A Perfect She-Devil

The hollow sound in her ears built. She pulled the tiny gun from the top of her boot, then leaned over the prisoner, pressing the barrel against his left breast. "This is for the best."

The sound of the shot startled the boy into a small cry between outrage and horror as the Union soldier fell back, the edges of the bullet hole in his uniform coat smoldering from powder burns. She looked down into Jeremiah's open eyes then placed her boot against his body and shoved him over the edge to tumble into the draw.

She turned back toward Captain Barrow. "We don't have time for this. Those missing Yankees are probably coming back with more."

Joseph and Martin stared at her in utter revulsion as they finally realized what Captain Barrow had sensed all along.

Captain Barrow stood silent for a long moment, his lip twitching as he tried to keep control of himself. "Miss Green, you may consider yourself under arrest."

*****

Colonel Mosby studied her across the table.

"There was only one prisoner. Colonel. There was no need to draw lots with one prisoner. We had your order to execute a prisoner. It was simple." Her icy demeanor made the room feel even colder than it already was.

"There are conventions to war, Miss Green, else we are no better than animals. Partisan Rangers are regular forces, not guerrillas and we do not, ever, execute a prisoner out of hand. I am trying to prevent needless cruelty and death with my orders. I will not have the department under my hand descend into a hell, like Missouri."

He waited for an excuse or a complaint, but she sat wordless and silent, her dark eyes absolutely still, so he continued. "Were you a man under my command, a Partisan Ranger, or indeed, a soldier of any type, I would convene a Courts Martial." Colonel Mosby sighed and shook his head. "As it is, I have only myself to blame. You are not a soldier and I should have insisted that you remain unarmed and be kept from battle at all costs. You have, as I have noted before, and by all accounts, been an exemplary scout. Nonetheless, I find myself in the position of having to discharge you from your service in that role."

Mary stared at him silently.

Colonel Mosby looked her over sadly. "Miss Green, I've always been exceptionally fond of you. Whatever demons are walking in your shadow, I do sincerely wish you the best of luck in expelling them."

Mary walked out without a word to him, the weight of the revolver in her boot all too real and all too heavy.

As she cleared the door she whispered to herself. "Not Miss Green. Lodge. The Widow Lodge."

*****

12th of December 1865

Galena, Illinois

As she finished Mary sat looking at her hands silently for a long moment. "I've taken too much of your time Ma'am. I..."

"Nonsense." Elizabeth smiled. "I'll have a room made up for you and you will stay here until this is resolved. My husband, Robert, should be able to help with this. He was on General Grant's staff." She paused. "Did you learn anything else?"

"I found a bundle of letters in Wheeling that arrived after I left. Bruna is keeping the boarding house there and she kept them for me. I can't read them. It hurts too much to even look at them."

With a slight frown, Elizabeth asked her the obvious question. "Are any of the letters from after you...?" She trailed off as she realized there was no delicate way to put the question.

Shaking her head slowly, Mary answered quietly. "No." She managed to look even more despondent. "I did learn about the Chaplain though. Afore he died, Colonel Morgan had his man send another telegram. The Chaplain got drunk and drownt trying to cross a river." She met Elizabeth's eyes, exhausted. "I don't even know if I'm a widow."

*****

12th of December 1865

Beacon Hill,

Boston. Massachusetts

Mary took a deep breath and looked up at the imposing house. Even with Elizabeth holding her hand, even in the ridiculously fine dark green dress that Elizabeth insisted she wear, Mary felt like fleeing through the streets. "If he rooms in this house..."

"His family owns this house."

"The whole house?" Mary's voice quavered and she started to pull loose, looking down the street for somewhere to go.

Elizabeth almost smiled. Two days ago, on the train, when a man had rudely propositioned Elizabeth, Mary had simply pulled a tiny revolver from the folds of her skirt and pressed it to his heart, requesting his apology and departure as rapidly as possible. She hardly seemed like the same girl now. Elizabeth squeezed her hand. "I'm here with you."

Captain Jeremiah Lodge was very much alive and he turned out to be Brevet Lieutenant Colonel Jeremiah Lodge, of Boston. His family had used their influence and family connections to get him a commission in the Illinois Cavalry. When Elizabeth finally learned who he was, she had sent a flurry of telegrams. Despite being born a Gustine of the Natchez Nabobs, even she was a touch uncertain about approaching the Lodges of Beacon Hill with the news that she was bringing their "possible daughter-in-law" to their door. If nothing else, Elizabeth vowed to herself that no matter the reception by the Lodge family, she could and would shield Mary. Her husband's interests in steamboats and the railroad had given her the financial ability to do that.

The door opened before they could even knock and the butler ushered them into a parlor.

"Please wait here. I will let Madame know that you have arrived."

Mary paled looking over the room. A small table with a glass dome drew her and she stood silently before it.

Elizabeth followed and studied the display. "This is it then?"

Mary nodded mutely.

The scorched and maimed bible with its fine dense pages sat opened, a bullet resting where it come to a stop.

"It made it all the way through to the Book of John." Elizabeth smiled.

"I guess I loaded it a bit heavier than I thought." Mary smiled weakly. "I was hoping it'd stopped by Matthew."

