Chapter Twelve
Paris, Kentucky: 1862



The Seventh Kentucky Cavalry's camp outside Paris was nearly deserted. Workmen were digging trenches and setting up tents, but there was not a soldier in evidence. Lucian reined in the mules and assisted Pamela down from the wagon. “Hello?” he called. “Hello the camp.”

A young soldier came out of one of the tents. He looked familiar – Lucian recognized him as one of the men who had come to the farm to inspect the horses. He also remembered that the young man had regarded him with disapproval, although he was uncertain why.

“Mr. Carr?” the young man said. He looked at Pamela and the men crowded around the pair. “What are you doing here?” He looked at the mules. “Your horses?” He swore softly. “Morgan raided you, didn't he?”

Lucian nodded. “He took all my horses, even the brood stock. May we speak to whomever's in charge, Corporal. . . ?”

“Palmer,” the young man said. “And I'm in charge right now. Everyone else is out chasing Morgan. I'm on the convalescent list, so I got left behind.” He held up a tent flap. “We can use the Colonel's tent for the moment while I take your report.”

Lucian, Pamela and Jacob followed Corporal Palmer into the large tent. Palmer raised his eyebrows at this, but did not remark on it. “We want to do more than report it,” Lucian said. “We're here to join up – myself in the army, my daughter as a nurse, and my men as laborers.”

Palmer frowned. “We can't accept slaves as laborers, Mr. Carr,” he said sternly.

“I've freed them,” Lucian said.

Palmer raised his eyebrows, but before he could speak, there was a clatter of horse hoofs in the yard. A few moments later, Colonel Leonidas Metcalfe strode into the tent, his craggy face looking haggard. He stopped short at the unexpected sight that met his eyes, then commenced to pull off his mud-spattered gloves. “What are you doing here, Carr?” He bowed to Pamela. “Miss Carr.” He frowned at Jacob, then turned to Lucian.

“Hello, Lon,” Lucian said.

“Morgan raided them,” Palmer explained. “I was taking a report.”

“Carry on then, Corporal,” Metcalfe said. He strode over to a basin, rolled up his sleeves and washed his face and hands as Lucian told of Morgan's raid.

“Damn,” Metcalfe exclaimed. He bowed to Pamela. “Pardon me, Miss Carr. We really need those horses. Morgan got three hundred of ours after that brutal fight in Cynthiana.”

“He had a lot of wounded,” Pamela said.

Metcalfe snorted. “Not nearly as many as we did.” He frowned. “I lost a lot of good men two days ago. We aren't even mustered in yet. Damn Morgan. What does he think he's doing, attacking his own state?”

“Liberating it, he says,” Lucian said.

“Apparently the 'good people' of Paris agree,” Metcalfe said, disgusted. “They went out on the road to meet him and surrendered the town without a fight. Although that didn't keep him from high-tailing it out of here the moment we got near him.”

“I take it you didn't catch him,” Palmer said.

“No,” Metcalfe said shortly. “General Smith has brought up a brigade from Lexington – Morgan's his problem now.” He ran his hands through his graying hair. “I do wish I knew how Morgan keeps eluding us – it's as though he knows our every move.”

“Oh,” Pamela said. “I know how.”

Metcalfe regarded her skeptically. “You do?”

“While I was tending the wounded, one of the men was bragging about it. He said he was tapping into the telegraph lines – intercepting messages and sending out false ones. Morgan's men called him ‘Lightning’.”

Metcalfe pounded his knee. “Of course! It makes sense, now. Palmer, go send one of the men to notify General Smith – he's on his way to Winchester.”

Palmer left hurriedly and Metcalfe took Pamela's hand. “Thank you, Miss.” He bowed over it. “We may catch the rascal yet.” He turned to Lucian. “Thank you for your report, Carr. Should I detail a few men to escort you home?”

“No, Lon,” Lucian said. “We're staying. We want to join up.” He indicated Pamela and Jacob. “All of us.”

