Cody C. Engdahl's Blog, page 8

Mexico, My Love: Full Print Cover and Blurb Reveal

Here’s the blurb:

A tragic love story and a sweeping swashbuckling epic that’ll take you from the streets of Marseilles, through the deserts of Africa, across the pirate-infested seas, to the hills of California, and ultimately the walls of Mexico City.

Claudette is a French girl who dreams of true love and adventure. Diego is a brash young Mexican patriot who strives to live up to his grandfather’s sword-fighting legend. Together they’ll fight to keep their dreams alive while facing French smugglers, Algerian resistance fighters, bloodthirsty pirates, and the American invasion of Mexico.

Mexico, my Love is a romantic historical novel that brings to life the real history of the Franco-Moroccan War, the Conquest of California, and the Mexican American War. It is a prequel to Rampage on the River: The Battle for Island 10, Book One of the 2nd Michigan Cavalry Chronicles.

However, YOU DON’T HAVE TO READ ANY OF THE PREVIOUS BOOKS TO ENJOY THIS ONE!

Here’s the Digital Book cover:

The first draft is finished. We are now putting it through its editing paces. Currently, it sits at 123,989 words, but that will fluctuate as we edit. For a reference, Blood for Blood at Nashville was about 119,000 words.

Mexico, My Love was going to be 501 pages if I went with the same printing specs as my other novels. The print cost was just too high and I didn’t want my readers to have to bear it. So I decided to switch to the 6X9 format. That dropped it down to 362 pages and significantly lowered the price. I hope that’ll entice some new readers into my literary world and also keep my current readers happy.

We’re also going with creme paper now too! I hope that also makes my current readers happy as well. I actually wanted to do that with Blood for Blood at Nashville, but because it was part of the trilogy, I was stuck with the choices I made for the first book.

So, what does creme paper do? It makes it much easier on the eye. It doesn’t have the glare that white paper has and provides a more pleasing contrast with the black ink. It also just looks more authentic for historical novels.

This book is a new entry point into my overall story. This is a prequel to the 2nd Michigan Cavalry Chronicles trilogy. Ultimately, I think it’s best to read them all in the order that I wrote them. There’s a big reveal at the end of book two that is explored in this new book. However, I’m fine with people beginning with Mexico, My Love, and then perhaps reading the trilogy.

Mexico, My Love is also a bit of a departure from my first three novels. It still has all the battles, sword fights, and high adventure that I hope you’ve come to enjoy from me, but it’s my first novel outside of the American Civil War. I also leaned into the historical romance genre quite a bit and wrote most of it from my female character’s perspective. I really hope it has a wide appeal to both women and people who love historical fiction but may not be into the Civil War.

Okay, so, timetable: I hate giving dates because then I have to live up to them. This is the longest book I’ve written. It took me fifteen months and ten days to write. Surprisingly, I only missed my projected first draft finish date by four days. This was a deadline I had set for myself at the beginning, so not bad!

Anyway, I like to get all the editing done in two months. That includes my work and the other two people on my team. I don’t want to rush anybody and I want to get it right. Right now, we’re hoping to get it out by Black Friday to take advantage of the holiday shopping season. I should be able to pull that off but if not, I’ll launch at the beginning of the new year to soak up some of that gift card money. We’ll see.

What’s next? I’m going to be putting out a preview that will go into the back of Blood for Blood at Nashville. Right now, I’m debating what I’m going to use. I think it’s either going to be the introduction to young Claudette or the introduction of Carl’s father. I’m still debating.

After that? No promises, but the next book should pick up where we left Carl and bring him to Europe, where he’ll have a grand adventure along the Wars of German Unification. I have a general outline and a lot of great ideas that I think are going to excite those who have read all my previous books and are up to date on the story. The working title at the moment is The Prussian Prince, but that could change.

The book after that will be a character novel based on a person whom I hinted at throughout the trilogy and will now introduce in Mexico, My Love. You’re going to love this character, and they will have a fascinating adventure. I hope you stick around for it.

Thanks as always for your love and support. If you’d like to read the trilogy before Mexico, My Love comes out, here is the link to the first book, Rampage on the River: The Battle For Island No.10.

My Two Fiddles

Someone asked “How much is a high-quality violin?” on Quora. This is my answer:

After a few years with my $259 Chinese student model, I felt I was ready for an upgrade. I thought I’d spend $800 to $1,200 on a new instrument. My teacher told me to wait until I could afford $3,000 or up because the quality jump from $259 to $1,200 wouldn’t be enough to make it worth it. I ended up buying a 1986 Belgian-made fiddle for $3,200. I love it and still play it today. 

But here’s the rest of the story:

My $259 Chinese fiddle is still a great instrument. I’ve played it so much that it’s really well broken-in. As I started gigging professionally, I realized that not only did it serve me just as well, but I preferred to bring it to a lot of these outdoor events and smokey bars where I didn’t have to worry about it so much. It took a spill onstage in Florida once. The fingerboard popped off. I took it to my luthier and she fixed it, no problem. If that had been my Belgian, I would have died.

