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DEMANDING BIKER DADDY
BIG BAD MC CURVY LITTLE SOULMATES SERIES

PENNY SNOAK
 Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

EPILOGUE

ALSO BY PENNY SNOAK

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

 CHAPTER ONE

Myra

"Are you going to the motorcycle show this weekend?" Julia

asked, and she followed me down the hallway and out of the school.
"I heard that they're going to have a drawing for some kind of door

prize." I was not exactly amused at the idea of running a door prize
from a motorcycle club. I tried to rub my neck casually, trying not to

let on that she was already

"I've got a lot of work to do this weekend," I said, indicating

the backpack on my back. "If I'm going to graduate a semester

early, I've got to keep up on my school work." Julia rolled her eyes
and shook her head as she followed me out to the car, looking

disappointed as she did so.

"You know, everyone says that senior year is supposed to be

about having fun," she commented as she climbed into the car so
that I could drive her home. "Aren't you afraid that if you don't have

any fun now, you're not going to have any fun for the rest of your

life?" I raised an eyebrow at her as I glanced in her direction before

pulling my sunglasses out of the center console and putting them on

my face.

Life has never been about having fun, and, as my best friend,

she should know better. She's seen me through so much in the last
year, and the fact that she keeps forgetting my circumstances still

irritates me on a regular basis. Of course, I couldn't blame her for

her naiveté. After all, it wasn't her fault I didn't have my parents

around.

As soon as I turned eighteen over the summer, my parents

disappeared into the world and had yet to come back, leaving me
with their house and bills. Thankfully, the house was fully paid off,

but I still needed electricity in order to continue living there. I guess

they claimed to friends around town that I was going to take care of
the house while they were gone because no one ever bothered me

about it, but it was pretty hard without any help.

Of course, Julia was right. As I was supposed to be about

having fun and making memories, how could I when I didn't have
anyone to keep the lights on? I had to get a part-time job at the

local library in order to afford the bills that came with staying at

home without sacrificing my education. As long as I wasn't ignoring

the guests, I was allowed to do my homework while I worked and

that had been a huge lifesaver.

Julia had been my best friend since grade school and between

the two of us, she had a pretty easy life. She had both her parents,
who were lawyers in the city about an hour away from here, and she

was always pretty well off. Even though she didn't see her parents

after school, they still made sure she had more money to do

whatever she wanted after school. As well, they could spend at least

a little bit of time together before going to bed. This was a life that I

wished for myself, and, as much as I hated to admit it, I was jealous
of her.

"Are you at least coming over after work tonight?" she asked,

still sounding as sweet and naive as always. "It's our weekly movie
night, and my parents would love to have you come over." I was

about to respond when my stomach growled, practically answering

the question for me.

Movie night meant all the food I could eat with no judgement

and a chance to relax as we watched our favorite movies before

going to bed at midnight. Even though I would have to be up at

eight in the morning to get to work the following day, I didn't mind.
These movie nights gave me a chance to act like a kid once more
without feeling too guilty.

"Of course," I agreed, with a grateful smile on my face. "I'll be

by when I get off work." I just need to stop by the house and get a

few things. " Julia nodded as she stared out the front window,
looking lost in thought, before finally responding.

"Have you given any more thought to the offer they made
you?" she asked, catching me off guard. "About staying with us until

your parents come back and take back the house." I felt my heart
stop dead in my chest as the heat rose up inside me, making me feel
sick to my stomach.
 Of course, I had thought about it and desperately wanted to.
My parents always left me alone at a young age and when I was

thirteen I had to get a job at the library even though they didn't hire
people until sixteen in order to make sure I had the money for food.

Everyone in town knew that I had been taking care of myself since I
was little and did everything they could to help me. Any time CPS

got involved, my parents would magically show up and paint the

picture of the perfect family until they left. Then they'd be right
back out of my life. Now that I was eighteen, CPS couldn't help me

anymore.

"Honestly, I don't know," I admitted as I glanced back over at

her. "Normally, I would leap at the opportunity, but I'm eighteen

now. I need to start looking out for myself without relying on

everyone for help." Julia grew annoyed by this and shook her head.

"You've been taking care of yourself since you were ten years

old," she reminded me firmly. "You've never relied on anyone but

yourself, and it's already cost you your entire childhood. What your
parents are doing and have been doing for years is messed up, and

the fact that you refuse to accept help when you clearly need it is
baloney." She stopped for a moment, and I could see the tears in
her eyes. "It's okay to accept some help, you know…" Feeling guilty

for upsetting her, I opened my mouth to respond when the front of

my hood suddenly flew up in front of us with a loud bang, and I
quickly pulled over to the side, cursing my luck.

"No!" I shouted once I was safely on the shoulder of the road

and got out of my vehicle to check on the engine, which was still

steaming. Julia followed me, and I nearly dropped to my knees

when I realized that my engine was messed up. "What am I going to

do?" Julia hugged me close, her body still trembling from the fear
that had consumed her due to the situation, and gave me a small
reassuring smile.

"We could call that mechanic on the outskirts of town," she

suggested, and my heart sank. "I hear they're the best in town."
 CHAPTER TWO

Drake

"Are you busy right now?" Adam asked as soon as he saw me

sitting on the couch in the living room of the main house on the
compound with my eyes glued to the baseball game. As much as I

wanted to say something sarcastic, I decided that it was best not to

and shook my head, turning my full attention towards him.

"What's up?" I was curious when I saw the worried expression

on his face. "Is something wrong?" He took a deep breath and shook

his head.
 "We just got a call in the shop about two young women broken

down on the side of the road not far from the high school," he

explained casually. "It sounds pretty serious and I wanted to know if

you would come with me so we could tow the vehicle back to the

shop." The idea of helping two young women in distress was more

than enough motivation for me and I learned to my feet, completely

forgetting about the fact that the Rockies were losing to the Mets.

Even though this town was boring at times, the opportunity to

spice up my life by meeting someone new and possibly having a

little fun broke the monotony that had become evident in my life and

made it exciting once more. Of course, I never went for anyone

under the age of eighteen, but I always felt that the younger the

girls were, the better.

"Don't get too excited," Adam cautioned, his face stern as he

shook his head at me. "For all we know, these are underage girls,

and you know the rules." I laughed as I waved a hand dismissively

at him, trying not to seem interested in what he was implying.

"I don't know what you're talking about," I told him. "I'm just

glad to have something better to do than watch the Rockies lose.

This hasn't been a very good season." Even though he didn't look
fully convinced, Adam didn't say anything else, and I followed him

out of the main house and into the cool September air.

Say what you will about Colorado, but I enjoyed living here

between the fresh mountain air and the fact that the weather could
change from scorching hot to cool as a cucumber. I really enjoyed

living here. It was much better than Texas, where it was practically

scorching hot all year round, and California, where everyone seemed

to be trying to become famous, but in this quiet little town that we

had decided to settle in, everyone kept to themselves, and life was

perfect.

The only disadvantage was the fact that those who grew up
here never seemed to want to stay and those who stayed always

had family and friends they wanted to stay here for. Not that I

minded, of course. It made sure I had plenty of people to be with

and I got my kicks whenever I wanted. After all, most of the people

coming and going were always young and looking to try new things.

"I'll take the tow truck if you want to follow me in the van,"

Adam suggested once we got to the warehouse that doubled as the

auto repair shop. I gave a charming smile as I nodded my head.
 "You have all the tools you need?" I asked as I started towards

the key cabinet. "Or are you wanting me to take the tool van?"

Adam thought for a moment before shrugging his shoulders.

