Bloodshed of Eagles Read online

  “Troopers, I present to you Andrew and Rosanna MacCallister!”

  As the makeshift curtain opened, the soldiers applauded, whistled, and cheered. Andrew and Rosanna were standing in the middle of the stage, back to back. Andrew was holding a jug with his thumb. The jug was poised on his shoulder and, before either of them said a word, Andrew took a big drink, then patted the jug and let out a long “ahhhh.”

  The piano player began playing then, the music bright and lively, the song “Little Brown Jug.”

  Andrew and Rosanna began singing in duet, but they did much more than sing. They pantomimed, danced, and pranced around, accenting with their movement, the words of the song.

  Me and my wife live all alone

  In a little hut we call our own;

  She loves gin and I love rum,

  And don’t we have a lot of fun?

  Andrew made a big show of drinking more from the jug and when Rosanna reached for it, he jerked it away and turned his back to her. The audience howled in laughter. They continued, singing in two-part harmony.

  Ha, ha, ha, you and me,

  Little brown jug don’t I love thee!

  Ha, ha, ha, you and me,

  Little brown jug don’t I love thee!

  Again, Rosanna reached for the jug, and again Andrew turned away from her. But this time, Rosanna reached around to tap him on his shoulder, and when he turned to look, she grabbed the jug away from him and took a drink as the audience laughed.

  When I go toiling on the farm

  I take the little jug under my arm;

  Place it under a shady tree

  Andrew held his hands behind Rosanna’s head and clapped them loudly. Startled, Rosanna dropped the jug and Andrew caught it. She shamed him by rubbing one finger against the other as the audience again laughed at their antics.

  Little brown jug ’tis you and me!

  The song concluded to appreciative laughter and applause.

  After that, Rosanna left the stage, and Andrew stood there for a moment, looking out at the audience.

  “I want to thank all of you for the warm welcome we have received,” he said. “And I want to thank General Custer for the invitation. This next song is dedicated to another of the general’s guests, and if you will all look over there, you will see that when the writer wrote this song about a woman named Lorena, surely he had to be writing about someone as lovely as this young lady of the same name.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, I give you ‘Lorena.”

  As Andrew began to sing the song that had gained its popularity during the Civil War, the soldiers in the room lost themselves in the lyrics and melody. It reminded some of home; it reminded others of the time when they were actually fighting the war.

  Falcon looked over at Lorena and saw that she, too, was moved by the beautiful music. He smiled. He had personally requested that his brother sing this particular song.

  After Andrew finished his song, and the applause was finished, Custer stood.

  “Mr. MacCallister, Miss MacCallister, speaking on behalf of all the troops posted here at Ft. Lincoln, I want to thank you for coming to provide us with such a wonderful show. And now, to further show our appreciation, I call upon our own Seventh Cavalry chorus to sing our regimental song for you.”

  At Custer’s announcement, the same soldiers who had entertained at Custer’s dinner party stood up from the audience, then formed themselves into a chorus. The chorus leader, Sergeant Cassidy, resplendent now in his dress blue uniform with stripes and accoutrements, stepped in front and lifted his hands. The chorus began to sing.

  Let Bacchus’s sons be not dismayed,

  But join with me each jovial blade;

  Come booze and sing, and lend your aid

  To help me with the chorus:

  Instead of spa we’ll drink brown ale,

  And pay the reckoning on the nail,

  No man for debt shall go to jail

  From Garyowen in glory!

  No man for debt shall go to jail

  From Garryowen in glory!

  Chapter Eleven

  May 13, 1876

  Bismark Dakota Territory

  Falcon was sitting in the waiting room of the Bismarck depot, drinking coffee with his sister, Rosanna. Andrew had gone out onto the depot platform to see about their luggage.

  “I appreciate the two of you coming out here to perform for the men,” Falcon said. “I know they really enjoyed it.”

  “Andrew and I enjoyed doing it,” Rosanna said. “You know how much we like to come out West.”