I can say that my Belgian fiddle has a sweeter sound, rich with complex overtones that carry well across the room. My Chinese fiddle is brash and loud (like me). I have my Belgian set up to be my “violin.” The action is higher, the bridge radius is rounder so I can isolate strings better, and I use medium tension synthetic gut strings.

My Chinese instrument is set up to be my “fiddle.” It’s got light tension steel-core strings, low action, and a flatter bridge which makes playing drones and double stops a breeze. My Belgian never comes out of my house. My Chinese is my workhorse that I travel with. I play mostly old-time, blues, jazz, and “cocktail” fiddle.

Below are some samples of my two violins:

This is my $259 Chinese workhorse:

And here is my $3,200 Belgian angel:

Hey, check out my latest novel!

Peace on Earth and Goodwill to All

Interview with Cody C. Engdahl on the American Civil War & UK History Podcast

I was interviewed by Darren Rawlings on the American Civil War & UK History Podcast. Here it is in YouTube form below.

Here’s the link to the podcast link. Give him a follow! Interview with Cody C. Engdahl

Here are the previews to all the books we spoke about:

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Finished Part I of my next novel: Mexico, My Love

I finished Part I of my latest novel: Mexico, My Love, last night. Sixteen chapters so far and a little over 48,000 words. Part One could almost be a novel in itself. It has its own story arc in three acts and a climactic conclusion.

The novel is a sweeping and tragic romantic adventure about Carl’s parents, chronicling how they met, fell in love, and found their fate at the walls of Mexico City during the final battle of the Mexican-American War. I’m really excited about it and happy with what I’ve written so far.

I’m a bit scared too. I’m stepping away from the comfort and built-in audience of the American Civil War. I’m also dipping into the historical romance genre. Trust me, there’ll be plenty of swordfights, battle scenes, and even pirates to make this an action-packed adventure, but I’m also trying to lure in some new readers with my romance writing.

I hate to give estimates of when it’ll be done, but certainly in the next calendar year. It’ll probably be in three parts. It was not my intention to write another long book like Blood for Blood at Nashville, but it’s beginning to look that way. It’s a great story, though, and I think it’ll keep you turning pages.

Once this is out, I’m planning on picking up Carl’s story after the war in a novel that I’m currently calling “The Prussian Prince.” We’ll see if I stick with that title.

I have several books planned after that, but I want to wait to see how things go before I commit to them. The next book after the Prussian Prince will deal with a character that I have mentioned several times in the Civil War trilogy. You’ll finally get to meet him in Mexico, My Love. It’s not Carl’s father, who is one of the main characters of Mexico, My Love, but another character whom I’ve also built an enigma around. He’ll have a great introduction in the second part of Mexico, My Love, and make for a great sweeping novel of his own.

Anyway, thanks for following me, and stay tuned! Check out my latest novel below.

The Headless Brakeman and the Ghost Lights of Maco Station

The Headless Brakeman and the Ghost Lights of Maco Station

On a dark rainy night in 1867, a tragic train accident happened along a swampy stretch of railroad outside of Maco Station which killed a brakeman named Joe Baldwin. 

Being a brakeman was one of the most dangerous jobs you could have back then. Before the invention of through-brakes which the conductor could operate from the engine, a man, or several men, would have to run along the roof of a moving train and apply the brakes to each car to slow and stop a train. Think about it, all that kinetic energy of hundreds of tons rolling behind the engine could make it extremely difficult to stop a train or to keep it from running off the tracks.

Brakemen would often die by falling off the roof of a moving train, sometimes even falling between the cars and being crushed to death or mangled in wheels.

Old Joe was in the caboose at the end of the train. It was better to start applying the brakes there and then work your way from car to car toward the engine. 

At some point, he must have realized that the caboose had come loose from the rest of the train. He could sense it slowing down and the sound of the rest of the train moving away. He must have grabbed a lantern and ran to the front of the caboose to try to signal the rest of the train that there was a problem. He must have watched in frustration at the sight of the train fading into the dark inky night. Its sound blending more and more with the rain. 

But then he could hear it again. Definitely the sound of a train, except this time, it was coming from behind. Raw terror must have poured through him as he realized the next train was speeding along behind him. He must have dashed to the back of the caboose to try to signal the other train because the last thing the conductor of that train saw before the collision was a light swinging in the darkness.

sImagine the force of a train slamming into to a caboose at full speed. The sound of the impact, the screech of twisting metal could be heard for miles. Dozens came out in the pouring rain to see the wreckage: the enormous mangled engine lying on its side, the remnants of the caboose smeared along the damaged tracks.

Among the twisted metal and smoldering wood, they saw a glow. After removing some debris, they found the body of a man, still holding a lantern, but his head had been ripped clean off his shoulders.

It took months to clean up the wreck and repair the tracks. But during all that time, no one ever found Joe’s head. They had to bury him without it.

Sometime later, locals began seeing a mysterious, unearthly light where the accident had happened. Soon the legend began to grow that on dark rainy nights: Joe would come back with his lantern and search for his head.

It’s even said that President Grover Cleveland saw the light while on a whistle-stop tour through the area in 1889. When he told local dignitaries what he saw, they told him the story of Old Joe Baldwin.

Reports of the light persisted into the twentieth century. Some say it’s just the glow that comes off the phosphorescent gas that comes out of the swamp. Others insist that it’s Old Joe looking for his head. There have been plenty of stories and even songs written about it over the years. 

