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A Fine Looking Soldier

By Mrs. Jane Hadley.

IN WHICH Henry is delighted by the notion of a new friend in Charles Smith, and Cate, disguised as Charles, has much more important things to worry about.

IV.

Fort Snelling, Minnesota
Monday, July 22, 1861

HENRY heard the bugle sound reveille for the first time curled up in the prairie grass outside the walls of Fort Snelling and the tune swelled in his heart like a homecoming. Though he’d slept deeply, Henry was stiff and sore from the unyielding ground, and his muscles bemoaned the ache of endurance walking over varied terrain for two days straight. Stretching, he did his best to hide his discomfort from his friends, Elias and Jacob. He’d met them working farm labor in Faribault and when the call for a Second Regiment had finally come, all three of them had jovially signed their names over to Lincoln. 

“Wake up, lazy bones,” Elias Hower said, nudging a foot at Jacob’s shoulder. “I know it’s not a rooster crow, but it’s our new call to meet the day. We’d best get used to it.” 

“I’m awake, I’m awake,” Jacob Robinson grumbled, swatting Elias’ boot. 

They would have been at the fort as soon as the call for more troops was printed in the newspaper nearly a month ago, but between their employer’s resistance to letting them go and the disorganization of the Rice County volunteers, they’d only just arrived yesterday. While they were all similarly exhausted, Henry wasn’t about to seem ill-equipped for the miles of marching that would likely be required of them once activated for service as he got to his feet. Jacob, for his part, did not seem to harbor similar concerns and complained loudly about his knees as he rose. 

Sitting up,, Henry inhaled the dewey summer air and grinned. Yes, he was tired and sore, but he was tired and sore and happy. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something important lay straight ahead of him and that, by association, he too was important. 

Fort Snelling was positioned at the top of a tall bluff, overlooking the confluence of the Mississippi and Minnesota Rivers to the northeast. Its limestone walls were two stories high, holding within the barracks, commissary, and other buildings. 

“We’d better hurry up,” Elias said, brushing grass off his coat. “Company A’s been on post duty for a month now — we don’t want to fall behind.” 

“Eh, I’m sure we’ll do just fine,” Jacob Robinson shrugged. He’d only fastened the very top button of his coat.

“Well, if you aim to be promoted, you should turn yourself out a bit better than that,” Elias chided with a sidelong glower at Jacob’s coat.

Henry looked down at his own wrinkled coat and trousers and his hat that was all but crushed after being used as a pillow. It didn’t matter. Soon enough, he’d be uniformed and equipped. A proper soldier, straight-backed and swathed in Union blue. 

“I don’t aim to do nothing except kill Rebs,” Jacob grinned, snatching up a long blade of prairie grass to chew.

The threat of violence felt distant on this fine, sunny morning, with birds singing and the breeze rustling through the trees in the river valley. Henry didn’t know about killing Rebs, but he’d learned wrestling and sparring at the Turner Hall. He couldn’t imagine how a civilian could more ready. 

“Hurry up, the others have already gone to breakfast,” Elias fussed as Jacob bundled his things up inside his blanket and slung the whole makeshift haversack over his shoulder. Henry similarly stowed his own belongings and followed Jacob and Elias towards the fort gate. Inside, the enticing smells of fresh-baked bread rode on the wind and the parade grounds teemed with fresh recruits drawn out by their stomachs. Not having their own barracks assignment, Henry and the others lined up outside the commissary for tin cups of coffee and heels of fresh baked bread. 

“Is this it?” Jacob complained, regarding the bread in his hand. “I could have sworn I smelled bacon.”

“That’s just wishful thinking,” Elias pointed out, ruffling the younger boy’s chestnut hair then shoving his head. “Beggars can’t be choosers.” 

Jacob glowered as he smoothed his hair with his hand. “I’m about to sign my life away for three years—” 

“—I can’t imagine them Secesh will last that long,” Elias put in. 

“Regardless, I should think we’re entitled to some real food.”¹

Walking into the busy parade ground, they found a spot to sit on the edge of the boardwalk lining the officer’s quarters. They settled in to eat their breakfast side by side, surveying the new soldiers moseying around waiting for drills to start.

Henry took a big bite of the bread and washed it down with some coffee. It wasn’t particularly a revelation, but it was fresh and soft. 

“A pat of butter wouldn’t hurt,” he conceded. 

“A rasher of bacon,” Jacob insisted, holding his tin cup aloft, “and nothing less!”

A young man — more a boy really — sitting on the boardwalk on the other side of the post from Henry gave a soft snort. Just audibly, he muttered under his breath, “What are you, some sort of breakfast evangelist?”