Corporal Palmer returned and stood by the flap of the tent as Lucian detailed his reasons. Metcalfe sat behind his desk, tapping his log book with a pencil. “I remember your father, the old reprobate, but I didn't realize he'd left you in such straits. You don't have to do this, you know. The law allows me to levy funds from sympathizers for all of Morgan's depredations. I'd already begun before we were called up to Cynthiana – the list keeps getting longer,” his voice was grim, “but I'll collect it all, never fear.”

Lucian shook his head. “Rob my neighbors because Morgan robbed me? No, Lon, I think a man should be punished for what he does, not what he thinks.”

Metcalfe leaned forward. “That's where you're wrong, Carr. It's a short step from thinking to doing. These people are financing the rebellion – the quicker we bankrupt them, the shorter the war will be. None of them would hesitate to rob you if the situation were reversed.”

“I hope they would,” Lucian said, “but even if they wouldn't, I have to do what I think is right. We're joining the army, if you'll take us.”

Metcalfe grimaced. “I know you can ride, and I know you can shoot, so we'll take you, if you can pass the physical, and almost anyone can pass it nowadays. What was it you took in college?”

“Art,” Lucian answered, reddening.

“Art,” Metcalfe repeated drily. “That'll come in handy on the battlefield. You can paint a picture – be sure to use lots of red.”

Lucian drew himself up. “I'm no warrior, I'll admit, but I hope to be able to do my duty.”

“I hope so, too,” Metcalfe said. “Although. . . ,” his eyes narrowed, “now that I think of it, aren't you and Morgan related?”

“By marriage,” Lucian said. “He's my wife's cousin. And how is your son Henry these days?”

Metcalfe winced. “So you heard about that? Just because my boy runs off and joins the rebels. . .” He paused. “All right, you have a point. If I were to suspect everyone who had rebel ties, I'd have to suspect the entire state, including myself.” He rubbed his hands over his face. “Forgive me – I'm tired and frustrated and I shouldn't be sparring with you like this.” He stood and offered his hand. “Welcome to the Seventh Cavalry, Second Lieutenant Carr. You're assigned to Company D, under Captain William Bradley. He's still up in Cynthiana, but you will report to him when he returns – as soon as he recovers sufficiently from his wounds. Palmer, will you escort Carr's men to the Quartermaster? I'll escort Miss Carr and her father to the surgeon's tent.” He looked at Jacob. “You may have one servant, Lt. Carr, but you won't be drawing a salary until we're mustered in. The officers are responsible for their own rations and uniform – do you have any money?”

Lucian shook his head. “Very little, but I'll manage. About the men – they're all skilled laborers: carpenters, machinists, blacksmiths, stonemasons. My head groom knows more about horses than any ten men.” He hesitated. “And they can all read and write.”

Metcalfe started. “That's illegal.”

“So it is.” Lucian raised his chin.

Metcalfe considered him a moment. “It seems I may have underestimated you, Carr. Palmer, see that the Quartermaster is informed of the quality of what we're sending him.”

“I'd rather you did, Colonel,” Lucian said. “It will carry more weight coming from you.”

Metcalfe frowned, but waved a hand. “All right. We need good men. I'd hate to lose them by not treating them properly. Palmer, you escort the Carrs to the surgeon.” He stood. “I'll see to these men, then I'm not to be disturbed unless Morgan himself rides into camp.”

“Yes, sir,” Palmer saluted.

Jacob accompanied them out of the Colonel's tent and began to follow Lucian and Pamela. “Go with the Colonel, Jacob,” Lucian said.

“I don't believe you get to tell me what to do anymore,” Jacob replied. “I'm going with you. The Colonel said you could have a servant.”

“I don't want a servant,” Lucian said testily. “I'm sick of servants.”

Colonel Metcalfe watched them, fists on hips. “Yes, you're a free man now, Jacob, is it? You may go where you please.”

“I please to go with Mr. Carr,” Jacob said stubbornly.

Metcalfe laughed. “Looks as though you have a servant whether you want one or not, Carr.” He sobered. “Although whether you deserve such devotion is another matter.” He motioned to the other men who were waiting. “Come with me. I'll get you signed up and accommodated.” He strode off, the men following.

