GLORY - II Chapter 3

"Least they could o' done was reschedule this here event," remarked an old gray-bearded soldier standing next to Sergeant Booker D. Hooker, his deep voice sounding gravely and tired.

Sergeant Hooker gave him a quick sympathetic smile, then returned his attention to the rain-soaked parade field spread out around them. The entire 59th United States Colored Infantry Regiment was formed up in parade formation, standing at stiff attention, looking more like drowned rats than a crack infantry outfit.

Today was a very special day. Their brigade, which also included the 55th U.S. Colored Infantry Regiment forming on the other side of the parade field, was being officially re-named.

The Brigade Adjutant started the ceremonies with a wheezing voice, still fighting off the effects of a spring cold.

"In accordance with General Order number 7, dated at Vicksburg, March 11, 1864, by order of the Secretary of War, signed L. Thomas, Adjutant General, the name of the First West Tennessee Infantry of African Descent, is hereby changed to the 55th and 59th United States Colored Infantry regiments, and by General Order number 31, dated
March 24, 1864, promulgated to the Sixteenth Army Corps."

"Dees here white boys shore talks funny don’ they?" the old soldier again stated, mocking the official language used by their Brigade Adjutant. Sergeant Hooker continued to ignore him. Camp scuttlebutt hinted that half a dozen or more officers had resigned and a couple of others were possibly being cashiered.

Over the next half-hour the scuttlebutt was verified. Quartermaster Joe Vincent was dismissed for drunkenness, Chaplain Kephart resigned, Captains Darnell and Martin and Lieutenants Branham and Ulm resigned, Lieutenant Jones was dismissed for being drunk on duty, and Lieutenant Campbell was discharged on account of disability.

Eight officers lost. That could mean only one thing, promotions. Over the next very wet half-hour the vacancies left by those out-going officers were filled with the most skilled and qualified officers below them. The First Lieutenants moved up to Captains, Second Lieutenants to First Lieutenant, which brought the ceremony to a climactic point.

The official regimental color line stopped at First Sergeant. All Regimental First Sergeants and the Sergeant Majors were white soldiers. Non-Coms below this rank were black. Everyone in the regiment was anxious to see if this barrier would hold.

It did not. Sergeant Major Seth Wheaton and First Sergeants Schwartz, Kleinknecht, and Heminway were all promoted to Second Lieutenants, and the remaining four white First Sergeants were, at their requests, given discharges or transfers.

A murmur of anxiety spread throughout the Regiment, twelve senior non-commissioned officer ranks had to be filled, Quartermaster Sergeant, Regimental Sergeant Major, and ten First Sergeant slots. All eyes were scanning the faces of the black junior sergeants trying to determine who would be the lucky ones.

"Attention to orders!" barked the Regimental Adjutant, Lieutenant Albert Avery. "The following non-commissioned offers are hereby promoted to the rank of First Sergeant." He slowly called out the names of the deserving sergeants, who quickly moved forward with eagerness to pick up their First Sergeant Stripes, their black faces gleaming with pride and wide white smiles.

"We have not yet selected a replacement for Quartermaster Sergeant John Leach who replaced Lieutenant Vincent, but we have selected a very deserving and highly qualified non-commissioned officer to replace Lieutenant Wheaton as our new Regimental Sergeant Major. Sergeant Booker D. Hooker, front and center!"

At first Sergeant Hooker was not certain he had heard his name called, but when all eyes in the regiment quickly turned in his direction, he stepped forward quickly and marched smartly to stop three paces in front of the Adjutant.

Lieutenant Avery smiled and turned to Colonel Edward Bouton, the Brigade Commander who was filling in for the Regimental Commander, Major Cowden. Colonel Bouton stepped forward and handed two Sergeant Major chevrons to Sergeant Hooker, then as he returned to his position, was given a sharp salute by the new Regimental Sergeant Major.

