Becoming Horse and Mule Soldiers

"Well, ain't you the Tennessee terror," the guard grunted.

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Later at the guard station the officer of the day, a fresh fish from Mississippi, questioned J. N. and determined he was who he said he was. J. N. lied and said he'd brought his 17, near 18, year-old twin cousins to join up. He said to the officer, "Sir, Yankee raiders killed my uncle, their father and big brother, last month. They had to come, Sir. They couldn't do nothing else." J. N.'s face was somber, his eyes hard. The 2nd Lieutenant looked as if he credited his story.

Every morning on the trail, J. N. had rubbed dirt on Lou's face and hands and told her to keep her battered wide brimmed hat down on her head. He'd ordered her to keep her collar up and not to wash her face, ever. "Just rub it off every day, no water!" His guise seemed to have worked.

"Lou there, Lieutenant, the tall skinny one, is a fine farrier and Alex, the pleasantly plump one has the makings of a bugler." J. N. paused and changed to a more serious tone, "Sir, I reckon I've had enough of hanging in trees and lurking behind cover and taking easy shots at Yankee officers and gunners. Sorta felt like I wanted the rascals to see who's sending them to hell for their presumption, Sir." He paused and shrugged, "Lots of Yankees were between me and Bragg's army so we came to find you all." Taking a short breath, "Mighty fine work you all did, Sir, up at Anderson Crossing, fiery trail from the valley to the plateau," J. N. smiled. It seemed he was a salesman or preacher in the making, a witty and smooth talker.