  “When are you going to come back?” Falcon asked.

  “I don’t know. I suppose when we get another invitation.”

  “No, I mean when are you coming back to stay.”

  Rosanna put her hand out to touch Falcon. “Darling, I thought you knew. Andrew and I are never coming back to stay,” she said. “Why, New York is our home now.”

  Falcon nodded. “I thought as much,” he said. “But from time to time, the family wonders about you.”

  “Ha,” Rosanna said. “Mama and Papa left on their own while they were still practically children. Believe me, if there is anyone who would understand why Andrew and I have chosen to go our own way, it would be Mama and Papa.”

  Falcon chuckled. “You’ve got that right,” he said. “But as long as you are out here, you could run down there now, couldn’t you? When is the last time you’ve seen anyone from the family?”

  Rosanna smiled. “We’ve seen you twice in the last two months.”

  “I mean other than me.”

  “I don’t know. It’s been a while,” Rosanna admitted.

  “Then a visit is due, don’t you think?”

  “Oh, Falcon, it would be impossible to go down to MacCallister now,” Rosanna said. “Andrew and I must start rehearsal for a new show soon. In fact, we were barely able to make the time to come out here to do this.”

  “I understand,” Falcon said.

  “I didn’t want to tell you this, because I didn’t want to spoil the surprise, but we are coming out to spend Christmas in the Valley,” Rosanna said. “In fact, we have cleared away our schedule so we can spend at least two months there, visiting everyone.”

  Falcon smiled broadly, and shook his head. “They will like that,” he said. “They will like that very much.”

  “What about you? When are you going to settle down?” Rosanna asked.

  “Settle down? What do you mean settle down?”

  “I mean get married.”

  “I did get married.”

  “Yes, and tragically, she was taken from you. But you are still a young man, Falcon. Somewhere there is a woman for you.” Rosanna smiled. “And she may be right here.”

  “Here?”

  “You aren’t blind, Falcon. I know you have seen the way Lorena Wood looks at you.”

  “I’ve also seen the way she looks at Tom Custer.”

  “Have you ever thought she might just be trying to make you jealous?”

  “Uh, huh,” Falcon replied. “Or maybe she is trying to make Tom Custer jealous.”

  Rosanna laughed out loud. “Well, I never thought about that,” she said. “It could be that you are right. I know that she has decided to stay out here with Libbie until the regiment returns.”

  Andrew came back then. “I’ve got the luggage all taken care of,” he said. “We won’t even have to see it again until we reach New York.”

  In the distance could be heard a train whistle.

  “Is that our train?” Rosanna asked.

  “It has to be,” Andrew said. “There is nothing else due right now.”

  Rosanna stood up, and Falcon picked up the suitcase that would be going on the train with her. The three then walked out onto the wooden platform and from there, could see the train approaching from the west. A sense of anticipation spread through the others who were also standing out on the platform. Some began weeping at the prospect of telling a loved one good-bye, while oth
ers grew excited as they were eagerly awaiting the arrival of loved ones. The daily arrival and departure of the trains kept Bismarck connected, in a real and physical way, with the rest of the world. Nobody ever treated the occasion with indifference.

  “When will you be coming back to New York?” Rosanna asked.

  “I don’t know,” Falcon said. “Next time business takes me that way, I suppose.”

  “You could come just to visit, you know.”

  “Don’t knock it, Rosanna. He’s the only one who ever comes as it is,” Andrew said.

  Rosanna chuckled. “I guess you are right at that,” she said. “Sometimes I could almost believe that Falcon is the only brother I have.”

  “What about me?” Andrew asked, his face screwed up in response to her question. “Don’t you count me as your brother?”

  “You are my twin,” Rosanna said, as if that answered Andrew’s question.

  “Yeah, I guess I see what you mean,” Andrew replied, understanding perfectly Rosanna’s convoluted logic.

  Falcon chuckled. Sometimes, he believed that Andrew and Rosanna shared not only the same birthday, but the same brain as well.