"Just take the transport van," he told me. "I think they might

need a ride home from the school." I shrugged and grabbed the
keys off the hook before starting towards the van.

For a small town, this was a pretty regular occurrence.

Someone would break down on the side of the road and would need

a ride home because their parents were still at work, either in the
city or downtown by the park. I never understood why they would
build the high school so far away from the rest of the town, but it

didn't matter to me. This was a free service we provided to almost

anyone who needed it in order to maintain a good relationship with

the town.

By the time I reached the van, Adam had already started up

the tow truck and was pulling around to the side of the compound
next to the main road. I immediately climbed in and started up the
vehicle, not wanting to lose sight of him for even a second. Much to

my amazement, Adam decided to wait until I was right behind him

before pulling out onto the main road, and we were off to rescue the
woman who called in.

By the time we passed the high school, we were both keeping

an eye out for anyone with car trouble, not wanting to accidentally

speed by and have to double back. Even worse, if they decided to

try to get us to stop and we weren't paying attention, they could get

hurt, and we would be in a world of trouble. Either way, it was

always better to be safe than sorry.

The moment I saw Adam slow to a stop and pull over to the
side of the road was the moment I realized that he had found the
people who called for us. I slowed to a stop a good distance from

him, allowing him plenty of room to pull out or turn around if

needed. As soon as he climbed out of the vehicle, I turned off the

van and got out to follow him.

"Are you ladies okay?" I heard him ask before I reached the

tow truck, and I could hear the low, high-pitched voices of two
women talking to him as I rounded the tow truck and smiled.

Of course, they were high school students, and they were two
of the most beautiful women in the world, especially the taller one
with the dark hair that was pulled back into the ponytail high on her

head. Her sunglasses looked dangerously close to falling off her

face, and my cock was already throbbing in anticipation as I
recognized her as the librarian that I had had my eyes on for the last

few weeks.
 CHAPTER THREE

Myra

Of course, my vehicle needed to be towed right back to the

compound and I felt my heart sink as soon as Adam, the mechanic
who had arrived on the tow truck, confirmed that I had blown my

gasket and messed up the radiator. My head was spinning as I

realized just how expensive it was going to be to fix it and I wanted

to cry when he said that he would have the estimate by tomorrow.

By this time, I had already called the library and informed my

boss that I was going to be a little late due to having broken down
on the side of the road. Of course, rather than telling me to come in

when I could, they told me to take the day off and promised that
they would allow me to work extra hours over the weekend. Not that

it would have helped. I still had my school work to think of.

Even though I was terrified of the people who lived at the

compound where Adam and the other driver had come from,
everybody in town seemed to trust them, especially Julia's parents,

whom she had already called. After hearing everything that had

happened, including the fact that I was given the day off, they

insisted that we allow them to give us both a ride back to Julia's

house and would take me to my house to get what I needed later.

While Julia seemed perfectly calm and willing to go through with it, I

was a nervous wreck with far too much on my mind.

When the car was hooked up to the back of the truck, we

watched the tow truck make a U-turn and start back in the

compound, and Julia pulled me towards the transport van, a white

van with the name of the garage painted on the side. If it hadn't

been for the windows, it would have looked like that white van
kidnappers drove. Shouldering my backpack, which had everything

from my car except the important documents that needed to stay in

the vehicle, I followed Julia to the car and I had to admit that he

was the sexiest man I had ever seen. However, he was old enough
to be my father. Also, I could tell by the extreme amounts of tattoos

up and down his arms that he was a member of the motorcycle club

that I was so afraid of.

The driver didn't say anything the entire time he drove us to

Julia's house, and I was grateful for that. Instead, while Julia was on

the phone with her mother, I stared out the window, letting all the

fear and anxiety that was coursing through my veins run its course.

Of course, the situation was over already and I didn't have to worry

anymore about how I was going to get us safely to Julia's house, but

at the same time, I was still filled with anxiety.

That's why I jumped at the chance to pay for driver's ed and

get my license. My old bike couldn't take that kind of abuse any

longer, and no one in town sold bicycles.

"Hey, Mom and Dad are home early," Julia commented as soon

as we pulled up to her house, and my heart skipped a beat when I

saw Mr. and Mrs. Andrews climb out of their vehicle and hurry to

meet us as the driver pulled up in front of the house.

"There you two are," Mrs. Andrews said as she threw open the

back door and let us out of the vehicle. She smothered us both with
hugs while fighting back tears, and I stood there stiff and

uncomfortable as I let her hold me. "We were so worried about you

when you called that we hurried back as fast as we could. I'm so

glad you both made it back safe." Meanwhile, out of the corner of

my eye, I saw Mr. Andrews talking to the driver, and I swore I saw
him pass a wad of cash to him, almost as if thanking him for the

trouble.

The driver risked a glance back at us, and I saw a strange look
in his eyes, almost as if he had wished for something more. His eyes

met mine, but my vision was blocked whenever Mr. Andrews made
his way around the vehicle and towards us. By the time Mr. Andrews

had moved out of the way, the driver had pulled away and was
driving away while Mrs. Andrews started talking to her husband.

"Let's get you both inside," Mr. Andrews said when Mrs.
Andrews finally let go of me. "You both must be freezing… Julia,
didn't I tell you to take a jacket with you?" I chuckled as I listened to

Julia get chastised by her parents and followed them inside, amazed
at how normal the situation felt but also a little depressed when I

remembered that even though they were the closest thing to family
I had, there was no way I would ever be one of them.
 "Oh, Myra, I almost forgot," Mrs. Andrews said as she turned
around to face me. "Have you spoken to your parents recently? I've

been trying to get back in contact with them so that I can ask them
about transferring the car to you so you can put the insurance under

your name as well." I felt my heart sink as I lowered my gaze,

knowing that I couldn't hide my situation from her any longer.

"I haven't seen them since my eighteenth birthday," I informed

her. "They haven't called or anything, and I'm starting to get

worried." Her jaw dropped as she stared at me in disbelief.

"What about the house and everything else?" she asked,

sounding appalled at the idea of me living there alone. "What's

going on with that?" Defeated, I shrugged my shoulders.

"They said I could stay as long as I needed, but I had to pay

all the bills myself," I informed her. "I've been making due with the
job I have, though. As long as I keep my job and keep up on my

studies, I'll be able to graduate a semester early and get a full-time

job." Both Mr. and Mrs. Andrews exchanged looks, and I saw the
concern on their faces as Mr. Andrews turned to look at me.
 "Myra, I know that you're eighteen now, but I think we would

all feel a lot better if you stayed with us until we can figure
everything out," he told me. "That way, you can save your money
and not have to worry about walking to town every day."
 CHAPTER FOUR

Drake

"Good morning," Chase said as he came down the stairs and

entered the kitchen. I grumbled in annoyance as I waved in
acknowledgment at him, my eyes still trained on my coffee.

Of course, the two girls I helped Adam with had been under

the care of Charles and Janet Andrews, the best lawyers in town. I
found out that the librarian, whose name was Myra Taylor, was

eighteen and not their child, but I decided not to make a move just

yet. After all, she was still in high school and that was always a
pretty touchy subject when it came to lawyers.
 When Adam and I finally came back last night, I found that it

was impossible to keep my mind off of the gorgeous young woman

and needed to let off some steam. So, with nothing better to do, I
had gone to the bar and gotten drunk off my ass. When I finally

woke up this morning, I was in bed with some college student who

was staying at the motel. She was nothing in comparison to Myra

Taylor, but I already knew how I got when I got drunk. After making
sure that I had everything I needed, I did the walk of shame all the

way back to the compound.