They finally removed the old abandoned section of track where the accident occurred in 1977. But people to this day still claim they see the ghost light of Maco Station haunting the place where Joe lost his head.

Hey, if you liked that, check out my latest novel below!

A Preview of Blood for Blood at Nashville

Blood for Blood at Nashville comes out July 1, 2021. Pre-orders are now available for Kindle and other e-book readers on Amazon. Paperbacks and hardcovers will be available soon. It’s the third and final installment of my 2nd Michigan Cavalry Chronicles. I just added a preview of it to my previous novel, The Perils of Perryville. Here’s the beginning of Chapter One.

http://viewbook.at/BloodforBloodatNash

Chapter One: Here They Come

April 12, 1864: Fort Pillow, Tennessee

They came through the woods in the pre-dawn darkness like ghosts passing through the ravines and slipping between the trees. Unaware of this impending danger, men of the US 13th Tennessee Cavalry fought their own heavy eyelids as they sat in the rifle pits of the forward picket positions of Fort Pillow.

“Judgement Day, you traitorous son of a bitch!” a Rebel soldier hissed as he leaped into a pit and drove his knife into a nearly slumbering Federal soldier. He covered the dying man’s mouth with his other hand and glared into his eyes until the man slumped to the muddy floor. 

“You picked the wrong side,” he spat at the corpse. 

The Rebel cavalryman popped his head up from the rifle pit. All around he could hear the rustle of similar scenes: a whimper from a dying Federal solider, the sound of a knife plunging into flesh. Satisfaction spread across his dirty, blood-spattered face. These home-grown Yankees and their damn negro runaways dressed as soldiers had no idea what was about to happen to them. He waved his hat over his head, signaling the rest to come forward.

More men from the Confederate 2nd Missouri Cavalry, the “Missouri Mongols,” emerged from the shadows. They crept forward, clutching their carbines, pistols, and knives. Alarmed by the sudden surge of the butternut-clad cavalrymen, two of the surviving Federal pickets sprinted from their hiding place towards the fort. 

“Shoot ‘em!” Captain Smith called out. A blast of gunpowder and the flash of muzzle fire split the darkness. One of the runners cried out as he tumbled to the ground. His companion stopped briefly to look back at the man rolling on the ground in agony before turning back to his all-out dash for safety.

“The Rebels are coming!” he screamed in terror only to be met by another volley of hot lead from behind.

Dr. Charles Fitch’s eyes popped open at the sound of gunshots. He lay there for a moment in the darkness of his tiny cabin, wondering if he were dreaming. A second volley caused him to bolt upright. It seemed frighteningly close. Dogs began to bark. 

“Good God, they’re here…” he gasped, clutching his blanket to his chest. A woman screamed somewhere outside. 

“Dear God…” he said, scrambling into his clothes. Manic yelping from the woods caused goosebumps to ripple across his skin. 

“Ow!” he hissed, as he banged his head on the low ceiling of his hut. The morning air was cool but fear warmed him as he ran down the bluff towards the river to where the provost marshal’s cabin lay. Without bothering to knock, he burst in and started shaking the man sleeping inside.

“Captain Young! Captain Young! You must get up! The Rebels are attacking.”

“Jesus!” Young let out as he reached for his pistol next to his bed. He blinked at Fitch for a moment, gathering his thoughts, then focused his eyes. “Start alerting the contraband camp. We need to get the women and children to the landing. Hopefully, we can get the New Era to evacuate them. I need to alert Major Booth if he isn’t already. This could get ugly fast,” he said, turning to put his feet on the floor while he shimmied up his trousers. 

Panic was beginning to stir as people popped their heads out from their tents and cabins in the little contraband town that had sprung up outside of the fort’s earthen walls. “What’s happening, Doctor?” a woman asked as Fitch passed her hovel.

“It’s alright, Rosa.” He tried to sound calm. “It’s just some skirmishers. Major Booth has everything under control. Get your children to the launch so we can get you to safety.”

A woman screamed. Droves of people brushed against him as they dashed down the slope towards the river. “Stay calm, everyone!” Dr. Fitch called out. “Get yourself and your families to the launch. We have a coal barge there to whisk you away. There’s plenty of room.” The sound of crackling wood began to blend in with the tramping of feet. He could smell wood burning. Smoke wisped through the crowd. Dr. Fitch looked up to see the glow coming from the far end of the camp as black smoke rose into the air like a flag climbing a pole. 

“Good heavens, they’re firing the camp…” he gasped, then to a couple of boys who weren’t quite teens yet, “You two! Help me get the sick out of the hospital tent!”

“Are we gonna die?” one of them asked. The whites of his eyes contrasted with the early morning twilight. 

“No, not if we stay calm and use our heads, Seddy,” Fitch smiled at the boy patting his soft curly black hair.

A crackle of musketry brought a screech from the women trying to find places for themselves and their children on the largest of the three coal barges docked at the river. Dr. Fitch waved his arms frantically at the New Era. The timberclad gunboat sat impassively in the mist on the river. Fitch sighed in frustration. She showed no signs of movement.