  By now the train had reached the edge of the town and could be seen visibly slowing. A moment later, it rolled into the station, the bell clanging, steam spewing, and glowing sparks falling from the firebox.

  Rosanna put her arms around Falcon’s neck, then kissed him. “Give everyone my love,” she said.

  Andrew reached out to shake his brother’s hand. “It’s been wonderful seeing you,” he said. “Do keep in touch, will you, little brother?”

  Falcon smiled as he watched them board the train; then he stood on the platform until the train pulled away. It seemed funny for Andrew to call Falcon his little brother, even though he was. It was not only that Falcon was a much larger man than Andrew. His experiences so far exceeded anything Andrew had ever done that he could never think of Andrew as his elder.

  June 25, 1927

  MacCallister, Colorado

  Once more the ringing telephone interrupted Falcon’s recitation of the story. Falcon took a swallow of his coffee as Rosie answered the phone.

  “Hello?”

  Again, those present in the room could hear a tinny voice over the telephone line, but they couldn’t understand what the voice was saying.

  “Just a minute, I’ll ask him,” Rosie said. She reached up to put her hand over the mouthpiece of the phone, then turned toward Falcon.

  “Big Grandpa, this is Mayor Presnell. He wants to know if the town can count on you as a guest of honor on the reviewing platform for the Fourth of July parade.”

  Falcon nodded. “I’ll be there,” he promised.

  Rosie relayed the message, then hung up.

  “The phone has been busy today,” Zane Grey said.

  “Yes,” Falcon agreed. “Sometimes, I think it was better before we had telephones. Telephones, radio, motion pictures, automobiles, flying machines.”

  “Aeroplanes,” Rosie said with a little laugh.

  “What?”

  “You said flying machines. They are called aeroplanes,” Rosie said.

  “Well, whatever they are called, they are aggravating,” Falcon replied. He was quiet for a long moment. “It certainly makes one wonder, though, how different things would have been different on Custer’s last scout if there had been such a thing as flying”—he paused and looked at his great-granddaughter—“aeroplanes”—he smiled—“and all the other modern contraptions.”

  “Are you tired, Falcon?” Zane Grey asked. “Do you want to pause for a while to maybe take a nap?”

  “No, no, I’m fine,” Falcon said. “What about you, Libbie?”

  “I’m doing fine,” Libbie said. “As you know, I have written about this story, and lectured about it for years. I must confess that I’m enjoying hearing you tell it from your perspective.”

  “Did your brother and sister get back that Christmas?” Grey asked.

  Falcon nodded. “They did,” he said.

  “What about the lady, Big Grandpa?” Rosie asked.

  “What lady?”

  “What lady? Big Grandpa, you know what lady,” Rosie said. “The one who came all the way out here to see you. Miss Wood. Did she go back to New York with Uncle Andrew and Aunt Rosanna?”

  “No,” Falcon said. “She stayed at Ft. Lincoln.”

  “Yes,” Libbie said. “When Autie asked if she would like to stay on as our houseguest, to keep me company until the regiment returned from the field, she agreed. In fact, when we made camp out on the Missouri flats, she came out with us. Do you remember that, Falcon?”

  “Oh, yes, I remember,” Falcon said. “And we knew, even before the regiment left, where Miss Wood’s heart was.”

  “Where?” Rosie asked.

  “Rosie, do you want me to tell this story or not?” Falcon asked.

  “Oh, yes!” Rosie replied eagerly.

  “Then, don’t get ahead of me child.” Falcon finished his coffee, then went on with his story.

  Chapter Twelve

  May 14, 1876

  Missouri River Flats

  All twelve companies of the Seventh Cavalry had made camp alongside the banks of the Missouri River. A cold rain fell upon the tents, which were laid out in precise military order, creating puddles of water and large expanses of mud to turn the flats into a quagmire.

  The largest tent of the encampment belonged to the regimental commander. Libbie and Lorena, who had come to watch the regiment depart, were in the tent, listening to the sound of the rain drumming against the canvas.