"You look like shit," he said when he finally got a better look at

me. "Were you out all night or something?" I groaned as I started to

nod my head up and down. The process of even moving my head

was more painful than I had anticipated.

"Something like that," I admitted, my voice sounding even

worse off than I thought it would. Chase poured himself a cup of

coffee and sat in the chair across from me, a concerned expression
on his face as he studied me.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked, and I had to think for

a moment before deciding if it was really worth risking getting in

trouble with Chase to confide in him my problem.

 Normally, I would have avoided talking to Chase about the

situation, whether or not it involved an eighteen-year-old girl. After

all, Chase, like many other members of the motorcycle club, was a
Daddy with his own Little and a baby on the way. If anyone would

understand the situation I was in, I knew he would, but I also had a

feeling he wouldn't approve of the situation I had found myself in.

"I met someone a few weeks ago and finally got to know a

little bit more about them," I began the nervousness inside my

chest, making it hard to communicate the whole situation to him.

"As it turns out, she's friends with Charles and Janet Andrews and is
still in high school even though she's eighteen." Chase looked a little

bit confused as he considered this for a moment.

"Okay," he said as he shrugged his shoulders, seeming

completely lost by what had me so upset. "So what exactly is the

problem?" I raised an eyebrow at him as I stared him down, trying

to determine if he was serious.

"She's a high school senior and eighteen," I reminded him.

"Doesn't that still make it a little wrong to want to be with her?"

Chase shook his head as he sipped his coffee.
 "She's at the legal age," he reminded me casually, and I

started to realize that I had been overreacting this entire time as he

continued. "As long as she's eighteen, it doesn't matter if she's still

in high school or not; she's still considered a legal adult and can

start to do things that legal adults can do. That includes anything to
do with relationships." I considered this for a moment as I sipped

my coffee, still a bit concerned with the fact that she was friends
with Charles and Janet Andrews.

"What about the friend's parents?" I asked, unable to contain

my curiosity. "They can't do anything to prevent us from being

together?" Chase thought for a moment as he sipped his coffee,

taking his time before he actually answered.

"Are they her legal guardians?" he asked, and I shook my

head. "Then as long as you don't do anything illegal, they can't do

anything to prevent the two of you from being together." It was at
that moment that he caused and seemed to consider a minor detail

or two that he might have missed. "By any chance, are you referring
to Myra Taylor?" I felt the color drain from my face as I started to

nod my head, terrified that he was going to suddenly change his

mind about the situation.
 "Yes," I answered, and he continued to sip his coffee. The
silence between us bothered me more than I had hoped it would. "Is

that going to be a problem?" He chuckled as he shook his head and

put the coffee cup back down on the table.

"Actually it's not," he promised as he smiled at me. "I've been

hearing a lot of talk around town about her, and based on everything

I've heard, getting into a relationship with someone like you would
be better than her current circumstances." Confused, I tilted my

head to the side.

"Why is that?" I asked, unable to contain my curiosity. Chase

took a deep breath and looked around the kitchen, almost as if he

was trying to make sure we were the only two in the house before
he answered my question.

"Because her parents have been abandoning her ever since she
was ten," he informed me, and I felt my jaw drop in disbelief as I

stared at him. "From what I understand, they haven't been in

contact with her ever since she turned eighteen in May."
 CHAPTER FIVE

Myra

"Excuse me, ma'am," said a patron as soon as they reached

the front desk, where I was currently working on my algebra
homework. "I've been trying to locate a book by a particular author,

but I can't seem to find it. Do you mind looking it up in your system
to see if you have it?" Even though we had several computers

throughout the library that would have allowed her to look up every
book in the library just as well as I could, I knew better than to give

her any attitude, especially since she had caught me in the middle of

doing my homework. The last thing I wanted was to get in trouble

with my boss because a patron complained that I was too busy

working on my homework to help them.

"Of course ma'am," I said with a polite smile as I turned

towards my computer. "What book are you looking for?" She gave
me the name of the book and the name of the author, and I started

the search, hoping that this would only take a few minutes.

So far, my day was not going as planned, and I was becoming

increasingly concerned about my home situation. As it turned out,

not only had my parents been unable to be reached since May, but it

was very possible that I would have to begin paying the property

taxes and everything else on the house in order to keep it under

their name, which was far too much work for a high school senior

who only worked about twenty hours a week at fifteen dollars an

hour.

Just when I thought things couldn't get worse, I finally

received my quote this morning and realized that it was going to be

almost three thousand dollars to fix up the engine. That was just the
estimate. There was no way of telling if it was going to be even

more than what I had been quoted, which meant that I was going to

be out of a car for quite some time unless I managed to pull about
three thousand dollars out of nowhere. That was more than I made

in three months, and I wasn't looking forward to spending most of

my time walking to and from work and to the bus stop so that I
could continue to school.

"I'm sorry, it looks like we don't have that book in our system,"

I said as I looked back up at the patron, and I saw the look on her

face turn from polite and poised to venomous and dangerous at the

same time.

"What do you mean, it looks like you don't have it in your

system?" she demanded her voice lowered even though there was

plenty of venom in it. "I borrowed this book from the library last
month and I wanted to finish it, but I didn't get the chance to. So

did you guys get rid of it or something?" I looked back at my

computer screen and started shaking my head a bit confused at the

way she was behaving.

"We've never had that book in our systems," I informed her as

I turned the computer screen to show her. "If it had been in our

systems, it would still show up on my screen. However, I don't see

any search results under that name and title, therefore we don't
have it." She stared at the computer screen for a moment and

waved her hand dismissively as she shook her head.

"Of course, you don't show it in your systems," she remarked

as she crossed her arms at me, looking even more annoyed by the

second. "You spelled the title and the name wrong." Even though I
knew the author pretty well because I often read them during my

free time in my sophomore year of high school, I decided that I

wasn't going to argue with her and took a deep breath in order to
keep my customer service face fully composed.

"Do you mind spelling it out for me so that I can make sure it's
spelled correctly when I look it up again?" I asked, my tone as

patient as ever. The woman rolled her eyes and made a comment
about how young people these days rely on technology too much to

do all the spelling for them and, therefore, lost all common sense
when it comes to basic skills before finally spelling out the name and
title letter by letter while talking to me in a very condescending tone

as slowly as possible in order to make sure I got each and every

letter correct.

Of course, as I expected, the library still didn't have it in our

systems, and I turned the screen around to show her once more
that we did not have the book in our system. At that point, she
went into a full rampage and started yelling and screaming how I

was purposely messing up the search and refusing to help her

because all I cared about was writing in my "diary," even though I

had my textbook out and a single sheet of paper tucked between

the pages of homework I had been working on. Eventually, she

started demanding my supervisor, and the head librarian came out

to investigate the situation. As I had suspected, she immediately
went off about how I was too busy goofing off to really help her with

her search and demanded that I get fired. When I finally explained
to the head librarian that the woman was looking for a book that we

didn't have in our systems, I showed the head librarian the computer
screen that showed the empty results, and the head library and took

off with the woman in order to double check the shelves and see if
we even had the book.

"Go ahead and go take your lunch break," the head librarian

told me as soon as the woman was out of earshot. "I'll go ahead and
take care of her and get her out of your hair so that she doesn't

bother you anymore."