“Stay here and stay calm, everyone. I have to go to the fort to signal the boat to come get you. We’ll have you away soon!” With that, he ran back up the slope to the little earthen fort that commanded the heights over the Mississippi River. Behind him, the New Era finally woke with an eruption of fire and smoke, eliciting more screams from the civilians huddled on the barge. The shells whistled overhead and crashed in the woods on the other side of the fort with a deafening percussive roar. 

Dr. Fitch was winded and sweating when he got to the fort. He was relieved to see Major Booth already dressed and giving orders with the confidence of experience. 

“Major Bradford!” he called to his second in command. “Get your men to their forward gun pits and hold your position! If we let them get too close they’ll get under our cannons and we won’t be able to tilt down enough to shoot them!”

“Of course,” Bradford replied, Booth’s command snapping him out of his wide-eyed paralysis.

“Don’t worry, Bill,” Booth put his hand on Bradford’s shoulder. “With your boys holding those positions, these raiders will be nothing more than target practice for my artillery boys. I trained them myself.” Then turning to the newly arrived surgeon, “Dr. Fitch, are the civilians loaded aboard the barge?” Booth called to him.

“Umm…yes, sir. I tried to signal the New Era to come get them,” Fitch stammered.

“No worries, we’ll do it now.” Booth said, and then turned to one of his officers, “Lieutenant McClure, signal Captain Marshall to retrieve the civilians! Once they’re away he can continue to fire on Ravine No. 1, just as we planned. There’s no place those Rebels can hide that we can’t hit. Let’s give them a warm welcome!”

“Yes, sir!” the young man replied and ran off to the signal station. Soon coded flags shot up the poles causing the New Era to stop firing and start steaming towards the landing. 

For the first time since he woke, Fitch was beginning to feel relieved. Major Booth was a man who had started his career as a private and rose to the rank of Sergeant Major before accepting a commission to lead the newly formed 6th US Colored Heavy Artillery Regiment as well as two companies of the 2nd Colored Light Artillery. Now at the rank of Major, he had assumed command of the fort from the well-meaning, but inexperienced Major Bradford. Just weeks before, Bradford had commanded the fort alone with his 13th Tennessee Cavalry. They were a white regiment full of Tennesseans loyal to the Union, although many of them were Confederate deserters who still resented serving alongside the black men they had once known as slaves. 

Those white troops were now trotting out to their positions, leaving Booth with his staff and artillerymen in the fort. A crowd of wide-eyed black troops formed around him. “It’s alright, boys. Just a little live-fire exercise for us this morning. Get to your guns. Listen to your sergeants. Remember the drill.” Then to his officers, “Lieutenant Hill, McClure! Get your men to their guns! I want every man not directly involved in a crew to man the wall with a rifle. Make sure they’re ready to replace any crew member shot down!” 

Booth then turned to the lithe and well-groomed freeman who had come from Detroit with his oversized friend and enlisted a little over a year ago. These were two he had learned to depend on. “Francis, Elijah, take the rest of these men and go bring those two Parrot rifles back into the fort. Our gunners will be too exposed out there among the rifle pits.”

“Yes, sir!” Francis snapped. “Come on, fellas,” he turned to the group of men around him. Together they dashed out from the earthen walls to where the newly arrived 10-pound rifled cannons had been placed. They had planned on building earthen works around them to protect the crews, but it was too late now that the enemy was upon them.

“We finally get to try out the new ones!” Elijah huffed with excitement as they ran.

“That’s if you don’t get shot fetchin’em first, you big dummy,” Jerry quipped. “They won’t risk a horse to get they guns, but they’ll sure spend the life of a nigga on them.”

“Come on, Jerry,” Francis gasped as they slowed their run just in time to avoid slamming themselves into the cannons. “By the time we fetched horses and rigged them, we’d all be shot to pieces and you know it.” A bullet pinged off the barrel of one of the guns causing the men to cringe.

“I guess you right, Frenchie,” Jerry looked up from his crouch behind the gun. “Let’s get out, quick!”

The two 6-pound James rifles and the two 12-pound mountain howitzers in the fort began firing, scattering the Rebels who were just beginning to take positions in the wooded ravines out beyond the earthen walls, wood cabins, rifle pits, and abatis of felled trees. The white troops of the 13th US Tennessee Cavalry began to fill those rifle pits and answer the potshots that came from Rebels.

Major Booth beamed with pride as his artillerymen wheeled the two iron guns back into the fort with stoic determination just as the intensity of fire from the Rebels began to increase.  The 10-pound Parrot rifles had tapered barrels that were a little over 6-feet long. They were made from cast iron with a ring of wrought iron wrapped around the breach to keep them from bursting upon firing. Using less powder than their smoothbore counterparts, the Parrot rifles fired a conical shell nearly two thousand yards with far more precision. That came from the spiral grooves, or “rifling,” cut into the inner wall of the barrel that caused the shell to spin.

“Good job, boys! Wheel them into the embrasures here on the south end and commence firing!” Booth commanded. 

