A Dangerous Promise (3 page)

"I wrote Louisa a letter and tucked it under my pillow, where she'll find it tonight," he told Todd.

"I wrote my ma a letter, too," Todd said, "only I gave it to my sister Emily to give to her."

Mike was alarmed. "Won't Emily tell?"

"Nope, because I paid her a dollar. She snuffled and her eyes got red, but then she admitted she was glad I was going. She's still miffed about that frog I put in her bed, among other things." Todd paused, then asked, "What did you say to Louisa?"

"I tried to tell her how grateful I was to her and to the captain for taking me in and how much they mean to me, and then I told her why it's important for me to follow the captain's example and fight for what I believe in. I saw a slave once, captured and in chains, and I'll never forget the awful look in his eyes, like he was already dead. I told Louisa ..." Mike shook his head and said brusquely, "Well, never mind. I just hope she'll understand."

Todd was matter-of-fact. "Doesn't really matter if she does or not, because you'll be gone."

Mike said nothing, but he knew Todd was wrong. The captain and Louisa were his foster parents, and he loved them almost as much as he loved his own parents.

The tack room was stifiing, and the hay made both Mike and Todd sneeze, but they stayed in their hideout. Only when the sun shot long shadows across the parade ground and the sutlers began to cover their unsold merchandise, preparing to leave the fort, did the boys venture out.

Trembling, Mike slung the drum around his neck and picked up the drumsticks with his clothing. "Ready?" he asked Todd.

White-faced, Todd gulped twice before he could answer. "Ready."

The sutlers weren't the only ones to leave the fort. Other tradespeople, salesmen, and visitors found late afternoon a convenient time to depart, and the main gate was crowded with wagons, carriages, and travelers on horseback and on foot. Cautiously, heads down so they wouldn't be recognized, Mike and Todd slid into the crowd.

Mike let out his breath in a whoosh as he realized they were finally out of sight of the guards. Ahead, he spotted a ruddy, smiling sutler who looked familiar.

Running to the side of the wagon, Mike hailed him. "Are you bound for Kansas City?"

"That I am." The sutler tugged on the reins, pulling his horse to a stop at the side of the road. He narrowed his eyes as he studied the boys. "Aren't you needed back at the fort?"

"No," Todd answered quickly, dodging a buggy that passed at a clip. "We're needed by Colonel Mitchell with the Second Kansas Infantry."

The sutler allowed his glance to rest on the drum and bugle. "Things have come to a sad pass when they're signing on mere boys as musicians." But he shrugged as he acknowledged, "Musicians seem to be hard to come by. I've heard some of the companies out of Fort Scott have had to leave without a drummer or bugler."

He gave a jerk of the head toward his nearly empty wagon. "Hop aboard, if you've a mind to, and make yourselves comfortable. It'll be a good ten hours, with time out for resting and watering the horse, afore we reach Kansas City."

Mike and Todd did as they were told, glad for the ride. As the wagon moved out into the rapidly thinning traffic, they

settled themselves against the hard wooden sideboards, using their bundles as pillows for their backs.

From his perch high on the front seat of the wagon, the sutler opened a parcel containing a sausage reeking of garlic and a loaf of bread and began to chew noisily. Thankful that he and Todd wouldn't have to offer to share their own supply of food, Mike accepted a chunk of bread and cheese and an apple from his friend and gobbled his supper greedily.

Todd pulled out his pocket watch and peered at it in the dimming light. He breathed on the glass surface, polished it with his sleeve, then tucked it back into his pocket. "Pa gave me this watch," he said, smiling at the recollection.

A strange, gargling noise suddenly came from the front seat. Mike twisted to see if something was the matter and discovered that the sutler had hunched over, his shoulders rounded as a ball.

"He's asleep. He's snoring," Todd whispered as another phlegmy rattle rolled back at them.

"What about the horse? How can he guide him?" Mike whispered.

Todd held his mouth close to Mike's ear. "The horse probably knows the road better than the sutler does. The only thing we'd have to worry about is if the horse falls asleep."

Mike buried his face in his arms, trying to smother his bursts of laughter. Finally, when the hysteria of the moment had passed and the sutler snored on undisturbed, Mike stretched out in the wagon bed. Using his bundle of clothes as a pillow, he stared up at the stars, which were shining faintly in the quickly darkening sky.