 As soon as the two of them were gone, I immediately put

everything back in my backpack and started towards the break room

to stow everything away before heading out the front door of the
library to the diner across the street where I could pick up a burger

and fries for less than five dollars without having to worry about the
crowds that had gathered for the motorcycle show. After that, I

would go over to the real estate office next door and talk to
Cheyenne, who had been working with me to get my real estate

license so that, once I had my diploma, I could start working full-

time for her company. The sooner I got everything sorted out, the
better off I would be.
 CHAPTER SIX

Drake

"Excuse me, ma'am," I said when I entered the library and

couldn't find Myra anywhere. "I was just wondering if Myra Taylor
would still be working here." The head librarian, who happened to

be seated at the front desk, raised an eyebrow as she looked up at

me from above her glasses, and I could already tell that she was

getting the wrong idea.

"Are you family or somebody related to her?" she asked,

sounding skeptical as she spoke. I started to shake my head, and

she looked back down at the book in her hands, clearly uninterested

in anything else I had to say. "Then you're in no position to be

asking where she is at her place of work," I remembered that I was

supposed to deliver some papers for her to sign so that Adam could

order the parts, so I held up the paperwork for the librarian to see.

"I'm not here to harass her or anything," I reassured the

librarian, who kept her eyes on the book in her hands. "I just came

because the mechanic at the shop that I work at needs her to sign

these papers so that he can authorize the shipping of the parts

needed to fix her vehicle." The librarian's eyes flickered up towards

me, and I could tell that I had caught her attention when she looked

at the papers in my hand with more interest than she had shown in

the book that she had been reading.

"Is that so?" she asked as she held her hand out to see the

papers. Immediately, I started to pull away, and I could tell that her

curiosity was growing even more. "If that's the case, then you must

know that Myra Taylor is currently on break and won't be back for

the next hour. You can either leave the paperwork with me or you
can give her a call and deliver it at a different time." She held out

her hand expectantly, almost as if she insisted that I give her the

paperwork and I slowly started to withdraw, shaking my head as I

did so.
 "Thank you for the offer, but I'm going to wait until I'm able to

see her face-to-face before I deliver these," I informed her as

politely as possible. "The sooner we get her signature on these order

forms, the sooner we can get the parts ordered. Thank you for your

help." With that, I started towards the library door, but I could feel

the head librarian's eyes on me the entire time until I disappeared

into the sunlit sidewalk beyond the front door.

Of course, it was my luck that she wasn't here at the moment I

showed up to deliver the papers. Even though I could have looked

for any other excuse to try to see her as soon as possible, the best
excuse I could come up with was when Adam informed me that he

needed her to sign the order for us so that he could request the

parts to fix her vehicle by that point in time. I had been debating

with myself whether or not I wanted to try to get in contact with her

and see if she'd be willing to let me get to know her better and I

was grateful that Adam had come up when he had. He informed me

that if I couldn't get the signature today, he would send somebody a

little bit later on to go get the paperwork done, which would just

prolong the process.

 I had just arrived at the vehicle and pulled out my phone to

call Adam when I saw somebody sitting in the window of the diner

across the street from the library. I was pleasantly surprised to see
that it was Myra Taylor, and she was currently eating a burger and

fries while reading a book. She looked so adorable as she did so,
and I felt my heart skip a beat as I found myself watching her for a

minute before I finally gathered up the courage to get out of the

vehicle and carefully cross the street so that I could get to the diner.

I did everything within my power to ignore the grumbling in my

stomach as I made my way over to her table, which, of course, was

right next to the window. As soon as I stood next to her, I cleared

my throat and waited for her to look up at me, not wanting to start
her or make her think that she was in any trouble. She was in the

process of giving her fry some ketchup when she looked up at me,
and I saw the look of confusion wash over her as she set the fry
down and tilted her head to the side.

"Can I help you with something?" she asked, sounding

genuinely curious as she spoke. I couldn't help but smile as I nodded

my head in response.
 "You're Myra Taylor, right?" I asked cautiously, and she nodded
her head as I turned my attention to the empty seat across from her.

"Do you mind if I take a seat? I need to discuss a few things about
your vehicle with you." She nodded as she indicated the seat across

from her, and I sat down while she slid her plate to the side.

Even though she was eighteen, I found it difficult to

concentrate on the task at hand because she appeared so much

younger than that. While her eyes were dull and lifeless, like those

of an adult who had lived a hard life, the rest of her was still young
and vibrant, and it was impossible to believe that she was already
eighteen. If she had been wearing a pink T-shirt and coveralls, I

would have easily mistaken her for a young child.

"This is a list of the parts that we need to order to fix the

vehicle," I explained as I showed her the paperwork, my finger

pointing to the various parts of the paper that show the pricing, part

name, and so on. "If I'm not mistaken, he already spoke to your
mother..." Her eyes darkened as she looked up at me and I could tell
that my little slip-up may have cost me my chance to get to know

her.
 "She's not my mom," she said in a low, calm voice that was

oddly uncharacteristic of a woman of her size and appearance. "I'm

just staying with her until we figure out where my parents are and
what's going on with the house." I held my hands up in surrender

and nodded my head in acknowledgment, trying to show that I

didn't mean anything by it.

"I apologize," I said as I gave an apologetic smile. "If I'm not

mistaken, Adam already spoke to Mrs. Andrews and informed her of

everything that needed to be replaced and helped give the quote in

order to fix it. That was solely based on the pricing of the usual
shipments we usually get. However, since we don't have any of the

parts in store, he's going to have to order each of them individually,

which will cut down on the price of having to do so." She looked

confused as she looked down at the piece of paper before her, and I
could tell that she was already reading all the fine print in order to

figure out what was going on.

 CHAPTER SEVEN

Myra

I expected someone to show up at the restaurant while I was

on my lunch break with the paperwork. I expected them to send it
to the house or, better yet, the library so that I could finish it as

soon as possible and they could see about getting it all done. Seeing
the driver who had taken Julia and me home the night before was a

pleasant surprise, and I had to do everything I could to maintain as

much self-control as possible.

I would be lying if I said that I hadn't been thinking of him all

night. In fact, Julia and I had been talking about how both men had

been some of the sexiest men we had ever seen and how we wished
that we could date somebody like them. Of course, with Julia being

only seventeen, it meant that she wasn't going to be able to act on it

until after her birthday, which was in December. Otherwise, her

parents would have made sure the man was locked away for a very

long time. I, on the other hand, was of legal age and more than

capable of entering a relationship with someone like him.

Despite the fact that I found him to be the most attractive man

in the world, there were two things that bothered me. One was the
fact that he was part of the motorcycle club, and I typically stayed

away from any activities that they had for fear of upsetting the

wrong person or making them angry and then ending up on a

missing person's poster due to it. The other was that I was certain

he didn't see me the same way I saw him. I saw him as this big

strong attractive man who I would have loved to have held me close

and lost my virginity to. I was certain that he probably saw me as

nothing more than a child due to how young I was, and I was

certain that he would and would find any flirting I attempted to be

largely inappropriate.

The fact that he was sitting so close the entire time while

explaining the situation was making it harder and harder to focus on

the words that he was saying, and I swore I could feel the heat

radiating from his legs under the table toward mine. As hard as it

was for me to fully understand everything regarding the parts and

mechanics of the vehicle, his overall presence was making it even

more difficult to understand the situation until he eventually showed

me the paperwork and I saw the pricing.

"Are you saying that I may actually end up paying a lot less

than I was originally quoted?" I asked, a sparkle of hope fluttering

up inside me as I looked from the papers to him and back again.

The man smiled as he nodded his head, pointing at the price at the
very bottom of the last sheet of paper.

"If I remember correctly, you were quoted three thousand

dollars originally to get everything fixed and ordered," he explained

as I struggled to catch my breath when his hand brushed against

mine. "However, once Adam was able to find the parts and add up

the costs, it looks like it'll actually cost you one thousand five

hundred dollars, which is half of what you were originally quoted."