Henry leaned around the post to look at the fellow with a chuckle. “If that were only a real job, he’d be well-suited,” Henry murmured in reply. 

The boy, apparently startled he’d been overheard, looked up at Henry with round, dark eyes like a deer poised to run. Henry gave as ingratiating a smile as he could manage. Just then, he noticed over the boy’s shoulder a group of men nearby straighten up and remove their hats. Standing, Henry spotted a group of well-dressed people making their way down the boardwalk toward them. 

“Who is that?” he inquired quietly. Jacob and Elias craned to get a good look. 

“Oh! That’s our Colonel, Horatio Van Cleve,” Elias said. “Governor Ramsey gave him his commission. He was an enlisted man in the ‘30’s — that’s how he came to meet his wife, you know, as her father was a commander at several forts including this one — and I imagine he’ll have much to teach us.” 

Jacob jabbed his elbow into Elias’ ribs. “What are you, his biographer?”

Henry peered at the older man nodding genially to the enlisted men who had recognized him, for they were among the minority in the droves of fellows joking loudly amongst themselves. Their colonel was tall and reedy, with a calm, quiet face and round spectacles on his nose. As he approached them, Elias sprang to his feet and saluted to the man, a perfect vision of a soldier to Henry’s eyes. 

“Sir,” Elias greeted and the Colonel regarded him, his eyes lifted in some amusement. 

“At ease, soldier,” the old man said genially, his beard twitching with a smile. Elias nodded and dropped his hand, but did not sit again until the Colonel quitted the boardwalk and proceeded to the offices in the hospital building.

“How did you know that?” Jacob complained, regarding Elias from the corner of his eye. 

Elias shrugged. “While you were snoring, I was playing euchre and getting the lay of the land.”

Jacob rolled his eyes. 

Henry nudged him with an elbow and said, “Well, you can at least count yourself lucky to be well-rested. I imagine that’s more important for a good soldier.” 

“And not running around acting the insufferable know-it-all,” Jacob added, crossing his arms.

Elias scoffed. “Absurd. You delight in the fact that I know everything. After all, if I didn’t perform this important service for you, who would? You’d be lost without me.” 

“Oh poor me, whatever will I do without a heavy burden of useless gossip?” Jacob bemoaned. 

Elias glowered. “You asked.”

“Fellas,” said an older fellow, rather short of stature with a thin mustache. It was Ned Osborn, one of the other Rice County Volunteers. “The Lieutenant wants us to meet near the Round Bastion for instructions.” After scorfing down what was left of their bread and coffee, Henry hurried across the parade ground with Jacob and Elias, following Osborn and the others who had marched up with them from Faribault. The boy from the boardwalk and a number of other fellows tagged along until there was a decent mob of thirty or so men descending upon the Round Bastion. 

The Round Bastion was a tall, stone tower at the west end of the fort near the entrance. Slots were cut into the thick stone for musket muzzles to peek out before Minnesota had ever become a territory. As Henry and the rest of the men gathered between the base of this structure and the guard house, Lieutenant Thomas stood tall, his eyes flickering to account for every man. Seemingly satisfied, he nodded and shouted, “Attention Rice County Volunteers! We’ve been directed to join our men up with a few other groups to form Company K.” 

Lieutenant Thomas had delayed their departure from Faribault for several weeks trying to recruit enough men for their own company. He’d finally given it up as a bad job and headed north with about twenty-five men. The call for three years instead of three months had changed a good number of fellows’ minds. Henry leaned over to Elias. “Does it matter what company we’re in?” 

Elias shrugged and kept his eyes forward. His lack of response indicated that now was not the time for questions. Henry turned his eyes back on Thomas, a little abashedly.

“We will join the rest of the company outside, just south of the gates, and Captain Noah will take roll. Follow me.”

Henry did exactly that. Gravel crunched under his feet as he did his best to look like he belonged in the army. Elias’ insights about the Colonel had shaken him a little bit. Elias clearly had dedicated himself to the task of distinguishing himself and his knowledge served him well, helping him deliver due respect to his commanding officer. How had Elias known how to stand and salute so well? Henry wanted to convey the same level of discipline, but he simply didn’t know where to begin. He’d never fought before. He’d scarcely ever shot a rifle before. And he suspected that shooting a deer was decidedly different than shooting a man, especially in the context of a strategic battle.

