Swords and Plowshares

As the crowd broke up, James noticed Christina Miller standing near her sister, Margaret.  They had come to watch James compete for the sharpshooting contest.  James, Jesse, and the Miller sisters were already good friends.  They had been going to the same church, school, and lived in the same community.   The Millers’ farm was next door to Allen and Nancy’s farm.

“James, that was some really nice shooting,”  Christina said with a smile.

“Thank you, Christina.  I was scared  but Old Faithful didn’t let me down.  Isn’t she a beauty?”  James asked as he lifted the gun.

“I don’t care much about guns, James,”  Christina said as she backed away.

“This gun won’t hurt you, Christina.  It’s not even loaded,”  James said as he chuckled.

“Are you going to the square dance tonight?”  James asked.

“Are you asking to escort me?”  Christina asked.

“Well, I guess you might say that.”

“I would be most honored  to go to the dance with the best sharpshooter in Moniteau County,”  Christina said smiling as she grabbed James’s arm.

On October 12, 1861, Henry, James, Jesse, Thomas Tull, Hiram Miller, and James Brooks enlisted together in the Union Army at California, Missouri.

Allen and Nancy were sending three sons and one son-in-law off to a bloody and brutal war which would last longer than anyone had expected.

“Christina Miller,  promise me you will wait for me, and marry me when I return from the war,”  James said as he wrapped both arms around her and pulled her close to him.

“James Barger, I will marry you and I’ll pray every day that God will bring you home safely to me,”  Christina said as she looked up at him with her beautiful blue eyes while tears ran down her cheeks.

 “How much further can it be to Iuka?  It seems like we have marched fifty miles today!” James said.

With a yell, the Missouri 26^th surged forward.  James trotted in the densely packed ranks, with the inferno ahead getting closer at every step.  He stumbled, then realized that he had almost tripped over a body.  A bee buzzed past his head.  Then, another and another hummed past.  James pondered where the bees could be coming from then, with a start, realized that the bees were actually bullets.  The ground fluttered with little bits of paper, bitten off from cartridges with the teeth of countless soldiers who had already fought across this ground.  The roar was like a train, but a thousand times louder, and it grew more intense with every step forward.

Suddenly, ahead of him, figures loomed through the smoke.  He halted, lowered his musket, and fired.  The shock of scores of muskets firing at once racked him.  So, this was what a volley was like.  Over the echoing ear-throbs of the volley, he heard an officer shouting “Damn it!  Those are friendly troops.  Hold your fire!  Reload!  Forward!”

A soldier near James grabbed his leg and dropped to the ground, rolling in agony.  A second staggered back, clutching a bloody hand.