Relief washed over me as I looked back up at the man, and I had to

do everything within my power to hold back the tears that were

already fighting to stream down my face.

 "That's great!" I exclaimed, unable to contain my excitement

any longer. "Thank you so much for all this!" Much to my surprise,

his cheeks turned red as he wiped his nose and slid the papers over
towards me, looking as though he himself was struggling with

something.

"There's no need to thank me," he said as he offered me the

paperwork. "However, Adam does need you to sign this as soon as

humanly possible so he can hurry up and order the parts so he can
get it done as soon as possible. If you have a chance, I have a pen

right here." I paused for a moment, remembering what Mr. and Mrs.
Andrews had always told me whenever I would come over to their

house.

"Is it okay if I take the paperwork home and then bring it back

a little bit later today?" I asked, not wanting to jump to conclusions

just yet. "I have to get back to work already, and my friends will
want to look over the paperwork before I sign anything just to make

sure I'm not messing anything up." He looked confused at first as he

processed my words until he must have realized that I meant that I

wanted Mr. and Mrs. Andrews to look over the paperwork with me
before I signed anything. At that moment, his face lit up, and he
bobbed his head up and down with a gentle smile.

"Of course," he said, as he started to rise to his feet. "Take all

the time you need. You can drop off the paperwork at the auto

repair shop later as long as you're there by five. " With that, he
made his way over to the door and paused briefly to speak with the

hostess, who seemed a bit confused. After a moment, he walked out

the door and I flagged her down so that I could pay my tab.

"Oh, you don't have to worry about that," she said with a polite
smile as she pulled out a twenty-dollar bill that had been tucked
away in her apron pocket. "That nice man that just left gave me this

to cover your entire tab and make sure you had enough to take to
work with you when you leave." My jaw dropped as I looked back at

the door, hoping to see the man one final time before he
disappeared into the crowds outside, but by the time I had looked

he was already gone and I found myself wondering who he was.

 CHAPTER EIGHT

Drake

"So did you get the paperwork done?" Adam asked as soon as
I got back to the auto repair shop. Seeing the nervous look on my
face, he immediately answered his own question and started to

shake his head. "I thought I told you to get that signature already so
I could get to work on her vehicle." Taking a deep breath, I braced

myself for what was about to follow.

I already knew that Adam needed the paperwork signed as

soon as humanly possible. That's why I had taken it to town in the

first place. However, after seeing how concerned she was about

signing something before she fully understood everything on the

paper, I knew that it was better to have her review it with somebody

who understood this type of situation rather than forcing her to sign

it right then and there. After all, with her friend's parents being
lawyers, there was no telling what kind of fights they would be

willing to take up in order to protect her and the last thing I wanted

was to get the group in trouble because I had pressured her into

signing something that she wasn't comfortable signing at that exact

second.

"She didn't understand everything on the paperwork, so she

wanted to take it home so that she could review it with somebody

who did know in order to make sure she was not just signing any
documents," I informed him, hoping that he would understand. "In

all honesty, I think it's a pretty fair request and it's not fair to try to

force her to sign something without her fully understanding

everything." Adam looked confused as he looked at me up and

down, and I knew what was about to come.

"Did you even bother explaining everything on the paper to her

as I told you to?" he asked, and I groaned in annoyance as I nodded

my head.
Another random document with
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plains, and as if by magic acres of territory would be luminous with
them. Soon they would be surrounded by the soldiers, who made it
an almost invariable rule to cook their coffee first, after which a large
number, tired out with the toils of the day, would make their supper of
hardtack and coffee, and roll up in their blankets for the night. If a
march was ordered at midnight, unless a surprise was intended, it
must be preceded by a pot of coffee; if a halt was ordered in mid-
forenoon or afternoon, the same dish was inevitable, with hardtack
accompaniment usually. It was coffee at meals and between meals;
and men going on guard or coming off guard drank it at all hours of
the night, and to-day the old soldiers who can stand it are the
hardest coffee-drinkers in the community, through the schooling
which they received in the service.
At a certain period in the war, speculators bought up all the coffee
there was in the market, with a view of compelling the government to
pay them a very high price for the army supply; but on learning of
their action the agents of the United States in England were ordered
to purchase several ship-loads then anchored in the English
Channel. The purchase was effected, and the coffee “corner”
tumbled in ruins.
At one time, when the government had advertised for bids to
furnish the armies with a certain amount of coffee, one Sawyer, a
member of a prominent New York importing firm, met the
government official having the matter in charge—I think it was
General Joseph H. Eaton—on the street, and anxiously asked him if
it was too late to enter another bid, saying that he had been figuring
the matter over carefully, and found that he could make a bid so
much a pound lower than his first proposal. General Eaton replied
that while the bids had all been opened, yet they had not been made
public, and the successful bidder had not been notified, so that no
injustice could accrue to any one on that account; he would therefore
assume the responsibility of taking his new bid. Having done so, the
General informed Sawyer that he was the lowest bidder, and that the
government would take not only the amount asked for but all his firm
had at its disposal at the same rate. But when General Eaton
informed him that his first bid was also lower than any other offered,
Sawyer’s rage at Eaton and disgust at his own undue ambition to bid
a second time can be imagined. The result was the saving of many
thousands of dollars to the government.
I have stated that by Army Regulations the soldiers were entitled
to either three-quarters of a pound of pork or bacon or one and one-
fourth pounds of fresh or salt beef. I have also stated, in substance,
that when the army was settled down for a probable long stop
company cooks did the cooking. But there was no uniformity about it,
each company commander regulating the matter for his own
command. It is safe to remark, however, that in the early history of
each regiment the rations were cooked for its members by persons
especially selected for the duty, unless the regiment was sent at
once into active service, in which case each man was immediately
confronted with the problem of preparing his own food. In making
this statement I ignore the experience which troops had before
leaving their native State, for in the different State rendezvous I think
the practice was general for cooks to prepare the rations; but their
culinary skill—or lack of it—was little appreciated by men within easy
reach of home, friends, and cooky shops, who displayed as yet no
undue anxiety to anticipate the unromantic living provided for Uncle
Sam’s patriot defenders.
Having injected so much, by way of further explanation I come
now to speak of the manner in which, first, the fresh-meat ration was
cooked. If it fell into the hands of the company cooks, it was fated to
be boiled twenty-four times out of twenty-five. There are rare
occasions on record when these cooks attempted to broil steak
enough for a whole company, and they would have succeeded
tolerably if this particular tid-bit could be found all the way through a
steer, from the tip of his nose to the end of his tail, but as it is only
local and limited the amount of nice or even tolerable steak that fell
to the lot of one company in its allowance was not very large. For
this reason among others the cooks did not always receive the credit
which they deserved for their efforts to change the diet or extend the
variety on the bill of fare. Then, on occasions equally rare, when the
beef ration drawn was of such a nature as to admit of it, roast beef
was prepared in ovens such as I have already described, and served
“rare,” “middling,” or “well done.” More frequently, yet not very often,
a soup was made for a change, but it was usually boiled meat; and
when this accumulated, the men sometimes fried it in pork fat for a
change.
When the meat ration was served out raw to the men, to prepare
after their own taste, although the variety of its cooking may not
perhaps have been much greater, yet it gave more general
satisfaction. The growls most commonly heard were that the cooks
kept the largest or choicest portions for themselves, or else that they
sent them to the company officers, who were not entitled to them.
Sometimes there was foundation for these complaints.
In drawing his ration of meat from the commissary the
quartermaster had to be governed by his last selection. If it was a
hindquarter then, he must take a forequarter the next time, so that it
will at once be seen, by those who know anything about beef, that it
would not always cut up and distribute with the same acceptance.
One man would get a good solid piece, the next a flabby one. When
a ration of the latter description fell into the hands of a passionate
man, such as I have described in another connection, he would
instantly hurl it across the camp, and break out with such remarks as
“something not being fit for hogs,” “always his blank luck,” etc. There
was likely to be a little something gained by this dramatic exhibition,
for the distributor would give the actor a good piece for several times
afterwards, to restrain his temper.
The kind of piece drawn naturally determined its disposition in the
soldier’s cuisine. If it was a stringy, flabby piece, straightway it was
doomed to a dish of lobscouse, made with such other materials as
were at hand. If onions were not in the larder, and they seldom were,
the little garlic found in some places growing wild furnished a very
acceptable substitute. If the meat was pretty solid, even though it
had done duty when in active service well down on the shank or
shin, it was quite likely to be served as beefsteak, and prepared for
the palate in one of two ways:—either fried in pork fat, if pork was to
be had, otherwise tallow fat, or impaled on a ramrod or forked stick;
it was then salted and peppered and broiled in the flames; or it may
have been thrown on the coals. This broiling was, I think, the favorite
style with the oldest campaigners. It certainly was more healthful and
palatable cooked in this wise, and was the most convenient in active
service, for any of the men could prepare it thus at short notice.