Jacob persisted in following Lucian, Pamela and Corporal Palmer to the surgeon's tent. The soldiers they passed looked at them with vacant eyes, haggard and worn. “What are you thinking of, Jacob?” Lucian asked.

“We'll discuss it later,” Jacob said firmly. Palmer raised his eyes at this, but said nothing.

Pamela noticed that Palmer was limping. “Are you wounded, Corporal?” she asked.

Palmer grinned ruefully. “No, ma'am. I was thrown from a horse. I'll be able to ride in a week or so. I'm only sorry I missed the fighting.”

“You'll have ample opportunity for that,” Lucian assured him. “The South wants Kentucky, the North wants to keep us. I'm sure we haven't seen the last of Morgan, either.”

“I expect you're right, sir,” Palmer said. “Here we are.” He pushed back the tent flap and called for a surgeon. He turned his charges over to the hospital steward, then turned to Lucian. “May I visit you in your tent later, sir? I would like to discuss a few things with you, if I may.”

“Of course, Corporal,” Lucian said, then put himself into the hands of the surgeon.



His tent was near the corral which stood more than half empty due to Morgan's raid. His things had already been moved into the small tent, and Jacob had arranged them comfortably. “What is all this?” Lucian demanded. “You know I've never liked you waiting on me. I only allowed it before because of appearances.”

“I figured if I signed on to the army,” Jacob said, “I could be sent anywhere. If I sign on with you, then I go where you go.”

Lucian frowned. “True enough. But I don't want you as a servant, Jacob. You've done enough of that sort of thing. You're an intelligent, talented man. You deserve better.”

“I'll make you a deal,” Jacob said. “If the war continues much longer, it's quite likely the army will enlist black soldiers. When they do, then you go where I go.”

“All right,” Lucian agreed. “I suppose none of us are where we should be, in a perfect world. But you're my servant in name only, you hear? I can look after myself.”

Jacob smiled. “We'll look after each other.”

“Hello? Lt. Carr?” Corporal Palmer called from outside the tent. “May I come in?”

“Come in, Corporal,” Lucian said. “Make yourself at home.”

There were no chairs in the tent. Palmer handed Lucian an envelope and sat on one of the cots. “Colonel Metcalfe sends his compliments and has authorized the paymaster to give you an advance on your salary.” Clay grinned. “He says a starving officer does no one any good.”

“That's very good of him,” Lucian said. “Better than I would have expected.”

“Have you known the colonel long?” Clay asked.

“All my life, casually,” Lucian said. “We don't run in the same circles, but you'll find that pretty much everyone in Kentucky knows everyone else, and can figure kinship to the tenth degree.”

“He killed a man in a duel a couple of months ago, did you know that?”

“I heard about it,” Lucian said. “To be fair, he was challenged, and it was intended to be a political killing. Lon's not popular with the secessionist element. Nor they with him – they tried to get him out of the way and failed.”

“I see,” Palmer said. He clasped his knees. “The reason I wanted to talk to you, sir, was that I feel that I owe you an apology.”

“Whatever for?” Lucian asked, sitting down across from Palmer. He looked up at Jacob. “For Pete's sake, Jacob. Sit down.” Jacob sat on the cot by Lucian. “I hardly know you, Corporal,” Lucian continued.

“Please, call me Clay, at least when we're alone,” Palmer said. “I have to apologize for misjudging you. When we came out to your ranch the other day, and I saw all those slaves, well. . .”

“It's a farm, not a ranch,” Lucian corrected. “You're not from here, are you? You don't talk like a Kentuckian.”

“I'm from California,” Clay said.

“I didn't think anyone was from there,” Lucian said.

“My parents were early pioneers,” Clay explained. “I was even born in a log cabin.”

“Why not join a California regiment, then?”

“The California regiments are Indian fighters, sir. I joined the army to fight rebels, not Indians,” Clay said grimly. “I grew up with Indians. They're my friends.”

“How old are you, Clay?”

“Eighteen.”

“Your parents let you come all the way out here to fight?”

Clay nodded. “They’re both abolitionists, and neither one are happy about Washington’s Indian policy either, so they understand. And Kentucky does seem to be the heart and soul of the matter.”