Outside of the two massive wood gates, the dirt road proceeded down a steep incline along the Minnesota River bluff to the boat landing below. About fifty men gathered with Henry in a grassy spot on the high ground opposite the road. The men themselves were of every variety, the youngest appearing about sixteen to the oldest perhaps forty. While many of them largely sported the same cut of sack coat and trousers in varying sober colors, there seemed no shortage of fashionable facial hair among them.² 

At the head of the group stood a man on the stump of a tree who could only be none other than Captain Noah. He stood with his arms crossed over his chest as he looked down a long nose at the men gathered around him. His hair was thinning in spite of not appearing any older than thirty and he wore a neatly trimmed beard that made his long face appear even longer. His eyebrows were arched and his eyes looked lazy, but Henry suspected this denoted less about how the Captain felt and rather more about how his face generally rested. 

“Soldiers,” the Captain began. The group of men continued to hum with conversation. The Captain lifted an eyebrow and then turned his head, looking down at another officer standing next to the stump. This man bellowed, “ATTENTION!”

That did the trick. The men quieted immediately, some with wide eyes, others with defiant grins, and still others with straight posture as though trying to prove their worthiness. Henry was among this latter group.

“Welcome to Fort Snelling,” the Captain said once he had the attention of the group. “I am Captain Noah and I am your commanding officer. There are groups of you from all across the state, from here in St. Paul, to Minneapolis, Faribault, and even as far afield as St. Cloud. Allow me to be the first to thank you for your service.

“Now, the first step to mustering you in is to call roll. When you hear your name, please respond as present.” The Captain looked down at a list in his hand and proceeded to call roll.

As Henry waited for his name to be called, he wondered how his brothers were faring. The First Regiment had marched out a month before, loaded on steamers and sent downriver to Chicago, then on to Washington DC. In spite of all his anger with them for leaving him behind, he hoped that they would be safe on their mission. Though admittedly, hearing Franklin and Peter bragging about their heroic roles among the first men in the whole country to volunteer to defend the Union were not among the top experiences Henry wished to endure anytime soon. He absently cracked his knuckles as he waited to hear his name called. 

“Wilbur Little.”

“Present.”

Henry wondered again if it mattered what company a man enlisted under. Some of the companies were organized before the call to enlist went out, or they had formed under the call for the First Regiment and been passed up. Those men knew each other, had drilled together already. They were farther along in creating a camaraderie among their unit. Henry worried that since this company was combining with men from various towns, that they wouldn’t have the same rapport, the same level of cohesion, which would then undermine their ability to fight effectively. Perhaps that was why they were Company K and not Company A or B. 

“Heen-ritch Chafer,” Captain Noah called.

Henry paused, looking around. But then after a moment, he realized that the Captain was mispronouncing his name. 

“Present! Sorry, sir, it’s Heinrich Schaefer.”

The Captain blinked at him. “Bless you.” 

Jacob snorted. Elias covered his mouth and raised his eyebrows, trying not to grin. Henry glowered at them, feeling his cheeks heat with embarrassment. The Captain had already moved on to calling the next name. 

“Charles Smith.”

“Present, sir.” The boy from the boardwalk claimed this name. He stood a little ways away, his posture stiff and serious. There was something about his face that Henry found fascinating. His cheeks were smooth, belying his youth, and his delicately sharp features paired with his deep-set eyes made him look like the romantic hero from a gothic serial illustrated plate. Seeming to sense that he was being observed, he glanced up and caught Henry’s gaze. Henry cracked his friendliest half smile, the one he saved for his brother’s friends and his gymnasticks instructor. The boy raised a thick, angular brow and his eyes darted quickly away.

“And that, gentlemen, concludes roll. At this time, the Lieutenants will form you into squads of eight men and once assembled, assign one among you the sergeant. Sergeants may then in the coming weeks of training promote a corporal under the advisement of Lieutenant Thomas.” 

Elias exchanged wide-eyed looks with Henry and Jacob and immediately they clustered themselves together. They weren’t the only ones. Other men quickly arranged themselves among their friends to suit the apportioned number. 

“Hey, Hower, get over here,” Ned Osborn beckoned to Elias, and he dragged Jacob and Henry along with him to stand near Osborn and three others. The seven of them stood in a group and craned about looking for an eighth member before all the other groups filled. As Henry’s eyes traveled across the company, he noticed the boy — Charles Smith — again. His hat, a little too large, had slipped over his brows and he adjusted his collar awkwardly as he stood alone. Henry’s eyes narrowed. 

“Hey, you!” he called. The boy looked up with those large eyes as he hesitated. “Come here. We need one more.” 

The boy glanced around as if unsure Henry was speaking to him. Then, perhaps seeing how the other men had congregated into groups, he shuffled over to Henry’s side. So gathered, they waited for Lieutenant Thomas to arrive and formally assign them as a squad. When he did so, his eyes flickered over them, confirming their number, and said, “Alright, you’re Squad Seven. Osborn, you’ll be Sergeant.” 