A presence, more felt than heard, made them both turn to face an aged, elegant woman in black. "Josephine will be serving tea. Please sit."

They sat silently until the tea was served out by an absolutely silent servant girl. The old woman sipped her tea and set it down. "What am I to do with you?"

Elizabeth blinked. She'd expected a bit of coldness but not such a direct approach. Before she could find a response, Mary spoke up, startled from her fearful pose. "What?" It was, perhaps a bit inelegant, but just as direct as the woman's statement.

"The bible verse, your bullet stopped at the end of that line. 'Woman, what am I to do with you?' It is certainly appropriate, don't you think?" There was a hint of a smile at that last.

Mary blinked. "Oh."

Elizabeth rallied. "I do realize this is a bit of a scandal Mrs. Lodge, but I know that it was never Mary's wish to cause any problems."

"Other than shooting him on occasion, you mean?"

Mary fixed herself into a frozen smile. "He was a Yankee soldier, after all."

The older woman's smile grew, just a touch. "Then the shooting is to be expected." She sighed. "We can survive a scandal. A family must have the occasional scandal, after all." She studied Mary. "He's been looking for you for quite some time young lady, much to the annoyance of the unattached women of Boston and New York. He even brought Colonel Mosby into my house, where they drank entirely too much brandy and spent entirely too much time laughing about the trickery and cunning of a certain she-devil." She shook her head. "Imagine, John Singleton Mosby, a guest in my house."

Mary felt herself flush red.

The older woman suddenly stopped and stood. "I believe Elizabeth and I have some private matters to discuss."

Even Mary was surprised at the sudden breach of protocol and she stood to watch them sweep out of the room with shocking speed.

Service with Mosby had taught her, however, to recognize an ambush; she whirled around to find Jeremiah standing in the other doorway.

Breathing was suddenly an effort.

Jeremiah eyed her cautiously. "I should have asked Nathan to ensure you were unarmed. You do have a tendency to shoot me whenever we meet." The glitter of humor in his eyes was just enough.

"I only have a little boot gun."

"Well, you have shot me with one of those before and I suffered little from it, so I think you can keep it." He looked serious for a moment and touched the scar on the side of his head. "I would have written to you if I was able. I didn't even know you believed me dead."

Mary swallowed an involuntary cry and caught her breath, then she took one hesitant step toward him. "I need to know Jeremiah. Am I yours or the Devil's?"

"I don't know. I'm afraid our Minister seems to have gotten swept away in a deluge. But I do know there is only one way to fix it."

*****

The wedding was both utterly scandalous and wildly popular. The sheer spectacle of one of the Brahmins of Boston, a Lodge, marrying a West Virginia hill country girl, a completely unreconstructed rebel, no less. The Matron of the family made very clear that she would tolerate no disrespect to the girl. The Lodges normally believed in quiet family weddings, and yet the three-day celebration of the wedding of Jeremiah Lodge to Miss Mary Jane Green was the largest social event in Boston for over a decade.

That the Bride was given away by Colonel John Singleton Mosby in his full Confederate dress uniform was no small cause for comment, of course. Despite some lingering animosity from the war, Colonel Mosby and the many Union officers present for the event appeared to have been quite at ease together, although that may have well been the result of the medicinal properties of a rather large amount of brandy consumed over those three days.

Rumors that the Bride carried a pair of silver-plated pistols in the skirts of her gown were never confirmed, although they were almost certainly true.

Post Production Notes:

Thanks especially for all the support, this is taking us down a path we'd never even considered. We're going make a run at getting published one way or another because of the encouragement we've gotten. If you are interested, you can Todd Dorsey (todd.dorsey.108) on Facebook. The profile picture is of an old typewriter right now.

The American Civil War: This was, by far, the most destructive war in US terms in history. A minimum of six hundred thousand Soldiers, Sailors, and Marines died out of a total population of just under 30 million. To put it in more understandable terms, one in every four white male Southerners of military age died, with another one in four maimed. One in seven white male Northerners of military age died as well. These numbers are likely low, other estimates range as high as 750,000. Civilian population deaths are believed to be between 50,000 and 250,000 dead. Estimate on deaths in free black and slave populations and Native Americans are so uncertain as to be essentially meaningless, though they were certainly very high. The total death count is probably higher than the combined total of all other United States wars combined.

The Armory:

I get a lot of weapons questions in email so it is simply easier to address them here. The American Civil War had a huge range of weapons. Some units began the five-year conflict with smoothbore flintlock muskets, while others ended the war with Gatling guns.

Colt Walker Revolver: One of the most powerful handguns of the 19th Century and well into the 20th, the Colt Walker was capable of using 60 grains black powder charges -- twice that of a standard revolver. The .44 caliber Walker was a massive, four and a half-pound monster. It did have some technical problems that were addressed in the Dragoon series of revolvers. Performance was roughly equal to a modern .357 Magnum with a four-inch barrel.

Colt Army Model 1860 Revolver: This was the standard pistol issued to Union soldiers throughout most of the war. At just under three pounds, the .44 caliber Army 1860 took a 30-grain powder load and was considered a solid, reliable sidearm. Performance characteristics are similar to a modern 9MM Parabellum round.