“But it's a might jarring to find yourself in a slave state, isn’t it?”

“Well, I knew it was a slave state before I came, but yes, it's far more. . .disgusting than I thought it would be.” He leaned forward eagerly. “But I learned something today – I didn't think an honorable man could own a slave. It never occurred to me that a slaveholder might be trapped as well as a slave is.”

“I don't know how honorable I am,” Lucian said. “All my life, at least since my father died, it's always been a choice between two evils. It certainly would have been easier for me to have let the creditors seize the whole kit and caboodle – I wouldn't have spent twenty years throwing money down a deep, dark well.”

“Why didn't you?” Clay asked.

“Corporal Palmer, allow me to introduce my brother, Jacob,” Lucian said.

“Your. . .brother.” Clay paused a long moment, looking at the two men, one light, one dark. “I see.”

“Are you shocked, boy?”

“I suppose I would be, if I didn't have a half-brother myself,” Clay said. “I can understand doing nearly anything for his sake. The way he got here might be shameful, but I don't care about that. Anymore than you do, apparently.”

“Would you allow your brother to be your servant?” Lucian asked.

“It's not up to you,” Jacob said. “I go where you go.”

Clay looked from one to the other. “I wouldn't want to, no. But if it were the only way to stay together, I guess I would. Reluctantly.”

Lucian smiled. “As you say.”

“So will you accept my apology?”

“You got nothing to apologize for. If every man had to apologize for what he thought, we'd be doing nothing else.”

“There's something else I'd like to discuss with you, if I might be so bold, sir?”

“Don't call me 'sir', Clay, at least when we're alone. Call me Lucian.”

“It's about your daughter, sir. I mean, Lucian. She shouldn't be here.”

“Pamela may be young, but she's a strong woman.”

“I'm certain she is.” Clay shifted uncomfortably. “But – I've only been in the army a few months, but I've seen far more soldiers die of disease than from wounds. The boys from these rural districts are always hit the hardest. We men, we all take our chances, of course, but a young woman. . .couldn't you send her to a relative or something?”

“Daddy?” Pamela's voice called from outside the tent. “Do I have the right tent?”

Lucian stood and opened the tent flap. “Come in, dear. We were just talking about you. Corporal Palmer is concerned for your welfare.”

Clay stood as Pamela entered. “I'm afraid nursing is much more dangerous than you might realize, Miss Carr. Have you had scarlet fever, measles, smallpox? I've seen young men die from all these diseases in the last few months. The hospital is far more dangerous than the battlefield.”

Pamela sat down on the cot. “I appreciate your concern, Corporal, and no, I haven't had any of those diseases. I was schooled at home. But I would scorn to shirk my duty as much as you would.” She turned to her father. “They want to send me to the hospital in Lexington, Daddy. They don't allow women nurses to travel with the regiments. I've convinced them to let me stay and tend the wounded from the battle in Cynthiana, but after that, they're sending me away.” A tear crept down her cheek. “I don't want to leave you, Daddy. I didn't expect this.”

Lucian sat down on the cot beside her and took her hand. “There, there, dear. I'm sorry – I didn't expect it either. You don't have to be a nurse, but then I don't know what we'd do. Clay here has suggested you go to a relative, but you still wouldn't be with me.” He raised her chin. “Cheer up – Lexington's not far. We can still see each other.”

She wiped her eyes. “I know, forgive me. I'm acting like a little girl. But so much has happened in twenty four hours – I'm a bit overwhelmed.”

“You lost your home,” Clay said. “That's enough to upset anyone. I would shed a few tears about it, too.”

Pamela smiled up at him. “Thank you. Well, I'll be here for awhile, anyway. Who knows what will happen? 'Sufficient unto the day,' right?”

“That's my girl,” Lucian said, approvingly. “Perhaps Clay is right, though – maybe you should go to a relative.”

“They're all secessionists, Daddy, you know that. They'd take me in, but with you fighting for the Union. . .I'd rather be fighting with you, in my own way.”

“As do I,” Jacob said. “We have a little bourbon left – shall I break it out? We have much to mourn, but also much to celebrate.”