The older man grinned and his friend, Thomas Webster, elbowed him in a congratulatory sort of way. They were both over thirty and carried themselves with the kind of natural confidence that got one promoted to sergeant as a matter of course.

Leveling his gaze at Osborn, the Lieutenant said, “Get me a roster of your men and meet at the office after dinner for training.” Then he walked off. 

Elias looked at Osborn sidelong and frowned after the Lieutenant.

“Oh, don’t be jealous, Hower,” Osborn chided him. “You’ll make a fine corporal.” 

After the lieutenants finished formally acknowledging the squads the men had by and large formed on their own, the Captain mounted the stump once again. 

“Sergeants, report to the Lieutenants to receive bunk assignments and a time for your squad to undergo the surgeon’s exam. Exams will proceed this afternoon. Once you’re done with that, recruits may have recreation. Sergeants report to the office for drill training. Your first company drill will be with Lieutenant Webster tomorrow morning. Reveille will play at sunrise. You are to report to the parade ground by 6 o’clock tomorrow morning for roll and further instructions.” 

Henry’s head spun a bit. It had come so fast, he wasn’t sure he’d gotten all of it. He glanced around at his fellow recruits; he couldn’t have been the only one. Charles Smith stood just to his left and Henry was startled to find he’d gone white as a sheet, his eyes wide and his jaw tight. Puzzled, Henry tried to run through what he’d heard again. Had there been an instruction couched in there somewhere that should cause Henry to be concerned? 

He glanced over at the boy again. Smooth-cheeked as he was, he wasn’t precisely baby-faced — he had finely-carved, sharp features, a stormy brow, and the kind of petulant pout that would make his cousin Christina swoon. But Henry’d bet a dollar that fellow was too young to enlist. 

Henry leaned over and nudged the boy with his shoulder. The boy startled.

“Don’t worry,” Henry assured under his breath. The boy looked up at him from under furrowed brows and glared. 

“Why would I be worried?” he snarled in a voice just husky enough to suggest it had already dropped. Henry shut his mouth and frowned. He hadn’t meant to be condescending, but he realized too late that he had been, perhaps even more so than his brothers ever had. He knew what it was like to be patronized and he refused to do it, to this boy or anyone else. He was going to do better.

⸻

V.

CATE adjusted her second-hand hat again as she followed her new squad inside the fort, where Sergeant Osborn led them to their assigned lodgings. She’d been walking the world as a man for two days now, but it didn’t diminish the constant fear that she’d be seen for what she really was every time she met someone new. The threat of the imminent surgeon inspection was not helping this anxiety. 

The barracks inside the fort were under the north wall and consisted of two long buildings, each one story in height. The larger of these, intended to accommodate two companies, Osborn explained, was divided into sets, each set having an orderly-room and three squad-rooms on the main floor, while below in the basement were a mess-room and a kitchen. The other barrack was intended to be occupied by one company only; and the orderly-room, squad-rooms, mess-rooms, and a kitchen were on the same floor.³ Company K was to be quartered in the latter, while Company G and I occupied the former.  

Sergeant Osborn led them along the covered boardwalk and turned into one of the doors along the wall that faced out onto the parade ground. When Cate entered, her stomach sank. The room couldn’t be larger than fifteen feet square.⁴ It was fitted with three bunks, built of scantling posts that supported three tiers of berths, standing endwise with narrow passages in between and the foot of the beds towards the door.⁵ The mattresses were nothing more than muslin slips stuffed with straw. Opposite the bunks was a large, outdated stone fireplace and in the small space remaining between stood a pine table with six chairs. The entire room smelled musty and old, and a bit like it hadn’t been entered, much less cleaned, since the First Minnesota mustered out a month ago. 

They were going to make all eight of them share this tiny space? The scant privacy she’d presumed she’d have camping outside of the walls of the fort were dashed upon the decaying wood floors of this tiny room.

“While there’s room enough for you all to have your own bunk at present,” Sergeant Osborn intoned, “as they muster new recruits to fill our company, you’ll eventually have to share.”⁶

Cate swallowed thickly. As if the physical exam weren’t terrifying enough, now she had to figure out how to maintain her entire existence out of this room without being discovered, and share a bed with one of these louts? How was she going to get dressed? Or clean herself? She wasn’t even sure where the privy was yet. And of course, just the mere prospect of that made her feel like she was in need of it. 