The men went to work ramming powder charges and shells into the muzzles with well-rehearsed precision. Soon the guns were alive and kicking, bucking backward with jets of fire and smoke. Francis ran to one of the smoking barrels with his worm pole, which was an iron corkscrew-shaped tool attached to a pole. With it, he pulled out the leftover debris from the barrel. Jerry followed by plunging a wet sponge inside. It sizzled and steamed as it cleaned the barrel. Francis then did so with a dry sponge before they reloaded and wheeled the gun back into firing position. Sergeant Weaver squatted to sight it and set the elevation once more.

“By the numbers, boys, just like we drilled!” Major Booth yelled over the thundering cannons. Then to his nearby subordinate, “Lieutenant Hill, take a volunteer and set fire to those cabins outside our walls! They’re giving the enemy too much cover!”

“Yes, sir!” Hill answered. 

Dr. Fitch watched as the young officer and a civilian volunteer ran down to the cabins with torches in their hands. He flinched as bullets kicked up dirt around them. Soon the first row of cabins was burning. Fitch let out a breath of relief but then suddenly sucked in his next breath with a hiss, cringing as he watched Lieutenant Hill and his companion tumble to the ground and then lay lifeless. 

“Do you think you can hold them, Major?” Dr. Fitch asked nervously.

“Certainly, as long as everyone keeps their heads together,” Booth assured him. Fitch suddenly dropped to the ground clutching his thigh.

“Good God, Doctor, are you alright?” Booth squatted next to him.

Fitch patted his bleeding leg before looking up, “I think it’s just a scrape. I have no idea where the bullet came from.”

“Well, we need to get you out of the line of fire,” Booth said helping him up. “Isaac, Billy!” he shouted towards the troops manning the wall. “Help Dr. Fitch to the rear. Doc, set up a hospital and prepare to receive the wounded.” 

A young man about to drive his wet sponge into a barrel suddenly collapsed. His lifeless eyes stared at the sky as blood began to surge from the hole in his head. The gun crew halted for a moment, regarding the corpse. 

“Drag that man away! Johnny, take his place!” Booth called to others on the wall. “Keep firing, men don’t stop!” The crew restarted their work swabbing, loading, and firing. More of them were dropping. More and more, men were dragging the bodies away and taking their places with stoic determination. 

“Well, you wanted to see some action, Frenchie. Here it is,” Jerry quipped as they labored.

“Shut up and keep moving,” Francis shot back. Both of them cringed as a bullet pinged off the barrel. “They must have sharpshooters up high somewhere firing down on us!” 

“Never mind that, men. We’ll spot ‘em and drop some shells on ‘em, keep firing!” Booth exhorted, stepping over the tail of their gun. “We can’t let them get any closer. We can’t let them take the colors…!” he shouted, then collapsed. Blood began to pool around his body. For a moment, the sounds of battle seemed far away as the men looked down at their leader bleeding out his lifeblood at their feet.

“…Oh, shit,” Jerry mumbled, resting on his rammer.

“Don’t just stand there gawking like a bunch of hens, God damn it!” Sergeant Weaver snapped them out of their trance, “Keep firing!” Then to Francis, “Frenchie!”

“Yes, Sergeant!” Francis shouted back.

“Put them dancing legs to work and run down to Major Bradford. Tell him he’s in command!” Weaver shouted. “Bobby! Off the wall and take his place!” 

Francis crouched low against the inside of the fort’s wall, calculating his timing. The crack of a sharpshooter’s rifle from one of the high knolls was his cue. With a burst of motion, he was over the wall, out of the ditch, and sprinting towards the log cabins. He slammed himself against a cabin wall just in time to hear the rattle of musket balls pepper the other side. He drew long breaths trying to calm himself.  He scanned the rifle pits, looking for Major Bradford. There he was! Once again, Francis waited for a volley before dashing off to Bradford’s position. Just as the Rebels had sighted and tracked him he dropped to his hip and slid into the trench feet first, bullets kicking up the dirt around him. 

“Jesus Christ, Private! You damn near scared the ghost out of me!” Bradford gasped.

“Sir, Major Booth is dead. You’re in command. What are your orders?” Francis blurted over the swelling noise of combat. 

Bradford stared at him, blinking, the blood rushing from his face. “We’ve got to get out of here…” he mumbled.

“Sir…?” Francis prodded.

“Captain!” Bradford called to his subordinate, “Order the men back to the fort! Pass the message along the line. Everyman, back to the fort! We need to consolidate our forces!”

“Sir, shouldn’t we leave a line of rifles forward of the fort? The Rebels will get under the tilt of our guns if we don’t hold them here.”

“Are you questioning my judgment, Private!” Bradford grabbed him by the arm.

“Of course not, sir!”

“Then get back to the fort and tell whoever is in command to cover our retreat!” Bradford shoved him back.

The guns of Fort Pillow opened up in a coordinated volley, cueing the men in the forward pits to make the dash back to the fort. The Rebels made sport of the fleeing men, dropping several of them in their tracks. Soon the men of the US 13th Tennessee Cavalry were finding places along the walls with their counterparts from the 6th US Colored Heavy Artillery and the 2nd US Colored Light Artillery.

“Never thought I’d be fightin’ alongside a nigger,” one of them protested.

“This nigga may be the one to save your life,” the man next to him answered.

The white cavalryman regarded his black comrade for a moment before returning eyes to the sights of his gun, “May God save us all, then…” he mumbled.