BROILING STEAKS.

The meat generally came to us quivering from the butcher’s knife,

and was often eaten in less than two hours after slaughtering. To fry
it necessitated the taking along of a frying-pan with which not many
of the men cared to burden themselves. These fry-pans—
Marbleheadmen called them Creepers—were yet comparatively
light, being made of thin wrought iron. They were of different sizes,
and were kept on sale by sutlers. It was a common sight on the
march to see them borne aloft on a musket, to which they were
lashed, or tucked beneath the straps of a knapsack. But there was
another fry-pan which distanced these both in respect of lightness
and space. The soldier called in his own ingenuity to aid him here as
in so many other directions, and consequently the men could be
seen by scores frying the food in their tin plate, held in the jaws of a
split stick, or fully as often an old canteen was unsoldered and its
concave sides mustered into active duty as fry-pans. The fresh-meat
ration was thoroughly appreciated by the men, even though they
rarely if ever got the full allowance stipulated in Army Regulations,
for it was a relief from the salt pork, salt beef, or boiled fresh meat
ration of settled camp. I remember one occasion in the Mine Run
Campaign, during the last days of November, 1863, when the army
was put on short beef rations, that the men cut and scraped off the
little rain-bleached shreds of meat that remained on the head of a
steer which lay near our line of battle at Robertson’s Tavern. The
animal had been slaughtered the day before, and what was left of its
skeleton had been soaking in the rain, but not one ounce of
muscular tissue could have been gleaned from the bones when our
men left it.
The liver, heart, and tongue were perquisites of the butcher. For
the liver, the usual price asked was a dollar, and for the heart or
tongue fifty cents.
The “salt horse” or salt beef, of fragrant memory, was rarely
furnished to the army except when in settled camp, as it would
obviously have been a poor dish to serve on the march, when water
was often so scarce. But even in camp the men quite generally
rejected it. Without doubt, it was the vilest ration distributed to the
soldiers.
It was thoroughly penetrated with saltpetre, was often yellow-
green with rust from having lain out of brine, and, when boiled, was
four times out of five if not nine times out of ten a stench in the
nostrils, which no dedicate palate cared to encounter at shorter
range. It sometimes happened that the men would extract a good
deal of amusement out of this ration, when an extremely unsavory lot
was served out, by arranging a funeral, making the appointments as
complete as possible, with bearers, a bier improvised of boards or a
hardtack box, on which was the beef accompanied by scraps of old
harness to indicate the original of the remains, and then, attended by
solemn music and a mournful procession, it would be carried to the
company sink and dumped, after a solemn mummery of words had
been spoken, and a volley fired over its unhallowed grave.
So salt was this ration that it was impossible to freshen it too
much, and it was not an unusual occurrence for troops encamped by
a running brook to tie a piece of this beef to the end of a cord, and
throw it into the brook at night, to remain freshening until the
following morning as a necessary preparative to cooking.
Salt pork was the principal meat ration—the main stay as it were.
Company cooks boiled it. There was little else they could do with it,
but it was an extremely useful ration to the men when served out
raw. They almost never boiled it, but, as I have already shown, much
of it was used for frying purposes. On the march it was broiled and
eaten with hard bread, while much of it was eaten raw, sandwiched
between hardtack. Of course it was used with stewed as well as
baked beans, and was an ingredient of soups and lobscouse. Many
of us have since learned to call it an indigestible ration, but we
ignored the existence of such a thing as a stomach in the army, and
then regarded pork as an indispensable one. Much of it was musty
and rancid, like the salt horse, and much more was flabby, stringy,
“sow-belly,” as the men called it, which, at this remove in distance,
does not seem appetizing, however it may have seemed at the time.
The government had a pork-packing factory of its own in Chicago,
from which tons of this ration were furnished.
Once in a while a ration of ham or bacon was dealt out to the
soldiers, but of such quality that I do not retain very grateful
remembrances of it. It was usually black, rusty, and strong, and
decidedly unpopular. Once only do I recall a lot of smoked shoulders
as being supplied to my company, which were very good. They were
never duplicated. For that reason, I presume, they stand out
prominently in memory.

MESS KETTLES AND A MESS PAN.

The bean ration was an important factor in the sustenance of the

army, and no edible, I think, was so thoroughly appreciated.
Company cooks stewed them with pork, and when the pork was
good and the stew or soup was well done and not burned,—a rare
combination of circumstances,—they were quite palatable in this
way. Sometimes ovens were built of stones, on the top of the
ground, and the beans were baked in these, in mess pans or kettles.
But I think the most popular method was to bake them in the ground.
This was the almost invariable course pursued by the soldiers when
the beans were distributed for them to cook. It was done in the
following way: A hole was dug large enough to set a mess pan or
kettle in, and have ample space around it besides. Mess kettles, let
me explain here, are cylinders in shape, and made of heavy sheet
iron. They are from thirteen to fifteen inches high, and vary in
diameter from seven inches to a foot. A mess pan stands about six
inches high, and is a foot in diameter at the top. I think one will hold
nearly six quarts. To resume;—in the bottom of the hole dug a flat
stone was put, if it could be obtained, then a fire was built in the hole
and kept burning some hours, the beans being prepared for baking
meanwhile. When all was ready, the coals were shovelled out, the
kettle of beans and pork set in, with a board over the top, while the
coals were shovelled back around the kettle; some poles or boards
were then laid across the hole, a piece of sacking or other material
spread over the poles to exclude dirt, and a mound of earth piled
above all; the net result of which, when the hole was opened the
next morning, was the most enjoyable dish that fell to the lot of the
common soldier. Baked beans at the homestead seemed at a
discount in comparison. As it was hardly practicable to bake a single
ration of beans in this way, or, indeed, in any way, a tent’s crew
either saved their allowance until enough accumulated for a good
baking, or a half-dozen men would form a joint stock company, and
cook in a mess kettle; and when the treasure was unearthed in early
morning not a stockholder would be absent from the roll-call, but all
were promptly on hand with plate or coffee dipper to receive their
dividends.
Here is a post-bellum jingle sung to the music of “The Sweet By
and By,” in which some old veteran conveys the affection he still
feels for this edible of precious memory:—

THE ARMY BEAN.