While she’d only donned her disguise for a few days, she’d been planning in earnest ever since the call went out for the Second Minnesota Regiment. She’d given domesticity her level best, but … Well. Richard was a fine husband in terms of his standing. He’d gotten his position at the mayor’s office, acquired more suitable lodgings, and even hired a maid to help Cate with the household chores. She’d had it better than most wives in St. Anthony. But no matter how she counted her blessings, there was still a gaping hole in her chest that grew wider every time Richard treated her like a child or reprimanded her for digging her nose into issues not “fit” for ladies. Which was daily. Cate had a short temper and fervent beliefs. If she could stop, she would have done it long ago. She thought Richard might get used to her political interests, but instead, he’d doubled down. He’d even taken the liberty of canceling her newspaper subscriptions. It wasn’t enough. It wasn’t even close to enough. So she’d made a plan to disappear from under Richard’s nose and get out of the state undetected, while also setting herself on the front lines of a cause she’d been desperate to fight for since she was fifteen. To have sacrificed so much only to be found out and sent back before even getting mustered in — it was intolerable. She refused to allow it. 

The rest of the squad eagerly lurched forward to claim their bunks. There were nine beds across the three scaffolds, so there were two beds to spare, given the Sergeant bunked in the orderly-room. One man claimed the bottom bunk nearest to the door and as Cate recovered from her initial shock, she realized she was about to miss her chance. Before she could decide whether a top or bottom bunk would be best, the German with the unpronounceable name approached her, presumably to give her more condescending platitudes. 

Plan of Old Fort Snelling from a survey by Captain Arthur Williams (3rd US Infantry) c. 1840 and reproduced by Minnesota Historical Society. Collections of the Minnesota Historical Society, Vol. VIII 1898.

“Are you alright?” he asked, his warm voice showing only the slightest hint of the accent with which he’d pronounced his name during roll. 

No. She was not alright. She was two breaths from swooning in a ripe panic, the thought of which was completely mortifying. She never swooned. That was for silly, idiotic women whose understanding of hardship revolved around what their cook had the audacity to serve with tea. 

“I just didn’t expect…” Cate began, then caught herself. She had been about to say I just didn’t expect such a lack of privacy, but that would have been suspicious. Wouldn’t it? 

The German laughed. “Yeah, I had expected to be sleeping on the ground, too! Lucky us, huh?” He elbowed her in the ribs and grinned an easy, floppy smile revealing a row of straight, white teeth. Cate couldn’t help but stare. Then she forced herself to smile too, although it probably came out as more of a begrudging grimace. 

“Lucky us,” she murmured as he pulled her into the room by the arm. Christ, but he was handsy. Did men usually touch each other this much? 

The bunks had all been claimed except for the final scaffold in the far corner, and the middle bunk on the center scaffold. Cate was surprised the men seemed more keen to sleep aloft than to claim the bunks nearest to the floor, just from a point of convenience, but as they began climbing up the scaffolds, she saw how flimsy they were. Were they to collapse, the soldier on bottom would take the brunt of the damage.

“Which side do you want to be on?” the German asked her, yanking her attention away from the scene of clambering comrades, more monkeys than men. Wait — they weren’t expected to share yet, were they? 

“Excuse me?”

“Top or bottom? Which bunk do you want?” 

“…You’re asking me?”

“Yes…?”

“Don’t you have a preference?” 

The German shrugged. “Sure, but one must be gracious to one’s comrades if we are to fight together.” That grin again. She reminded herself to breathe.

Cate tore her eyes away from his face and assessed the scaffold, then him, with a raised eyebrow. The German was only a few inches taller than her, but he was broad-shouldered and well-muscled. If the upper bunk were to give way from underneath him, she would invariably be crushed by his … well. The thought of being under him didn’t wholly upset her, to be honest, as he was a fairly well-formed man. Regardless, though, from a practical standpoint…

“Top,” she asserted firmly and gave him a curt nod of thanks. He shrugged affably and tossed himself back on the bottom bunk, crossing his legs at the ankles and bringing his arms up behind his head with a sigh. 

Cate lingered. Yes. A very well-formed man indeed. 

⸻

The sun was beginning to set, casting long shadows across the parade ground as Henry and the rest of Squad Seven wandered around the fort, waiting for their squad’s turn to be examined. He was grateful that it was easy to follow the others to their next destination, because all the limestone buildings looked much the same. The examinations had been implemented in the order the squads were formed that morning, so being Squad Seven, they ended up dead last. Their company wasn’t full yet, at only fifty odd men thus far, and Captain Noah had suggested they pass the time by writing to their friends back home and encouraging them to join up. Of course, with the title of corporal dangling like a carrot over his head, Elias took this very seriously and went hunting for paper and a pencil. Henry assumed Charles Smith had similarly struck out to write correspondence, because he had disappeared shortly after. 

