2nd U.S. Artillery under the command of General John Buford. Sully acknowledged the placement, then settled back into his own affairs. He had not spoken a word to anyone in the five days unless spoken to first.
On the morning of June 16th, the QM came into the barrack. For the 60 or so men that were living there at the time, this was not an unusual thing, so they didn't pay attention when the officer came up to the loner . Instead, they kept talking to each other, singing songs, and playing made-up games. Sully, as usual, was not participating; he sat in the corner by himself.
"Private Sully?" he heard someone call out.
He looked up and saw the QM standing there. Standing up, he saluted. "Yes sir?" he queried.
"Follow me," the QM turned and left the building. They walked to a side yard in the barracks. There, Captain Taftner, and another man Sully did not know, stood. But Sully immediately recognized his bars as Colonel, and saluted both the Captain and him.
"At ease, Private," the Colonel said, laughing a bit. "You're Private Sully?" he queried.
Sully nodded. "Yes sir," he replied.
The man extended his hand. "I'm Colonel George Steward," he said. "Captain Taftner has been telling me what a good shot you are."
Sully didn't know what to say. The Colonel continued. "We may have another place for you in the Army, if you're as good as he says."
"I'm not sure I'm really as good as the Captain has made me out to be," he replied tentatively.
"Pshaw!" the Captain exclaimed. He turned to the Colonel. "When he arrived here, this man didn't even know how to load a rifle. Now he loads with the best of 'em - two shots a minute, and can hit any target you want."
"We'll see," said Steward. He walked around the yard setting up several targets. Sully almost wanted to laugh. This was a challenge?
Within two minutes, all the targets were down. Steward next set up a big board, with a 2ft by 2ft white box painted on it. Within the box were the outlines of six circles, each one inch in diameter. He smiled, almost evilly, Sully thought. "Hit all of them, perfectly clean through, within three minutes."
Sully gulped. "Perfectly?" he asked.
"Colonel," the Captain began. "You surely can't expect -"
The Colonel held up his hand. "If he's as good a shot as you say, he can do it." He withdrew his pocket watch. "Go!" he shouted.
Sully loaded as quickly as he could, aimed at the tiny black dot, and fired. Sweating, he reloaded and fired five more times. He dropped the gun to his side when he was finished.
The Colonel glanced at his pocketwatch. "Two minutes and 48 seconds," he declared. "Very good. Now, let's see if your aim is as good as your timing."
The three men stalked off to the board. Through the center of each hole was a clean shot.
Steward smiled. "Congratulations, Private Sully," he said. "You'll be hearing from me."