"Sergeant Major Hooker was not selected by the officers of this Brigade to be your new Regimental Sergeant Major," Colonel Bouton stated, his deep voice carrying to the far corners of the parade field. "Although had they recourse to make the selection, I feel certain that Sergeant Major Hooker would have received unanimous acclaim by them. In a sweeping show of unity, I might add, totally contrary to military protocol, a secret ballot was conducted of all the men of the 59th. It was from this ballot that the name of Sergeant Hooker came forth. Practically every soldier in the unit selected him to be their "top soldier."

Hooker should not have been surprised by the good news, but he was. Everyone in the brigade knew he had fought at Fort Wagner with the 54th Massachusetts Infantry. They knew he had been right beside Colonel Shaw the moment he was killed and they also knew that the 54th had paid a terrible price for their glorious charge. Many had followed him when he resigned from the 54th. Continuous garrison duty had not suited Corporal Hooker, who wanted to be out fighting the enemy. The moment he had heard that a new regiment of colored troops was being formed in west Tennessee, not far from his old slave plantation in Selmer, he hastened to join them.

The rain was still pouring down as the brigade was dismissed, the muddy water running ankle deep on the soggy parade field. April had been one of the wettest months in memory and it looked as if May was to follow suit. Their camp, two miles south of Memphis on Rayburn Avenue, had been built with pride and sweat, each unit seeking to outdo the other in beauty and vying to be the best company in the regiment. Most of the recruits for the Regiment came from slaves who escaped from the large plantations in northern Mississippi, especially Tippah and Marshall Counties.

The local citizens had initially been very hostile towards the new black regiment, but over a period of time, and through diligence and the excellent behavior of the soldiers, they had come to tolerate, if not respect, the colored soldiers.

The white First Sergeants had the men build them a large and comfortable barracks between officer and enlisted country, but now that they would be moving into officers’ row, the new black senior Non-commissioned officers would occupy the building for themselves. Already, a detail could be seen carrying personal belongings from the building towards officer country.

"Sergeant Major Hooker!"

The sudden sharp command startled Hooker as his thoughts had been elsewhere. He turned to see his Regimental Commander, Major Cowden, sloshing through the mud towards him, a grim look on his ruddy face. As Hooker came to attention and saluted, the Major asked, "About the incident in Mississippi, I would like your personal viewpoint Sergeant Major?"

Hooker was well aware that the Major knew all there was to know about the incident for it had been investigated in very fine detail by both the Adjutant and Colonel Bouton. He also had a lot of personal respect for Major Cowden, a fine officer, a good commander, and a very fair man.

"He was wrong sir," Hooker replied. "Sergeant Selmer was completely wrong for the way he treated those Reb prisoners." He did not add that Lieutenant Jones and Lieutenant Vincent, who had watched and condoned the act, were just as guilty, for that was officer business and none of his affair. The fact that both officers had been dismissed from the Regiment may or may not have been a factor of the incident.

The Major wiped the rain from his nose before continuing. "The fact that General Sturgis busted him down to private, do you consider that sufficient punishment or do his actions warrant additional or more severe punitive measures?"

"Selmer is eat up inside with hate for the white man, Sir," Hooker replied. "No amount of punishment will stop that hate. When he was just a boy, he watched while three white men repeatedly raped, then beat his mamma to death. He was with me at Fort Wagner and watched as most of his friends were slaughtered in that glorious but senseless charge. He was at Fort Pillow when the Rebs butchered the black soldiers and civilians. The boy has scars that will probably never heal. I can't agree with his decision to torture those Reb prisoners, no man in his right mind would, evil begets evil, hate produces hate, until it becomes a never ending cycle. But I can understand how his hate developed. Selmer's actions placed a black mark on the Regiment's honor and also demonstrated that he could not be trusted to fulfill the duties of a Non-commissioned officer. But, he is a good soldier, a hard fighter and not one to shirk his duty or act in a cowardly manner. I think if you keep him out of any position of authority, allow him no responsibility, he will continue to be a good soldier. There is certainly no way you can drive the hate from him, believe me I've tried Sir."

"Keep a close eye on him Sergeant Major," Major Cowden replied, in a tone of voice that signified that the matter was settled.