Those that remained took a stroll up to the Half Moon Battery, which overlooked the bluffs at the confluence of the two rivers. They stood along the rail,  speculating about the inspection and the drills expected in the morning, but the view was so tremendous, it commanded their singular attention. To the left lay the deep, blue valley of the Mississippi and to the right, the broad stream of the Minnesota River. It flowed through a comparatively open vale, with swelling hills and intermingling forest and prairie visible for what must have been miles upriver. A triangular island was formed between the rivers that lay immediately under the fort.⁷ Its level surface was partially cultivated, but towards the farther shore, it was thickly covered with wood. Beyond their junction, the united streams glided at the base of high cliffs into the narrowing valley below. Forests buffered the river from the prairie that sprawled to the horizon.⁸

While the river valley had already been cast into twilight, when he turned and looked opposite toward the Round Bastion, the US flag flying just east of its base was still kissed in sunlight as it flapped in the evening breeze. Henry had never really thought much of the flag before, but now that he was laying his life on the line for his country, its symbol suddenly felt more personal. 

Many of the men from the other squads and from Companies I and G were laughing, singing songs, and playing raucous games of euchre. Other squads filtered through the parade ground below, undergoing their exams and then being dismissed. It was frustrating to still be waiting when everyone else was already celebrating. 

Finally, Sergeant Osborn returned and led their squad to line up on the parade ground. 

Bathed in the pink shadows of the setting sun, Lieutenant Thomas called men to line up by their surnames, repeating roll as the eight of them arranged themselves in alphabetical order. Henry was pleased to see Charles Smith again, even though his hands were deep in his pockets and his shoulders up near his ears. Henry reminded himself that this fellow was probably terrified he’d be discovered underage for enlistment. His smooth chin was set forward as he carefully followed the officers with his eyes.

Giving the boy a nudge with his elbow, Henry muttered, “I don’t know about you, but I’m getting pretty sick of waiting.”

Smith looked up at him, his brown eyes round and hard under dark brows. Henry delivered his most ingratiating smile in response and offered a hand. “I don’t think we’ve been formally introduced. I’m Henry Schaefer.”

The boy glanced down at his hand and then back up. He didn’t respond and he didn’t take Henry’s hand either. Henry faltered; he hadn’t expected such a cold greeting after making such an effort to be gracious. 

“And you are Smith, right?” he prompted, his smile wavering.

The boy blinked. “Charles Smith.” His voice was small, a further sign that this boy was likely not of an age to enlist. Henry could see why he might be put off at the moment. It probably had nothing to do with Henry and everything to do with nerves in the face of a physical exam which could very well reveal him as underage. The weight of those nerves had likely been weighing him down all day. 

Henry smiled, letting his hand drop, and said, “Well, Smith, I’m happy to know you.” 

Smith gave a curt nod, training his eyes back on the ground. Henry looked down the line and noticed that the surgeon had begun his inspection, a recruiting officer accompanying him and taking notes in the roster. Turning back to Smith, Henry gripped his shoulder and leaned in to whisper, “We were watching the inspections of the other squads from the battery and I don’t think you have anything to worry about.”

Smith’s brows knitted together and somehow, his eyes managed to grow wider and more guarded. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“Oh, sorry, I don’t mean to presume, but you look young is all,” Henry said, pulling his hand back as Smith shrugged him off. “For service. But I heard the surgeon is wore out from all the exams he’s done today and is just asking basic questions.”

Smith blinked at him, arms crossed across his chest. 

“So I don’t think you have anything to worry about,” Henry concluded. “I’m sure by now the man’s so cross-eyed he couldn’t tell a soldier from a settee.”

Henry grinned but found himself the only one amused. The boy gave him that stare again, like he was speaking a different language.

“You sure like to talk,” Smith observed. 

“Do I?” Henry frowned. “I guess I’ve never had the chance to find out before.”

Smith deliberately set his inscrutable stare back on the surgeon. Undeterred, Henry tilted his head and continued to study his new comrade-in-arms. As rude as this kid was, he felt like he understood how he felt. After all, he had been the young one out in his own family for far too long. He kind of liked being on the other side of that, feeling like the elder for once. And underneath the boy’s veneer of irritation was thick and palpable anxiety, an anxiety Henry recognized.

“I have two older brothers,” Henry continued by way of explanation. “Between the two of them, I could never get a word in edgewise. I suppose I do like to talk, but I’ve never had the chance to find out until now. It’s kind of nice not being interrupted all the time.”

Smith looked over at him and raised a brow. He opened his mouth as if to say something but right then, Sergeant Osborn approached, watching the two of them with a warning look and allowing his proximity to quiet them rather than barking at them for silence. 