Colt 1851 Navy Revolver: A very common sidearm of the American Civil War, the two and a half pound .36 caliber revolver was typically used with about a 20-grain powder load, with a performance roughly the same as a modern .380 caliber (also known as 9MM Browning Short).

Colt Paterson Pocket Model Percussion Revolver No 1. aka: Baby Paterson: This .28 Caliber revolver was very underpowered by modern standards, typically using a mere 5 to 7 grains of black powder per charge, there is no comparable modern round, as even the .22 short is more powerful, but it could be lethal at very close range.

Model 1860 Light Cavalry Saber: By the time of Brandy Station, most of the original M1840 Cavalry Sabers, known as "wrist breakers" due to their weight, were replaced by the lighter, generally more effective Model 1860. The Model 1860 is occasionally referred to as the Model 1862, as this was when the issue of these sabers actually began.

The Battle of Brandy Station: On 9 June 1863, Major General Alfred Pleasanton's Union force attacked Major General J.E.B. Stuart's Confederate force at Brandy Station, Virginia in the largest predominantly cavalry battle of the war. Neither leader shines particularly well: Pleasanton failed to coordinate, follow up or actually lead during the battle. Stuart showed his usual brilliance at tactical leadership, but despite all his protestations to the contrary, he was clearly caught flat-footed, a particular humiliation for any cavalry force. The troopers on both sides, however, were absolutely inspired, relentless and reckless to a fault: all the finest qualities of cavalry. Unlike most cavalry operations in the American Civil War where cavalry often operated as mounted infantry, this battle was an epic mounted cavalry clash in the tradition of the massive Napoleonic battles.

The battle was technically a tactical Confederate success, but for the first time the Union Cavalry had met and fought the Confederate Cavalry on an equal basis -- a fact commented on by nearly every Confederate we have written records from, except for Stuart, who seems to have been more than a touch peevish about it. Depending on which historians you believe, this battle may have been partially responsible for Lee's failure at the Battle of Gettysburg.

The Comte de Lasalle's quote: "Tout hussard qui n'est pas mort à 30 ans est un Jean-Foutre" is usually translated as "Any hussar who isn't dead by the age of thirty is a blackguard" but that really tones down the actual meaning in French at the time, where the meaning was less genteel. "Jean-Foutre" was a far harsher term than "blackguard," derived from "Je m'en fous" which has roughly the same meaning as "I don't give a fuck" though it will usually translate as "I don't care." I've chosen to use "lazy bastard" here because it feels close enough, particularly in the rather less free-wheeling setting of the Civil War. In modern terms, I believe it would probably be connotatively closer to "useless fuck."

Mary Jane Green did not spring from whole cloth: She is a fictionalization of a real person noted in Union reporting during the United States Civil War. I stumbled across her in reports while doing research. When I showed the reports to The Missus, she pointed out that given my weakness for "uppity and difficult women" I should keep the reports and use her as the basis of a story. She would, in all likelihood, have hated the outcome in my tale. Herewith, from the Official Records of the War of the Rebellion, is one of the reports concerning Miss Mary Jane Green.

OFFICE PROVOST-MARSHAL-GENERAL,

Wheeling, January 5, 1863.

Colonel W. HOFFMAN, Commissary-General of Prisoners.

SIR: I have the honor to reply to yours of the 3rd instant asking for the

charges, &c., against Mary Jane Green. In the month of August 1861, when on

the staff of General Rosecrans and acting as provost-marshal in the field I

had this girl in custody in the jail of the town of Sutton, Va., charged as

a spy for the guerrillas. She did not deny the same and cursed terribly,

vowing what she would do if ever released. I directed that she should be

sent to Wheeling, where she was confined until December 1861, when General

Rosecrans made his headquarters in this city. I called upon her to see if

any change had taken place in her disposition but found her as bitter as

ever. General Rosecrans had her brought before him when she abused him well

with her tongue and he ordered her back to jail. Shortly before General

Fremont assumed command of the Mountain Department General Rosecrans

directed me to send Mary Jane Green to her home in Braxton County with the

hope and expectation that the Union troops would shoot her. I released her,

gave her transportation and in a very short time she was returned to me

having been caught in the act of destroying the telegraph line near Weston,

Lewis County, Va. This was in May 1862. On her arrival here she took sick,

refused to take medicine and came near dying. This seemed to cool her

somewhat and since August last she has professed penitence. She is an

ignorant creature, but at times has the ferocity of a perfect she-devil

about her. I cannot advise her release and respectfully suggest, as in the

case of Marian McKenzie alias Harry Fitzallen, reported to you December 24

and 25 (to which I have no reply*), that she be sent if possible to some

house of refuge or detention and be held there until the end of the

rebellion. I omitted to say that in April last before I sent her home I let

Mary Jane Green out of jail on parole and got her a place to work with a

family here, but owing to her bad temper and conduct I was obliged to place

her again in custody. Her three brothers are now guerrillas.

Very respectfully, your obedient servant,

JOS. DARR, JR.,

Major and Provost-Marshal-General.