As Hooker saluted, Major Cowden turned and waded off through the deepening mud. When Hooker entered his old barracks to arrange his belongings for movement to the new Senior Sergeant's quarters, he was accosted by a hundred well-wishers, patting him on the back, congratulating him on his new promotion to Top Soldier.

Hooker, in his mid fifties, was no longer a young man. His scarred back and callused hands had seen nothing but bondage and hard labor. His previous master had not been one of the better ones, he had been known far and wide as an arrogant, sadistic, and evil man, an outcast among his own society.

When the old master had died back in the early fifties, Hooker had taken the opportunity to escape to freedom in the north for no one truly knew what slave assets the old codger really had. In Boston, he had hired on as a general deck hand on a Trans-Atlantic shipping line, and for ten grueling years he had served the ship faithfully. As soon as word spread about the forming of a Negro Regiment in the Union Army, Hooker had left the comfort of his hard-won position aboard ship to be one of the first to enlist in the 54th Massachusetts Infantry.

As he neared his bunk in the back of the barracks, he saw Sergeant, now Private, Selmer standing slouched against the wall. There was no hint of a smile on his face nor did his voice have warmth as he stated, "The Major, reckon he want more than my stripes?" Then in a servile tone he added, "Massa want to whoop up on this here bad niggah?"

Noticing the hate and anger in his eyes, Hooker did not respond for he knew that given time, Selmer would eventually cool down and get back to the job of soldiering. After a few awkward moments of silence, Selmer again spoke.

"‘Gratulations on makin' Top Soldier. Hell, every body knowed you is the best soldier in the outfit anyways."

"Thanks," Hooker replied, pulling his coat from a wooden hook on the wall, the sight of the hook suddenly reminding him of how he had acquired his freeman's name.

His primary job on the old plantation had been in the slaughterhouse as a meat hooker where he had to hang the animal carcasses on meat hooks for butchering. The other slaves called him Bookerman because early in his youth he had stolen a book from the master's home, an act he had paid for with the whip. Bookerman had eventually been shortened to Booker over the years and the how and why of the name forgotten. Most of his adult slavehood, he had simply been called the Booker or simply Booker.

When he had signed on as a free man on the ship's roster, the salty old Captain asked his name. His response had been a simple Booker, the only name he had ever known.

"Booker who?" the Captain had persisted. "All free men have a family name and a first."

Thinking fast, his old slave title was the only thing that would come to mind. "Booker the Hooker," he had finally blurted out, afraid that the Captain would report him as a runaway slave. Instead, the wily old sea dog had winked and wrote into the ship's register, Booker D. Hooker, free man of Boston, then ordered him to board the ship without delay.

"Be time for mess soon," Hooker stated, "best you get on over to the mess hall before all those good vittles are gone. Here tell we have a special meal in honor of our re-naming anyways."

Selmer looked at him with a disarming; almost pleading stare, then pushed away from the wall and slowly walked away. After about five steps, Sergeant Major Hooker again spoke. "Matter's over," he stated. "Just do your job soldierin' and things'll be good." Without looking back, but with a slight hesitation, Selmer continued on his way.

The next day word spread around the camp like a raging fire. Scuttlebutt had it that the entire brigade was finally going out to see the elephant, out to fight the Rebs. Secrecy in the Army was like trying to catch air in a strainer, there was no such thing. In fact, it was an oxymoron akin to Army Intelligence; it couldn't truly exist. All it took was a curious clerk or a peeking messenger or a bored telegraph operator listening in on privileged information. One or the other was bound to try to impress his fellow soldiers with the forbidden knowledge he had sole possession of.

"Done heard we was going after ol’ Bedford Forrest hisself," Sergeant Allenby, one of the new First Sergeants stated during breakfast. "Word is, General Washburn got orders from the big man, General Bill Sherman, to go an’ get Forrest no matter what it costs."

"Men have been itching to do some fightin," replied First Sergeant Jefferson, stuffing his cavernous jaws with another spoon full of grits.