Todd settled down beside him, but Mike didn't speak. There was too much he wanted to think about. He was on his own, embarked on a great adventure. He had chosen to serve the Union and fight the stubborn-minded southerners who practiced slavery.

Hadn't Da always told him, Never he afraid to stand up for what you believe is right? That's what he was doing. With the Union Army so badly in need of musicians, surely they'd accept them. Wouldn't they? Mike groaned involuntarily.

Embarrassed, he quickly turned toward Todd. To Mike's relief, Todd was lying on his side, breathing heavily, sound asleep.

Relax, Mike told himself. What's done is done. You're on your way, my lad, to join up with the Second Kansas Infantry, and by this time tomorrow night, you'll be a full-fledged, respected member of the Union Army!

Mike and Todd didn't become full-fledged, respected members of the Union Army quite so easily. They parted company with the sutler at close to four in the morning on a dark street in Kansas City. He advised them that Major Samuel Sturgis's battalion still ought to be camped on the outskirts of town.

As the sutler disappeared from view, Mike and Todd stared down the darkened, deserted street and then at each other.

"How are we supposed to reach the outskirts?" Todd asked.

Mike had to smile at Todd's question, which he knew Todd never would have asked if he hadn't been as scared as Mike felt at the moment. "We go in any direction," Mike told him, "except east. East would take us across the river and into Missouri."

"We came from the north," Todd said, beginning to col-

lect himself. "Do you think the sutler drove near to the encampment while we were sleeping?"

Mike blushed at having laughed at the sutler for falling asleep. "It's our best guess," he answered. He turned toward what he hoped was the west. "Let's head west for a ways, then turn north."

They began to walk down the street, their path lit only by the stars. The street narrowed to a lane, and an elderly woman, bent under her shawl as she swept her porch in the first rays of early light, called out, "Where are you boys off to?"

"To find the Second Kansas Infantry," Todd shouted.

The woman shook her fist at them. "Go home and behave yourselves, you abolitionists!"

"Ma'am, this is Kansas—a free state," Mike answered in amazement.

"Free? I'll tell you what freedom is! Until Abraham Lincoln was elected president, this was a free country where every citizen had a right to follow his own beliefs!" she screeched. "Go home! Get along with you!"

Mike and Todd hurried down the lane, turning north when they came to a wagon road. They followed the road for what seemed to be a long while, until it suddenly rose and curved over a hill. Below them, between the hill and the Missouri River, they saw the encampment for which they'd been searching.

Across the plains spread rows and rows of canvas tents, from small pup tents to the large tents used for administration. Already, mounted traffic filled the makeshift roads, some of the riders dressed in the high-crowned, plumed hats, gold-trimmed jackets, and bright blue trousers of the dragoons. Blue-uniformed figures, as small as ants, bustled in all directions. Whorls of dust and plumes of smoke from cooking fires cast a gray haze over a drill unit that already had formed, marching without drumbeat.

Todd drew in a sharp breath, but Mike knew this was no

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time to be nervous. "There they are, Todd," he said, "just waiting for us before they march off to battle. It won't take long to get down there and sign our loyalty to the Union."

"There must be close to two thousand of them!" Todd said. "Those Rebs won't stand a chance!"

Mike glanced ahead at a footpath that wound down the hillside. "Come on," he said. "This looks like the quickest way down the hill. Are you ready?"

"Ready!" Todd answered.

The path that left the roadway was steep, but Mike and Todd managed to half-climb, half-slide down the length of it. Finally, they landed on the flat plain, close to the southern boundary of the camp.

Brushing dust from their pants and tugging their jackets into place, they walked briskly toward a cluster of soldiers, where a muscular sergeant stood behind a makeshift desk, checking lists and announcing assignments. He seemed to be the right man to approach.

As he and Todd stepped close, Mike could sense the men eyeing them curiously. He heard an occasional snicker of amusement. Mike nervously clung to the drum hanging in place around his neck and extending to its proper length just above his knees. The drum had brought him here, and the drum was going to assure his acceptance as an army musician.

The sergeant looked up from his papers, his glance sweeping over Mike and Todd before it rested on the drum and bugle. "A musician, are you?" he asked Todd.