 There’s a spot that the soldiers all love,
The mess-tent’s the place that we mean,
And the dish we best like to see there
Is the old-fashioned, white Army Bean.

Chorus.—’Tis the bean that we mean,

And we’ll eat as we ne’er ate before;
The Army Bean, nice and clean,
We’ll stick to our beans evermore.

Now the bean, in its primitive state,

Is a plant we have all often met;
And when cooked in the old army style
It has charms we can never forget.—Chorus.

The German is fond of sauer-kraut,

The potato is loved by the Mick,
But the soldiers have long since found out
That through life to our beans we should stick.—Chorus.

Boiled potatoes were furnished us occasionally in settled camp.

On the march we varied the programme by frying them. Onions, in
my own company at least, were a great rarity, but highly appreciated
when they did appear, even in homœopathic quantities. They were
pretty sure to appear on the army table, fried.
Split peas were also drawn by the quartermaster now and then,
and stewed with pork by the cooks for supper, making pea-soup, or
“Peas on a Trencher”; but if my memory serves me right, they were a
dish in no great favor, even when they were not burned in cooking,
which was usually their fate.
The dried-apple ration was supplied by the government, “to swell
the ranks of the army,” as some one wittily said. There seemed but
one practicable way in which this could be prepared, and that was to
stew it; thus cooked it made a sauce for hardtack. Sometimes dried
peaches were furnished instead, but of such a poor quality that the
apples, with the fifty per cent of skins and hulls which they contained,
were considered far preferable.
 At remote intervals the cooks gave for supper a dish of boiled rice
(burned, of course), a sergeant spooning out a scanty allowance of
molasses to bear it company.
Occasionally, a ration of what was known as desiccated
vegetables was dealt out. This consisted of a small piece per man,
an ounce in weight and two or three inches cube of a sheet or block
of vegetables, which had been prepared, and apparently kiln-dried,
as sanitary fodder for the soldiers. In composition it looked not unlike
the large cheeses of beef-scraps that are seen in the markets. When
put in soak for a time, so perfectly had it been dried and so firmly
pressed that it swelled to an amazing extent, attaining to several
times its dried proportions. In this pulpy state a favorable opportunity
was afforded to analyze its composition. It seemed to show, and I
think really did show, layers of cabbage leaves and turnip tops
stratified with layers of sliced carrots, turnips, parsnips, a bare
suggestion of onions,—they were too valuable to waste in this
compound,—and some other among known vegetable quantities,
with a large residuum of insoluble and insolvable material which
appeared to play the part of warp to the fabric, but which defied the
powers of the analyst to give it a name. An inspector found in one lot
which he examined powdered glass thickly sprinkled through it,
apparently the work of a Confederate emissary; but if not it showed
how little care was exercised in preparing this diet for the soldier. In
brief, this coarse vegetable compound could with much more
propriety have been put before Southern swine than Northern
soldiers. “Desecrated vegetables” was the more appropriate name
which the men quite generally applied to this preparation of husks.
I believe it was the Thirty-Second Massachusetts Infantry which
once had a special ration of three hundred boxes of strawberries
dealt out to it. But if there was another organization in the army
anywhere which had such a delicious experience, I have yet to hear
of it.
I presume that no discussion of army rations would be considered
complete that did not at least make mention of the whiskey ration so
called. This was not a ration, properly speaking. The government
supplied it to the army only on rare occasions, and then by order of
the medical department. I think it was never served out to my
company more than three or four times, and then during a cold
rainstorm or after unusually hard service. Captain N. D. Preston of
the Tenth New York Cavalry, in describing Sheridan’s raid to
Richmond in the spring of 1864, recently, speaks of being instructed
by his brigade commander to make a light issue of whiskey to the
men of the brigade, and adds, “the first and only regular issue of
whiskey I ever made or know of being made to an enlisted man.” But
although he belonged to the arm of the service called “the eyes and
ears of the army,” and was no doubt a gallant soldier, he is not well
posted; for men who belonged to other organizations in the Army of
the Potomac assure me that it was served out to them much more
frequently than I have related as coming under my observation. I
think there can be no doubt on this point.
The size of the whiskey allowance was declared, by those whose
experience had made them competent judges, as trifling and
insignificant, sometimes not more than a tablespoonful; but the
quantity differed greatly in different organizations. The opinion was
very prevalent, and undoubtedly correct, that the liquor was quite
liberally sampled by the various headquarters, or the agents through
whom it was transmitted to the rank and file. While there was
considerable whiskey drank by the men “unofficially,” that is, which
was obtained otherwise than on the order of the medical department,
yet, man for man, the private soldiers were as abstemious as the
officers. The officers who did not drink more or less were too scarce
in the service. They had only to send to the commissary to obtain as
much as they pleased, whenever they pleased, by paying for it; but
the private soldier could only obtain it of this official on an order
signed by a commissioned officer,—usually the captain of his
company. In fact, there was nothing but his sense of honor, his self-
respect, or his fear of exposure and punishment, to restrain a
captain, a colonel, or a general, of whatever command, from being
intoxicated at a moment when he should have been in the full
possession of his senses leading his command on to battle; and I
regret to relate that these motives, strong as they are to impel to
right and restrain from wrong-doing, were no barrier to many an
officer whose appetite in a crisis thus imperilled the cause and
disgraced himself. Doesn’t it seem strange that the enforcement of
the rules of war was so lax as to allow the lives of a hundred, a
thousand, or perhaps fifty or a hundred thousand sober men to be
jeopardized, as they so often were, by holding them rigidly obedient
to the orders of a man whose head at a critical moment might be
crazed with commissary whiskey? Hundreds if not thousands of lives
were sacrificed by such leadership. I may state here that
drunkenness was equally as common with the Rebels as with the
Federals.
The devices resorted to by those members of the rank and file
who hungered and thirsted for commissary to obtain it, are numerous
and entertaining enough to occupy a chapter; but these I must leave
for some one of broader experience and observation. I could name
two or three men in my own company whose experience qualified
them to fill the bill completely. They were always on the scent for
something to drink. Such men were to be found in all organizations.
It has always struck me that the government should have
increased the size of the marching ration. If the soldier on the march
had received one and one-half pounds of hard bread and one and
one-half pounds of fresh beef daily with his sugar, coffee, and salt, it
would have been no more than marching men require to keep up the
requisite strength and resist disease.
By such an increase the men would have been compensated for
the parts of rations not issued to them, or the increase might have
been an equivalent for these parts, and the temptation to dishonesty
or neglect on the part of company commanders thus removed. But,
more than this, the men would not then have eaten up many days’
rations in advance. It mattered not that the troops, at a certain date,
were provided with three, four, or any number of days rations; if
these rations were exhausted before the limit for which they were
distributed was even half reached, more must be immediately
issued. As a consequence, in every summer campaign the troops
had drawn ten or fifteen days marching rations ahead of time,
proving, season after season, the inadequacy of this ration. This
deficiency of active service had to be made up by shortening the
rations issued in camp when the men could live on a contracted diet
without detriment to the service. But they knew nothing of this
shortage at the time,—I mean now the rank and file,—else what a
universal growl would have rolled through the camps of each army
corps while the commissary was “catching up.” “Where ignorance is
bliss,” etc.
 CHAPTER VIII.
OFFENCES AND PUNISHMENTS.

They braced my aunt against a board,

To make her straight and tall;
They laced her up, they starved her down,
To make her light and small;
They pinched her feet, they singed her hair,
They screwed it up with pins;—
Oh, never mortal suffered more
In penance for her sins.