Coming July 1, 2021. Pre-orders are now available!

The Battle of Perryville and the Fate of Kentucky

On October 8, 1862, detachments from two armies bumped into each other in the darkness during the wee hours of the morning. They started shooting each other. What followed was the largest and bloodiest battle known to be fought in Kentucky. When the fighting was done, over thirteen hundred were dead, over five thousand wounded, and nearly eight hundred were captured or recorded missing.

[image error]

Kentucky was in a tough place at the start of the war. It was a slave state but remained loyal to the Union. It was also the birthplace of both President Lincoln and Confederate President Jefferson Davis. Lincoln famously said, “I think to lose Kentucky is nearly the same as to lose the whole game.” Rightfully so. Kentucky was a wealth of resources that could feed vast armies and fill their ranks with hard fighting men and horses.

[image error]US President Abraham Lincoln and CSA President Jefferson Davis

The Kentuckians were well aware of how attractive they were to both sides. They also knew that being a border state meant that either side would have to march through their land to attack the other. Large armies would forage as they marched, meaning they’d be stripping farms of food and horses. If those armies met, the fight would tear up the land and destroy cities. 

To save Kentucky from being the battleground of the West, they declared neutrality in the ever-expanding War Between the States. It did not last long. The Confederacy was the first to break the neutrality when General Gideon Pillow occupied the city of Columbus. General Ulysses S. Grant of the Federal Army countered by taking Paducah, and the chess match in Kentucky was on.

[image error]Gideon Pillow, CSA, and Ulysses S. Grant, US

By mid-1862, the Federals had most of Kentucky under control. Still, the Confederacy dreamed of adding the state to their newly declared nation. So much so that they added two more stars to the Confederate battle flag to represent Kentucky and Missouri, slave states that they believed would inevitably be part of a nation that guaranteed the right to own slaves in their constitution forever.

[image error]Confederate Battle Flag

With that dream in mind, Generals Edmund Kirby Smith and Braxton Bragg tore into the Bluegrass State late in the summer of ’62. Their goal was to install their own Governor and force Kentucky into the Confederacy. They believed that once they proved they were on the winning side, tens of thousands of Kentucky men would flock to their banners, and if not, Confederate conscription laws would force them into their armies. Kentucky would give them the resources and the manpower they needed to turn the tide of the war. 

[image error]CSA Generals Edmund Kirby Smith and Braxton Bragg

It was a smashing success. Smith brought his forces north from Knoxville, easily taking Richmond, Lexington, and the capital city of Frankfort. The pro-Union government was on the run and the Confederates held the keys to the state. 

Bragg was a little late to the party. Smith was supposed to seize the Cumberland Gap, the passage through the Appalachian Mountains that connected Kentucky and Tennessee to Virginia and the Eastern Theater. Then he would link up with Bragg’s army. Bragg would take control of both forces. Together, they would drive forward into Kentucky.

But the Gap was too well defended, so Smith changed the plan and started the invasion on his own. Bragg had to play catch up. He drove his army north from Chattanooga. They took the city of Munfordville, holding it briefly as a means to block Union General Don Carlos Buell from reaching Louisville. But without Smith’s forces, Bragg knew he couldn’t hold Munfordville alone, so he moved his army to Bardstown. He left them there under the command of General Leonidas Polk and traveled north to Frankfort with the leader of the Confederate Kentucky State Government in exile, Richard Hawes. They had an inauguration to get to.

[image error]Richard Hawes, CSA Governor of Kentucky

Hawes had already been inaugurated as the Confederate Governor of Kentucky in Corinth, Mississippi, hundreds of miles away from the Kentucky state border. It was an empty and meaningless gesture for a state firmly in the hands of the Federals. But now that the Confederates held the capital, it was time to show the world who was boss.

General Don Carlos Buell was also late to the party. He had been on a slow, methodical drive to Chattanooga, hoping to crush Bragg’s army there, when suddenly, Bragg up and left for Kentucky. The race to Kentucky was on. Buell eventually brought his exhausted army to Louisville to reequip, reorganize, and take in thousands of new recruits. 

[image error]General Don Carlos Buell, US

Once ready, Buell left Louisville with 55,000 men organized into three corps. Each corps took a separate route to attack the Confederates at Bardstown. He also sent a diversionary force of 20,000 men towards the Capitol of Frankfort. 

The inauguration ceremony had finished. Bragg, Governor Hawes, and the dignitaries were enjoying a luncheon when the booming of cannons interrupted their celebratory toasts. The Federals had crashed the party. The inaugural ball was canceled, and as General Bragg put it, it was, “time to skedaddle.”

Bragg was sure the main force of Union troops were at his doorstep. He wanted to withdraw to Versailles and have Polk meet him there with the rest of the army. There he would make his stand. 

But Polk had his own troubles. Three Federal corps, 55,000 men were descending on his position at Bardstown. He was on the run, his rearguard fighting a constant running battle with the 2nd Michigan Cavalry, the vanguard of the Federal forces. 

