been unlucky enough to end up stationed at Fort Rice, Dakota Territory? This was no place for a Southern aristocrat! Swearing under his breath, Randolph Erikson shifted his weight in his saddle as the patrol rode across the bleak prairie.
âBecause it was either volunteer to join the Union Army or die in that hellhole of a Yankee prison camp,â he drawled aloud as he took off his hat and brushed his blond hair back.
âHuh? Lieutenant, did you say somethinâ?â The rednecked lout riding next to him glanced over, startled.
âIâm not a lieutenant anymore, soldier,â Rand drawled. âThe damn Yankees wouldnât let any of us Confederate officers keep our rank.â
The other soldier guffawed good-naturedly and spat tobacco juice that dribbled down his chin and onto his saddle. âNow youâve learned how poor white trash lives, I reckon, with not even one slave to polish your boots. If Iâd had all that, Iâd have fought to keep it, too. Iâll bet you was a purty sight in your fancy uniform at all the balls and soirées.â
Rand didnât answer, concentrating instead on the others of the patrol riding ahead of them across the endless prairie. âReckon Iâve changed a little since being in Point Lookout. After that miserable trip here and all these months at Fort Rice, reckon we had it good in that Yankee prison and didnât know it.â
The other nodded in understanding. âFort âLiceâ would be a better name.â
Seven months in Dakota Territory. Maybe he had changed a little from the arrogant, spoiled plantation ownerâs son he was. Rand blinked pale blue eyes against the afternoon sun, not wanting to think about his miserable existence since heâd been captured.
Instead, he remembered olden, golden days before the war on his parentâs Kentucky estate. With money and social position, Randolph Eriksonâs biggest worry was whether the fox hunt might be called off because of rain or if he might have to choose between a ball at the capitol or an elegant dinner at the nearby Carstairsâ estate.
The other sneered. âWhat did a young dandy like you do in the war?â
Rand flexed his wide shoulders. âI was a liaison for the colonel, carrying messages. I reckon I never did much real fighting.â
The other spat tobacco juice again and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. âI knowed you was quality the first time I laid eyes on you at the prison: hatinâ to have to mix with poor redneck trash, swaggerinâ when you walked. God, I donât even know what I was doinâ in this war. I never had me no money to own no slaves.â
âOh, we own slaves, I donât even know how many,â Rand shrugged, âbut you know Kentucky was a border state, didnât go with the Confederacy, and Lincoln only freed the slaves in the rebelling states.â
The other looked at him, scratched his mustache. âThen what the hell was you doinâ fightinâ anyways?â
âI reckon my answer is about as foolish as yours,â Rand admitted as they rode through the late afternoon. âI thought it would be a grand adventure.â
The other man snorted with laughter. âReckon you found out different, didnât you?â
âYes, I surely did.â Rand cursed softly under his breath, remembering how he had expected this war to be a lark, an adventure to amuse the ladies with over drinks on Randolph Hallâs veranda. He had never thought any further than how dashing he would look in the gray uniform. Father had tried to talk him out of it, but Mother, with her deep Southern sympathies, and his fiancee, Lenore Carstairs, had secretly encouraged him. After all, it was going to be a short war that the Confederates would win out of sheer gallantry. Lenore had said he looked so handsome in the uniform, and she gave a ball in his honor.
Instead the great adventure
Richard Erdoes, Alfonso Ortiz