The Army had learned the hard way that the newly recruited Negro soldiers had to be fed food that their bodies had grown accustomed to. In the early days of the regiment, several had died and scores had come down with severe dysentery from trying to live off the flour and hardtack, the staple union diet. Many recruits had even deserted in their search for proper food. However, as soon as cornmeal had been procured, along with greens, grits, and fatback, things had rapidly returned to normal.

"Rebs don't stand a chance with the 59th comin' at 'em," Sergeant Allenby added. "Ol’ Forrest soon be shown who is the massa and who be the man in charge now."

"Old Forrest ain't one to be messin' with," Hooker finally stated. "That man's the devil himself when it comes to fightin'. Man don't care 'bout no odds. Soon take on twice his number as blink his evil eye."

"Sound like you's scared of Forrest," Sergeant Jefferson cut in, another spoon full of grits half way to his mouth.

"Bein' scared don't got nothin' to do with it. Just sayin' that we oughta be real careful when or if we take that man on in a fight. He's real tricky from what I hear and a real mean cuss to boot."

"Fifty-ninth’s the best outfit in Tennessee," Sergeant Allenby boastfully returned. "We's a lot better than any of the white regiments. Colonel Bouton hisself done said that many times."

"In practice," Hooker smiled back. "Very few of our boys ever saw the elephant. You never know how a units gonna react until it's tested for real, till it's been blooded." None of the sergeants around the breakfast table had met the elephant yet. Several had been with Hooker at Fort Wagner but had missed the assault because of illness or other duties. Seeing the despondent look in their eyes, Hooker continued. "But the 54th was untested, too, and they proved their mettle at Wagner. Our boys will stand and fight; of that I have no doubts at all. None."

A sudden uproar in the enlisted section of the mess hall brought the senior sergeants to attention. It was the sound of hands clapping, voices cheering; the sound that men make when they're in a festive mood – a sound out of place in the normally quiet mess hall where men usually ate their meals in enjoyable silence.

Hooker stood to look over the partition that separated the Non-commissioned officers from the enlisted men. Walking back and forth down the center aisle between tables was Private Selmer. It was obvious he was edging the men on about something.

"You all done heard that famous sayin', 'remember the Alamo?’" Selmer yelled, his arms spread wide as he spoke. "The white man used it as a battle cry when they went down to fight against the Mexicans. Why? Why! Because the Mexicans done slaughtered a bunch of white men at a place called the Alamo. That battle cry made them remember, made them remember what was done to their friends. Made them fight harder for vengeance. That's why I suggest that we adopt our own battle cry when we go after them filthy Rebs. When we go after bloody Chalmers and Forrest, we got to have a battle cry to make us remember. Remember what they done to our people. I suggest we adopt the battle cry, "Remember Fort Pillow."

He was showered with handclaps and yells of approval; the men were in a frenzied state. "Remember Fort Pillow!" Selmer yelled again, tying his yells in with the rhythm of the yelling men.

It was some time before the mess hall quieted down enough for him to continue.

"And, just as the Rebs did at Fort Pillow, I suggest we get down on our knees and swear to give the Rebs no quarter," Selmer yelled. "No quarter! No quarter!" No quarter!"

Selmer was carrying things too far. Advocating no quarter, which, when literally translated, meant to kill a man after he had honorably surrendered, was going way too far.

"At ease!" Hooker yelled, his command reverberating throughout the mess hall like thunder. He stood and walked around the partition to face the suddenly quiet men. Selmer turned and looked at him with a wide grin on his face, as if challenging the Regimental Sergeant Major to a duel of words.

Standing at the head of the aisle, his legs spread into a balanced combat stand, Hooker slowly took time to survey the men on both sides of the aisle. He could tell they were in a dangerous mood, no doubt fueled by the fierce words from Selmer who still smiled defiantly from his dominant position in the center of the mess hall.

"We will prevail," Hooker stated, his voice low but steady. "We will conquer. We will destroy any enemy that stands against us." Pausing to let the words soak in and to gauge the reaction of the soldiers, he continued, his tone much louder, more authoritative. "But!" he yelled, "But, we will prevail as men, not as animals! Not as barbarians! No matter what we think of the enemy, no matter what we heard the enemy supposedly did at Fort Pillow, we will obey the rules of civilized warfare. Any fightin' man who honorably surrenders to us will be treated as a prisoner of war. You don't kill a man if that man has laid down his arms in surrender."