“I'll do it,” Lucian said. He looked around the tent. “Where is it?”

Jacob laughed. He stood and opened a trunk. “You'll have to do better than that.” He took out a bottle and glasses, set the glasses on top of the trunk and poured out the liquor. He handed around the glasses.

“I've never had bourbon before,” Pamela said.

“You'll want to join the toast,” Jacob said. He raised his glass. “To Freedom!”

“To Freedom!” they all agreed.



Lucian's captain, William Bradley, had been shot through the leg at the battle of Cynthiana. He returned to Paris in a few days, but was unable to attend to this duties for several weeks. As a First Lieutenant had not yet been recruited, the duties of drilling and training the recruits fell onto Lucian's shoulders, a task for which he was ill prepared. The Captain of Clay’s company, Company C, Thomas Vimont, allowed the two companies to be combined for the purpose of drill, and also took Lucian under his wing while Captain Bradley was incapacitated.

Colonel Metcalfe was often absent, intent on his task of raising funds to pay for Morgan's depredations. In this he was zealous – many thought over-zealous – and since nearly all of his men were friends or relatives of the secessionists he levied by threat of imprisonment, he aroused much ill-feeling both in the town and in his own regiment.

In August, the regiment was mustered in, but a few days later Generals Bragg and Kirby Smith invaded Kentucky from Tennessee, moving through the Cumberland Gap and north toward Richmond, Kentucky. All the Union regiments in eastern Kentucky, as well as many from the neighboring states of Ohio, Indiana and Tennessee, were rushed to defend Richmond.

Only a week after muster, the Seventh Kentucky Cavalry was attacked by Confederates at Big Hill, just south of Richmond. Colonel Metcalfe ordered his troops forward, but at the first cannon shot from the Confederates, three-fourths of his four hundred men mounted their horses and fled the battlefield. Of the hundred men left, ten were killed and forty wounded. They were rescued by the Third Tennessee Infantry, and the fleeing soldiers were stopped by a brigade moving down from Lexington and returned to the regiment.

In the battle, Lucian was wounded and Clay was captured, so neither were present a week later when the Confederates defeated the Union at the battle of Richmond, when Colonel Metcalfe's troops once again deserted him. He resigned from the army in disgust and retired to Cincinnati, quitting both the army and his native state.

The Confederates took Richmond, capturing over four thousand Union prisoners, and quickly captured Lexington and the capitol city of Frankfort, installing their own Governor. There were many battles throughout the state for the next several weeks, but at the small town of Perryville, the Confederate advance was finally stopped. The rebels withdrew into Tennessee and, once more, Kentucky belonged to the Union.

After the battle of Big Hill, as was the custom, Clay was paroled, giving his word not to fight until an official prisoner exchange was made, and he accompanied the wounded Lucian to the hospital in Lexington. Although the hole in Lucian’s shoulder was only a flesh wound, he developed a fever and there was some doubt that he would survive. Nursed day and night by Jacob and Pamela, Lucian did finally recover, although it was some weeks before he regained his strength and he and Clay returned to their regiment.

Now under command of Colonel Faulkner, the Seventh Kentucky spent that fall and winter reforming. Those men who had not run during the battle found themselves promoted. Clay became a Second Lieutenant, while Lucian became a First. Clay's captain Vimont was made Lieutenant Colonel, while Lucian's captain Bradley was promoted to Major.

In December the regiment was sent to Tennessee, leaving Pamela behind in Lexington, much to her dismay. The unit was in several skirmishes before the end of the year, but no large battles.

In the spring, as Ulysses S. Grant continued his quest to control the Mississippi River by marching on Vicksburg, it was decided in Washington to recruit black regiments. All commissioned officers in these regiments would be white, which, while unfair, did allow Lucian and Clay to apply for transfers to the regiment that Jacob ultimately joined. Kentucky raised no black regiments, so it was necessary for the three of them to travel to the Mississippi to join Grant's army. Pamela took the opportunity to transfer to a hospital in Memphis as her father, uncle and friend transferred to the Ninth Louisiana Infantry, African Descent, that was then forming at the small town of Milliken's Bend, Louisiana.