⸻

Cate’s heart pounded like her ribs were the drummer boy’s snare. She leaned forward to look down the line at the surgeon making his way toward her, the orderly sergeant taking careful note at his side. It didn’t look like he was inspecting the men too closely, and he certainly wasn’t asking anyone to remove their clothes, which was in itself a great relief. All afternoon, she’d been terrified that she was going to be strip-searched in front of the whole company, and her fear had been so palpable that she could barely choke down any food or drink.

“Don’t worry, it’s all going to go fine.” 

The overly familiar whispers of Henry Schaefer were the last thing she needed right now. Poor fool could go play big brother with someone else. At any other time, his tedious attempts at conversation would be more tolerable — perhaps even enjoyable to get to know someone in her unit — but none of that could happen until she got this physical exam over with. For there was a non-zero chance that her service would end right here. Her fate depended on the surgeon. She could only hope that this well-intentioned blockhead was right. 

She looked up a few inches at Henry Schaefer. He had a wild thatch of straw-colored hair atop a square face set with kind, open eyes. Most certainly German, as if the name hadn’t already been a dead give-away. His skin was tanned, probably from working a farm somewhere. And he had remarkably good teeth… 

She inwardly shook herself. What was wrong with her? She had much more important things to worry about than the relative dental hygiene of her comrades right now. Such as mentally preparing to subvert the surgeon’s assessment of her fitness for service. It went without saying that lacking a male member was likely high on the list of disqualifying physical defects.

“I know,” she hissed at him, glaring and then looking pointedly toward Sergeant Osborn standing near them. “Shut. Up.” 

Henry put his hands up in surrender and pressed his lips together in a pledge to silence. He still had a stupid smile pinching into his cheeks, like he thought her irritation was amusing. It sparked her temper, though she couldn’t be certain whether she was more irritated with him for his condescension or herself for finding it utterly charming. Nothing about a man making light of her distress, regardless of the reason, was charming, no matter how good-looking he was. She’d do well to remember that.

The surgeon was nearly upon them and Cate hoped he couldn’t hear her heart beating out of her chest. He had a truly enormous beard, perhaps compensating for the thinning tuft at the top of his head, and a mustache so long it seemed to curl completely around his upper lip and into his mouth. His blue eyes were drawn and lined with fatigue as they danced over each man in turn. As he neared, she focused on the questions he was asking the men ahead of her. Name? Age? Occupation? These were all questions they’d already been asked upon enlisting so she inferred that he was checking their roster for accuracy. 

It seemed like both an eternity and a half second when he began to address Henry Schaefer.

“Name?”

“Heinrich Schaefer.” Definitely German. He didn’t even anglicize the pronunciation.

The orderly sergeant’s brows flew together at the foreign sound of the name. “…Can you spell that?”

The surgeon looked supremely put-upon as Schaefer took the time to spell his full name for the orderly sergeant. 

“Age?”

“I turned twenty-two in May,” Schaefer replied. 

“Occupation?”

“Farmhand.” 

Cate glanced at him sidelong, feeling a little smug with herself for guessing his work correctly. Although in Minnesota, even in St. Anthony, guessing a man’s occupation was farming was like guessing a flipped coin would come up heads. 

“Do you have any defects that would prevent you from serving your country on the field of battle?”

“No, sir.”

“Show hands please,” the surgeon said. His beard was so large, his mouth was completely obscured, and the whiskers seemed to flap about of their own volition.

Schaefer held out his hands and the surgeon studied them. Cate couldn’t imagine what he was looking for — a missing trigger finger, perhaps? She glanced down at her own hands and wondered if her fingernails were too effeminate or her wrists too fine-boned. Though she had calmed considerably already having watched the previous examinations with scarcely anything that could be construed as invasive or potentially revealing for the concealment of her sex, her heart pounded nonetheless. She had no idea if there was some medical way of telling a woman by her hands. Certainly if she had been a lady, her hands would have been soft and delicate, but her time as a laundress had worn her hands rougher than Richard’s.

The surgeon nodded at Schaefer after inspecting his perfect teeth and then leveled his gaze on Cate. She squared her face and met his gaze as evenly as she could, bearing down on her nerves with the force of her determination. If she did not entertain the possibility of being discovered, surely it couldn’t do anything but work to her benefit.

“Name?” he asked perfunctorily.

“Charles Smith, sir,” she confirmed. She thought the orderly sergeant looked relieved as he easily checked her off. 