Holmes.

No popular history of the war has yet treated in detail of the

various indiscretions of which soldiers were guilty, nor of the
punishments which followed breaches of discipline. Perhaps such a
record is wanting because there are many men yet alive who cannot
think with equanimity of punishments to which they were at some
period of their service subjected. Indeed, within a few months I have
seen veterans who, if not breathing out threatenings and slaughter,
like Saul of Tarsus, are still unreconciled to some of their old
commanders, and are brooding over their old-time grievances, real
or imaginary, or both, when they ought to be engaged in more
entertaining and profitable business. I shall not, because I cannot,
name all the offences of soldiering to which punishments were
affixed, as no two commanding officers had just the same violations
of military discipline to deal with,—but I shall endeavor in this chapter
to include all those which appeal to a common experience.
The most common offences were drunkenness, absence from
camp without leave, insubordination, disrespect to superior officers,
absence from roll-call without leave, turbulence after taps, sitting
while on guard, gambling, and leaving the beat without relief. To
explain these offences a little more in detail—no soldier was
supposed to leave camp without a pass or permit from the
commander of the regiment or battery to which he belonged. A great
many did leave for a few hours at a time, however, and took their
chances of being missed and reported for it. In some companies,
when it was thought that several were absent without a permit, a roll-
call was ordered simply to catch the culprits. Disrespect to a superior
officer was shown in many ways. Some of the more common ways
were to “talk back,” in strong unmilitary language, and to refuse to
salute him or recognize him on duty, which military etiquette requires
to be done. The other offences named explain themselves.
 CARRYING A LOG.

The methods of punishment were as diverse as the dispositions of

the officers who sat in judgment on the cases of the offenders. In the
early history of a regiment there was a guard-house or guard-tent
where the daily guard were wont to assemble, and which was their
rendezvous when off post during their twenty-four hours of duty. But
when the ranks of the regiment had become very much depleted,
and the men pretty well seasoned in military duty, the guard-tent was
likely to be dispensed with. In this guard-tent offenders were put for
different periods of time. Such confinement was a common
punishment for drunkenness. This may not be thought a very severe
penalty; still, the men did not enjoy it, as it imposed quite a restriction
on their freedom to be thus pent up and cut off from the rest of their
associates.
 Absence from camp
or roll-call without leave
was punished in various
ways. There was no
special penalty for it. I
think every organization
had what was known as
a Black List, on which
the names of all
offenders against the
ordinary rules of camp
were kept for frequent
reference, and when
there was any
particularly
BUCKED AND GAGGED.
disagreeable task about
camp to be done the
black list furnished a
quota for the work. The
galling part of membership in the ranks of the black list was that all of
the work done as one of its victims was a gratuity, as the member
must stand his regular turn in his squad for whatever other fatigue
duty was required.
Among the tasks that were thought quite interesting and profitable
pastimes for the black-listed to engage in, were policing the camp
and digging and fitting up new company sinks or filling abandoned
ones. A favorite treat meted out to the unfortunates in the artillery
and cavalry was the burying of dead horses or cleaning up around
the picket rope where the animals were tied. In brief, the men who
kept off the black list in a company were spared many a hard and
disagreeable job by the existence of a good long list of offenders
against camp discipline.
This placing of men on the black list was not as a rule resorted to
by officers who cherished petty spites or personal malice, but by it
they designed rather to enforce a salutary discipline. Such officers
had no desire to torture the erring, but aimed to combine a
reasonable form of punishment with
utility to the camp and to the better
behaved class of soldiers, and in this I
think they were successful. But there
was a class of officers who felt that
every violation of camp rules should
be visited with the infliction of bodily
pain in some form. As a consequence,
the sentences imposed by these
military judges all looked towards that
end. Some would buck and gag their
victims; some would stand them on a
barrel for a half-day or a day at a time;
a favorite punishment with some was
to knock out both heads of a barrel,
then make the victim stand on the
ends of the staves; some would
compel them to wear an inverted
barrel for several hours, by having a
hole cut in the bottom, through which
the head passed, making a kind of
wooden overcoat; some culprits were POSTED.
compelled to stand a long time with
their arms, extending horizontally at
the side, lashed to a heavy stick of wood that ran across their backs;
others were lashed to a tall wooden horse which stood perhaps eight
or nine feet high; some underwent the knapsack drill, that is, they
walked a beat with a guardsman two hours on and two or four hours
off, wearing a knapsack filled with bricks or stones. Here is an
incident related by a veteran who served in the Gulf Department:
One day a captain in General Phelps’ Brigade put a man on
knapsack drill; in other words, he filled his knapsack with bricks, and
made him march with it up and down the company street. The
General had the habit of going through the camps of his brigade
quite frequently, and that day he happened around just in time to see
the performance, but returned to his quarters apparently without
noticing it. Soon, however, he sent his Orderly to the Captain with a
request to come to his tent. The Captain was soon on his way,
dressed in his best uniform, probably expecting, at least, a
commendation for his efficiency, or perhaps a promotion. On
reaching the General’s tent, he was admitted, when, after the usual
salute, the following dialogue took place:—
General P.—“Good-morning, Captain.”
Captain.—“Good-morning, General.”
General P.—“I sent for you, Captain, to inquire of you what
knapsacks were made for.”
Captain.—“Knapsacks!—why, I suppose they were made for
soldiers to carry their spare clothing in.”
General P.—“Well, Captain, I passed your camp a short time ago
and saw one of your men carrying bricks in his knapsack up and
down the company street. Now, go back to your company, send that
man to his quarters, and don’t let me know of your ordering any such
punishment again while you are in my brigade.”
One regiment that I know of had a
platform erected, between twenty-five
and thirty feet high, on which the
offender was isolated from the camp,
and left to broil in the sun or soak in
the rain while a guard paced his beat
below, to keep away any who might
like to communicate with him. Some
were tied up by the thumbs, with arms
extended full length, and compelled to
stand in that position for hours; some
were put into what was known as the
sweat-box. This was a box eighteen
inches square, and of the full height of
a man, into which the culprit was
A LOADED KNAPSACK.
placed to stand until released. Some
had their full offence written out on a
board with chalk, and, with this board
strapped to their backs, were marched up and down through camp
the entire day, without rest or refreshment.
In the artillery, the favorite punishment was to lash the guilty party
to the spare wheel—the extra wheel carried on the rear portion of
every caisson in a battery. In the cavalry, men were sometimes
punished by being compelled to carry their packed saddle a
prescribed time—no small or insignificant burden to men unused to a
knapsack. Sometimes the guilty parties were required to carry a
heavy stick of wood on the shoulder. I knew one such man, who,
because of this punishment, took a solemn oath that he would never
do another day’s duty in his company; and he never did. From that
day forward he reported at sick-call, but the surgeon could find no
traces of disease about him, and so returned him for duty. Still the
man persistently refused to do duty, claiming that he was not able,
and continued to report at sick-call. By refusing to eat anything, he
reduced himself to such a condition that he really appeared
diseased, and at last was discharged, went home, and boasted of
his achievement.
 ISOLATED ON A PLATFORM.

Sometimes double guard-duty was ordered for a man on account

of an omission or act of his while on guard. This punishment gave
him four hours on and two off his post or beat instead of the reverse.
His offence may have been failing or refusing to salute his superior
officer. It may have been that he was not properly equipped. It may
have been for being found off his beat, or for leaving it without
having been properly relieved; or he may have failed in his duty
when the “Grand Rounds” appeared.