  “Would you like a cup of tea?” Libbie asked. “I think it has brewed now.”

  “Yes, on a cold, damp day like this, I think a cup of tea would be lovely,” Lorena replied.

  Libbie picked up the silver teapot.

  “Oh, what a beautiful teapot,” Lorenea said.

  “Yes, isn’t it? It was given to Autie by General and Mrs. Sherman,” Libbie replied. “We have so many nice things. Some think it out of place to bring such things into the field, but there have been many times when Autie and I had to live in a tent, much like this one, for months on end. And I always felt that if little things, like this teapot, could give those experiences a little more civility, then why not use them?”

  “Oh, I agree. Libbie, I thank you very much for inviting me to come out with you to watch the regiment depart,” Lorena said as Libbie poured cups of hot tea for the two of them. “I can’t imagine anything more exciting.”

  “The general and I are pleased to have you as our guest,” Libbie replied. She smiled. “But I don’t think anyone is as pleased over it as Tom is.”

  “I have been working for the War Department for more than two years,” Lorena said. “Until I came out here, I didn’t realize what the soldiers in the field actually go through. I mean, right now, General Custer is somewhere outside in the cold rain when he could be dry and warm in here with us.”

  Libbie smiled. “Oh, don’t you worry about the general, my dear,” she said. “Believe me, he is in absolute heaven. He loves the army.” Libbie got a wistful look about her. “Sometimes, I even think he loves the army more than he loves me.”

  “Oh, that’s not possible,” Lorena said. “I’ve only been here for a few days, but I have heard the way he talks to you, and about you, and I’ve seen the way he looks at you. All women should be so lucky.” She paused for a moment, then added, “I should be so lucky.”

  “Maybe someday you will be,” Libbie suggested. “I know Tom certainly seems taken with you. Though you may be more interested in Falcon MacCallister.”

  “Falcon? No, I—I don’t think so,” Lorena replied. “There is something about him, a deep sadness in his past. I’m not sure what it is, but sometimes, in an unguarded moment, you can look into his eyes and see all the way down to the scars on his soul.”

  Libbie shivered, then pulled a shawl about her shoulders.

  “Are you cold?”
Lorena asked.

  “Yes. No,” Libbie said. “For some strange reason, I am very apprehensive about this scout. More so than any previous scout he has ever made, and what you said just now, about a deep sadness, seemed to resonate with me a little more than such a comment would normally.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” Lorena said. “I had no wish to cause you melancholy.”

  Libbie laughed, then reached over and patted Lorena’s hand. “Don’t be silly, dear. I’m a soldier’s wife. Apprehension and unexplained bouts of melancholy are part of it.”

  Outside Custer’s tent, most of the soldiers were staying in their own tents, out of the rain. The soldiers and civilians who were attached to the supply train had no such luxury, though. They were working with wagons that were sometimes hub-deep in mud, trying to move them to more solid ground.

  As Lorena pointed out, Custer had eschewed the relative comfort of his tent so that he could be personally involved in getting the regiment ready for departure. At one point, he had the men tie a rope on front of the wagon, then he pulled, helping to extricate it from a particularly difficult mud hole.

  Falcon, who the day before had gone to the railroad depot in Bismarck to see his brother and sister off, had delayed his own departure until after the Seventh left on their scout. He had come to the field with them, and was sharing a tent with Mark Kellogg, who was a reporter for the Bismarck Tribune and the New York Herald.

  Kellogg was sitting at a small field table, writing. “Colonel MacCallister,” he said. “What do you think of this?”

  Picking up the tablet, Kellogg began to read. “General George A. Custer, dressed in a dashing suit of buckskin, is prominent everywhere. Here, there, flitting to and fro in his quick eager way, taking in everything connected with his command, as well as generally, with the keen, incisive manner for which he is so well known. The general is full of perfect readiness for the fray with the hostile red devils, and woe to any of the scalp-lifters that come within reach of himself and his brave companions in arms.”