“Age?” the surgeon droned. Here came her first hurdle. When she had enlisted, she had been informed of the age limitations and the need for parental permission if one was under twenty-one. So she had listed twenty-one, even though in her man’s guise, she knew she didn’t look a day over eighteen.⁹ But she had written it at the time, thinking it would be best to ensure she didn’t have to jump through any such foolish hoops as acquiring her parents’ permission to enlist. 

“Twenty-one, sir,” she stated clearly, covering her nerves with as thick a layer of confidence as she could muster. 

The surgeon eyed her for a long moment, and she could see Henry Schaefer out of the corner of her eye watching her with far too much earnestness to appear anything less than suspicious. She held the gaze of the surgeon evenly, almost daring him to challenge her. He opened his whiskers as if to say something, but then glanced at the rapidly accumulating twilight and gave a shrug to the sergeant. The orderly eyed her, but marked her off in his ledger nonetheless. 

“Occupation?”

“Lumberman, sir.” 

“Do you have any defects, physical or mental, that would prevent you from serving your country on the field of battle?”

Cate compelled herself to maintain eye contact. “No, sir.” Her fists curled tightly at her sides.

“Show hands,” the surgeon repeated. Cate swallowed hard and held out her hands. Her fingers were long and slender, with what would have been elegantly rounded fingernails if they weren’t swollen at the cuticles with chilblains. She’d been taking in laundry on the sly while Richard was clerking for the mayor to save up for this particular adventure. 

“Are these chilblains caused by working the logs on the river?” the surgeon asked. Cate would have to thank this man for making things so easy for her.

“Yes, sir,” she affirmed almost too eagerly. 

The surgeon nodded knowingly. “Open and close your hands.” 

Cate did so.

“Teeth,” he demanded. As she opened her mouth, he took only a cursory glance before nodding at the sergeant and moving on to the next man. Cate stared after him for a moment. 

Was that all? She could scarcely believe her good luck. She had been so fearful that she’d face a full physical examination, where every inch of their bodies would be inspected for defect. She understood the regulation was to do a full stripped physical exam. She was abundantly grateful that this particular outfit was not deigning to take the time such an endeavor would entail. To be honest, if she had been a commanding officer, she supposed she would have prioritized training too. 

When she looked up, Henry Schaefer cracked that crooked smile. His eyebrows lifted as if to say, See, I told you. Cate firmly rejected the urge to look up at him coyly — some feminine habits were hard to break in the presence of a man with shoulders like that — but she couldn’t help her lips curving into a small, relieved smile. Lifting her fist, she shook it briefly at Henry. He grinned, shaking his fist in return. 

After inspecting each man individually, the surgeon ordered the new recruits to march across the parade ground and back. Then, he nodded to Sergeant Osborn, who read them the Articles of War and dismissed them for the evening.

And that was that. Once the company was full, they’d have a formal muster ceremony, but for all intents and purposes, she was officially a member of the Second Regiment of Minnesota, Company K. As she stood in the twilight, surrounded by her squad-mates who were whooping and giving each other those half man-hugs, she felt a sense of clear purpose for what felt like the first time in recent memory. She was going to fight for something that mattered. 

⸻

Footnotes

1. Bishop, Judson Wade. The Story of a Regiment: Being a Narrative of the Service of the Second Regiment, Minnesota Veteran Volunteer Infantry, in the Civil War of 1861-1865. United States, Published for the Surviving Members of the Regiment, 1890. Bishop noted that the men groused about the food at the fort, though they missed it when they got to the warfront. 

2. The Two Man Gentlemen Band. “Pretty Good Beards (of the Civil War).” YouTube, 2013. 

3. Hansen, Marcus L. Old Fort Snelling 1819–1858. Cedar Rapids, Iowa: The Torch Press, 1918. Page 75. 

4. Office of Chief Engineers, War Department. “Maps and Plans of Fort Snelling, 1835-1890.” National Archives and Records Administration, Washington: 1952. Minnesota Historical Society. 

5. Swisshelm, Jane. St. Cloud Democrat, July 11, 1861. Cited in Fort Snelling and the Civil War by Stephen Osman. Ramsey County Historical Society, 2017. Page 28.

6. Ibid.

7. This triangular island is known at Bdote and is the spiritual origin place for Dakota people. It was claimed through an unauthorized agreement (meaning authorized by neither the US government nor the Oċeti Ṡakowiŋ) between a US Lieutenant and two Dakota leaders  in 1805. Cassady, Matthew and Peter J. DeCarlo. “Fort Snelling: Expansionist Era, 1819-1858.” MNopedia, 2015. 

8. Hansen, Ibid.9. Roberts Bartholow. A manual of instructions for enlisting and discharging soldiers. 1863. Page 168-171.

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