[image error]2nd Michigan Cavalry Trooper

On General Hardee’s advice, Polk stopped at Perryville and prepared to receive the Federal attack. Perryville was a strategic choice. It was the crossroads of six possible routes allowing flexibility if they had to run. It was a place to stop the Federals from reaching the Confederate supply depot at Bryantville. Most of all, there was water, a resource both armies were running out of during a mid-autumn drought that left the whole region dry. Polk and Hardee set up his battle lines then waited for the Federals.

[image error] Perryville Battlefield today

General Buell also had his share of problems. He injured his leg after falling off a horse. It was now nearly impossible to ride. He had planned to start the attack the next morning at 3 am October 8. III Corps would attack the center, II Corps would swing around on the right from the south, and I Corps would descend from the north on the left. But, I and II Corps were late getting into position. Buell decided late that night to postpone the attack until the 9th. Instead, he would spend the next day recovering from his fall, several miles from the front. But fate waits for no one.

The men were thirsty. The drought and long march had burned up their water supply. Doctor’s Creek lay enticingly close between the battle lines. Men of the 10th Indiana crept forward in the dark carrying canteens. The 7th Arkansas had the same idea. At 2 am they stumbled into each other. Shots rang out, and the fight began.

[image error]Doctor’s Creek today

General Sheridan’s brigade pushed the Confederates back across the creek and past their initial lines, winning new ground. With orders not to start a general engagement until the following day, Sheridan’s Corps commander ordered them to fall back.  

The Confederates had different plans. Bragg arrived at 10 in the morning and took command. The Federal I Corps arrived in the early afternoon and took position on the northern flank. Bragg decided to attack. He threw regiment and regiment at the Federal flank, driving them back. The Federals fought hard, their cannons firing frantically at the advancing Rebels, littering the ground before them with mutilated bodies. Sill they came. They were too much. The Yankees kept falling back, looking over their shoulders, waiting for help to come. 

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The other two Federal Corps remained mostly idle throughout the day. No orders came for them to do anything but hold the line and wait for the attack planned for the following morning. 

Buell was having a pleasant day. He was staying at a farmhouse, just on the other side of some hills, a few miles from the action. He had lunch with III Corps Commander, General Gilbert, then settled into his cot to rest his leg and catch up on some letters. 

A rider interrupted his peace. Buell was stunned to learn that his left flank had been heavily engaged for hours and was on the verge of collapsing. The hills had created what’s called an acoustic shadow. It blocked him from hearing that a full-scale battle was taking place. Buell ordered reinforcements to bolster I Corps’ lines. Finally, they were able to stop the Rebel advance.

As night fell, the Rebels withdrew into town. Some of the Federal units followed but pulled out once it became too dark to fight in the streets of Perryville. Buell ordered an assault on the town the next day, but by then, Confederates were gone. 

Realizing that Buell had two fresh corps to throw at him the next day, Bragg withdrew his battered army from Perryville and then all the way back to Tennessee. Kentucky would stay in Union hands for the rest of the war. Buell lost his job after failing to pursue and crush Bragg’s Army of Tennessee. Bragg would later lose his job after failing to hold Chattanooga, a little more than a year later. 

You can visit the Perryville Battleground today. There’s a museum and gift store as well. I spent a day there researching for my novel, The Perils of Perryville. Perryville is a quaint little town near the battlefield full of antique shops and cozy places to eat. 

[image error]“General Stonewall Jackson patrols the Chaplin River Antiques Store in Perryville

Of course, if you’d like to learn more and experience what it was like to be at the battle yourself, check out my novel below.

Writing about Chickamauga: The River of Death

Well, if you know me, you know that I write books about the American Civil War. More specifically, I’m writing a trilogy that follows the 2nd Michigan Cavalry through the war. The first two novels, Rampage on the River: the Battle for Island No. 10 and The Perils of Perryville, are already out and available on Amazon. I’m currently working on the third novel which will be called Blood for Blood at Nashville. I’m planning on having that out either late 2020 or early 2021.

I write historical fiction and even though my main characters and their stories are fictional, I try to keep the historical events and historical figures as accurate as possible. For this reason I always try to visit the actual places where the battles in my books take place. I learn and understand a lot from reading history books and firsthand accounts of the action. It also helps to look at maps and sketches of the battles, but there’s nothing like actually walking the grounds, pinpointing where certain events took place and feeling the echoes of the events that happened there.

I’ve been lucky to be able to do this for every major battle I’ve described in my books so far. Right now, I’m writing about the Battle of Chickamauga in my current novel.  My girlfriend and I decided that this Memorial Day Weekend was a perfect opportunity to take a drive out there and see if the battlefield matched the vision in my head and what I’ve written so far.

This video is a brief synopsis about the Battle of Chickamauga.

The Battle of Chickamauga is extremely complicated. There’s a lot that led up to it, a lot that happened during it, and a lot that happened afterward that was a result of it. When I write about battles in my novels, I do so from the perspective of my characters. I also try to break them down to the core truth of what happened and then build my narrative from there. I have to remind myself that I’m not writing a comprehensive nonfiction account of the battle, but a story that comes out of it. I do list all my sources at the end of my books so if my reader wants to learn more about a historical event I describe in my work they can find, what I believe to be, a good account.