"Tell that to the damn Rebs!" Private Selmer yelled. "I was there, many of us were there. We saw for ourselves what they did to men who had, honorably surrendered. They killed, they shot, they burned, they butchered them! They shot women and kids, threw them in the river to drown!" The pure hatred brought forth with these words started another uproar. Hooker had to wait for a while for the noise to abate before answering.

"I was there, too," Hooker slowly replied. "I was there. I saw Rebs who did what you say. I saw others killing women and children. But, I also saw the anger and fury of many Rebs, including Reb officers, who detested those horrible acts and tried to stop them. They were not all animals, only a few. We cannot lower ourselves to the savage standards of those few black-hearted killers. We are men! Men, damn you! We have fought hard to even be recognized as men. We must not throw away everything we've worked so hard to achieve, by embracing savagery. Any man can be a savage, a barbarian; a killer of innocents. It takes a true man, a real man, to stand up against such acts, to step forward and say, I will not permit it."

Hooker knew that he had won the battle of words. The men knew he was serious when he lost the subservient way of talking and talked like an educated man. Most of the men were nodding their heads in full agreement, a few, a very few, still had hate and fire in their eyes. Selmer, who had climbed up to stand on top of one of the mess hall tables, was one of them. He knew that Hooker could only be pushed so far before he stomped down hard on someone, and that point was very close.

Selmer moderated his stand when he stated, "We still needs a symbol. We still needs a battle cry to rally around. I suggest we make up badges to wear on our uniform jackets. Badges that say, "Remember Fort Pillow." Again, the men roared their approval and again Hooker cut in.

"You have a symbol to rally around boys," he stated, pointing at Private Parks, one of the regimental color bearers. "You have the Stars and Stripes, which has set us free. You could not ask for a better symbol under which to fight and die."

"We needs something special so the Rebs know that we's coming to avenge our people," Selmer cut in. "I still says we need a badge, a badge of honor!"

Hooker could see that Selmer had fully convinced the men that they needed such a symbol. If they could not agree on 'no quarter' at least they wanted something more prominent, more substantial and visible to rally behind.

"You all know how rumor gets around men," Hooker stated. "By tomorrow, might near every word what has been said in this room tonight will be spread. Even words that were not said. You fix those badges to your uniforms and the Rebs are gonna have something to fight for, too. Even though it ain't true, they are gonna say a bunch of uppity mans is coming down to give them, no quarter. Coming down to put them in their place. Coming down to kill all whites, men women and children. Once Mister Forrest gets word of that, we might have a repeat of what happened at Fort Pillow, cause it'll be the Rebs that'll give us no quarter."

"I heard tell we was going down with ten, twelve thousand men," one of the Selmer supporters yelled out. "All good fightin' men, men what seen the elephant before. Mister Forrest, he don’ stand no chance against them odds."

"Go ahead," Hooker returned, "be fools. I'm warning you though; you might regret it before it's over. You might be ripping those tin badges off your jackets and running like scared rabbits." While he was talking, a private had approached Selmer and whispered something to him that brought a wide grin to his face.

"The Fifty-fifth!" Selmer yelled, waiting for the men to quiet down. "The Fifty-fifth done got down on their knees and swore to give the Rebs, no quarter. No Quarter! Is the Fifty-ninth afraid to follow their bravery?"

"No! No!" the men shouted, many of them getting down on their knees on the hard floor. Selmer, encouraged by their hasty reactions, dropped down to his knees on the table. "I swear to avenge my people what the Rebs murdered at Fort Pillow!" he yelled. "I swear I will give no quarter to any filthy Reb I meet. I will take no prisoners!" He was followed by scores of other soldiers, then by the remainder of the 59th infantry.

"Fools," Sergeant Major Hooker muttered to no one in particular as he left the mess hall, his appetite lost. "The only good Reb is a dead Reb!" he heard Selmer shout as he closed the door behind him.