"Yes, sir," Todd said. "Bugle and drum."

"How old are you?"

Mike could hear Todd gulp before he answered, "Sixteen, sir."

The sergeant raised one eyebrow, but began at once to rummage through his papers. He pulled out a form, which he handed to Todd. "Colonel Mitchell's got a standing request for musicians. Pay's twelve dollars a month when

we've got it. Right now we haven't got it. Sign here for a ninety-day stint, write 'musician' after your name, and report quick as you can to Sergeant Porter to pick up your uniform and supplies. You'll find him at the end of this row of tents."

"Yes, sir!" Todd exclaimed. He scribbled his name before glancing back at Mike. "I'll see you later," he called, then hurried off to find the supply sergeant.

Grinning, the sergeant who had signed up Todd bent down face-to-face with Mike and said, "Sonny boy, you've got to know you're way too young to join the army."

Mike tried to stand as tall as he could and blustered, "I look young for my age, but I'm sixteen."

The sergeant guffawed, as did some of the men standing nearby. "Sixteen, is it? I'm telling you, you're not a day over thirteen."

"I heard you're short of musicians," Mike said. "What does it matter how old I am if I'm needed?"

"What matters is there are rules we gotta go by. Now, run along home, sonny. Your mama is going to be worried about you."

With that, the sergeant turned away from Mike, busying himself with a group of men who had approached his table. Mike didn't budge. / can't go back, he told himself in desperation. The army has to take me. It has to! He slipped his drumsticks from his pack, straightened his back, and began to beat out the drill calls for advance and retreat.

"Hey, now! What's this?" the sergeant yelled at him, but the flap on a nearby tent opened and a Union officer stepped out. He watched Mike for a minute, then strode to stand next to the sergeant. He held up a hand for silence, and Mike obeyed instantly.

"Captain Dawes, sir," the sergeant said. "I'll send this young rapscallion packing."

"Not so fast," the captain said. He studied Mike. "What's your name, son?"

"Michael Kelly, sir. Everybody calls me Mike."

"Where do you come from, Mr. Kelly?"

Mike's thoughts lurched from the captain and Mrs. Taylor and their home at Fort Leavenworth, to his ma living in St. Joseph, to his first home with Ma and Da and five brothers and sisters in New York. Captain Dawes was waiting for an answer. Mike took a deep breath and said, "I came west out of New York City on one of the orphan trains, sir."

"I've heard of the orphan trains," the captain answered. He studied Mike. "So you're an orphan with no family."

No! Mike hadn't meant to deny his family. While he fumbled for the right words, the captain asked, "How old are you?"

"I—I'm not exactly s-sixteen, Captain Dawes," Mike stuttered.

At this the captain smiled. "Nor even fourteen," he said. "Do you know all the caUs?"

"Yes, sir."

"Is that your own drum?"

Mike held it up proudly. "It was given me by a soldier who brought it through the Indian wars."

"Sir, the age rule—" the sergeant began.

But Captain Dawes interrupted. "The age rule applies to regular soldiers. Sergeant Gridley. A musician isn't a regular soldier and doesn't carry a gun. My unit is in sore need of a musician, so sign Mr. Kelly up. Have him report to me in uniform on the parade ground in half an hour."

Mike could hardly keep from jumping and shouting with joy. "Thank you. Captain Dawes!" he managed to stammer.

As he bent to sign the paper that Sergeant Gridley shoved under his nose, he felt a great goodwill toward everyone—even Sergeant Gridley. But before Mike could open his mouth to say so, Gridley barked, "You can inquire as to what the supply sergeant might have for you, Mikey boy. I'm afraid it won't be much. Far as I know, he didn't order any uniforms in children's sizes."

"From what you're wearing, Fd guess he has a good stock of wide-bottomed pants," Mike shot back.

As some of the soldiers in earshot guffawed, Mike hurried away, following the route Todd had taken. He'd come to fight Rebs, not loudmouthed sergeants, he reminded himself, and it certainly didn't make much sense to take on a man three times his size.

Within a few minutes he found the supply sergeant, who groaned when he saw the size of the newly appointed musician.

"You'll need your sturdy belt to hold up the smallest size pants we've got," he said, "and I can't do much about a jacket without rolling up the sleeves."