That said, here’s the core truth of what happened at Chickamauga according to me:

The Federals were in a defensive battleline that extended north to south. The Confederates were concentrating their attacks on the Federal northern flank. The Federal commander was shifting units around to fortify that northern flank and in doing so, he inadvertently opened a gap in his center just as a secondary Confederate assault was approaching that very spot. The result was a complete rout. The Confederates punched through the Federal line, throwing them into a panicked retreat to Chattanooga. Only that northern flank held during the chaos that ensued allowing much of the Federal Army to escape annihilation.

That’s the simple truth in a nutshell. I elaborate much more in the novel I’m writing. I named the chapter about Chickamauga “The River of Death” because that’s the rough translation of the Cherokee name for the creek that twists and turns all through the battlefield. I think it’s a great metaphor for the battle itself. I can imagine the rush of Confederates breaking through the Federal line like a big gray river of death and destruction flooding the Federal defenses.

The Battlefield is massive and there’s a lot to take in, much more than we could on an overnight trip. So I wanted to nail down four things: Where was the point of the breakthrough. Where was the Federal commander’s headquarters? Where was Nathan Bedford Forrest’s division? If you didn’t know, Forrest figures prominently in my novels, more so than any other historical figure. His actions at and after Chickamauga are important to the plot of my current book.

Finally, I wanted to know where the 2nd Michigan Cavalry was.

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We found the monument to the 2nd Michigan. It was among many of the other regimental monuments. This was merely one of the areas the park had designated for monuments. It didn’t denote where the 2nd Michigan was during the battle.

The 2nd Michigan Cavalry spent most of the battle guarding the very southern flank of the Federal line at a place called Crawfish Springs. They were far from most of the action until the were called up to the very northern end of the line to join the effort to hold off the Rebels while the rest of the army escaped. A quaint little town called Chickamauga has sprung up there since the battle. We had a tough time finding the 2nd Michigan Cavalry’s historical marker. We finally did. It was hidden in some landscaping outside of a condominium. Here it is:

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I bet the residents were wondering who this weirdo was crawling around in their flower bed.

It was a really good trip. I learned a lot. I’m going to make some adjustments to what I’ve already written about the battle so far. I got to look at some replica cannons, which I’m very fond of, like this one below which I think I wrongly identified:

For the record, I’m pretty sure this is a regular 12-pound Howitzer. Mountain Howitzers also shoot a 12-pound ball, but they’re smaller and take an even lesser amount of powder to shoot. The mountain Howitzers are designed to be as light as possible so the can be carried into difficult places, like a mountain, for instance. I feature mountain Howitzers in my current novel, Blood for Blood at Nashville.

Well, that’s it. I hope you enjoy the new novel when it comes out. Maybe you’ll remember this article when you read the chapters that deal with this battle. If you want to get started on the series you can get the first book by clicking the link: Rampage on the River: The Battle for Island No. 10

Thanks for reading this!

The Echoes of a Massacre: Pictures from Fort Pillow

I went to Fort Pillow the other day to do some research for my next book, Blood for Blood at Nashville. I took some pictures and thought it might be nice to share them here.

It was a rainy Monday in February so I pretty much had the park to myself.

These are two of the soldiers that fought at Fort Pillow. They remind me of Francis and Elijah, from my novels. I tried to find faces to match them. I think these two are them.

Here’s a mountain Howitzer. The Federals had two of them on the northern end of the fort. I think this is my favorite gun of the war. It’s relatively light and compact. It can be broken down and hauled on horseback to remote places like a mountain, for instance. Because of the light barrel, it uses a lot less powder to fire. This keeps the gun from breaking apart. As a result, the Howitzer lobs its shells instead of directly firing them. It can also be loaded with canister to spray a charging enemy like a big shotgun as well.

The Federals placed two 6-pound James rifles in the center. Many of the James rifles were merely smoothbore cannons that had their insides retroactively rifled to modernize them.

The southern end of the fort had two 10-pound Parrot rifles. They had just arrived a few days before the battle. They were set outside at first. Major Booth ordered them into the fort once the Confederates showed up and started their initial attack. He was shot and killed next to one of them by a sharpshooter during the early stages of the battle. Major Bradford of the 13th Tennessee Cavalry (U.S.) took over. During the failed surrender negotiations, he tried to hide the fact that their commander had been killed.

Here’s a view from the front.

This picture doesn’t do it justice but this is the view from the back of the fort which was situated on a steep bluff overlooking the Mississipi River. The river has shifted away from the here since. What you see below is a flood plain.

This is a view of the front of the fort.

This would have been the approach from the Confederate center.

This is from the Confederate left flank.

And here is the view from the Confederate right.

I won’t go into detail here about the events that took place April 12, 1864, which we know as the Fort Pillow Massacre today. I can tell you they were some of the most painful and tragic of the war. The book I’m currently writing is called Blood for Blood at Nashville. It starts here at Fort Pillow and ends at the Battle of Nashville. It’s the third in a trilogy I’ve been working on called The 2nd Michigan Cavalry Chronicles. The first two books are already out. They are Rampage on the River: The Battle of Island No. 10 and The Perils of Perryville.

Anyway, I hope you liked the pictures. I’d be interested in hearing about your own experience and insight about Fort Pillow. Thanks!