Witness To The Monkey Show.

January 11^th /63

Dear louving wife.

...I have seen the Monkey Show at last and I don't Waunt to see it no more.

Thomas Warrick, 34^th Alabama Volunteer Infantry.

Jane Lane drove up the entrance track to the old farmhouse in Western Pennsylvania. She had finished her mid-year exams at Boston College of Fine Arts and had spent the past two days setting things right at the apartment she shared with her best friend Daria Morgendorffer. The past couple of years had been a pretty interesting experience, especially since Quinn, Daria's sister, and her best friend, Stacy Rowe, had come up to study costume history, materials conservation and fashion design at Boston University, while Daria was in her final year at Raft College and looked to go on to do further studies. Jane herself would start her final year just after the Christmas break.

It was, however, not an auspicious start to the Christmas season. Recently Ruth Morgendorffer, Daria and Quinn's grandmother, had suffered a stroke and although she had recovered, it was quite clear that Grandma Morgendorffer would not be able to continue living a completely independent life. So, since Helen and Jake were busy helping Ruth settle into her new accommodation (which was a retirement complex near Alexandra, one that, while it allowed Ruth to live a fairly independent life, still enabled her to have constant medical support) Daria and Quinn, as soon as they could, were helping Amy Barksdale to begin the final clearing of the Morgendorffer family homestead.

Jane had been quite surprised to find that the Morgendorffers had a farm in the Kishacoquilles Valley in Western Pennsylvania, and had been there since before the Civil War, when Jakob Morgendorffer, an immigrant from Bavaria, had arrived and, after some time working for others, had managed to acquire a farmstead. When she had quizzed Daria about it her amiga had replied, "It really never came up in conversation. Besides, we had never really visited Grandma Morgendorffer out there, so this is going to be very much a trip of discovery for all of us." Jane had offered to help out with the clearing, something that both Daria and Quinn had been grateful for.

The Kishacoquilles Valley turned out to be a lovely, scenic area of Western Pennsylvania, dotted with small towns and family farms. Jane was surprised to see what looked like Amish wagons on some of the roads and barns and homesteads that looked like they belonged in Lancaster County, several miles and a few counties east of Huntingdon County. She resolved that sometime she was going to return with a camera and capture some of the scenery. Hell, I'd even be happy doing a landscape here, she thought as she drove along.

As Jane pulled up in front of the farmhouse she saw, besides Daria's dark-green Toyota (complete with an attached trailer), Quinn's powder-blue Volkswagen station wagon and Amy's fire-red sports car, a late-model Mercedes-Benz (also with an attached trailer), a Bentley Eight and a small pantechnicon. Hmmm, so Richard's here, Jane thought as she shut down her engine and got out of her van. She stood next to her van for a moment looking at the other vehicles. And, knowing him, I'd say he was responsible for the moving truck. But who own the other car? Shrugging, she walked over to the stairs.

Pausing for a moment at the foot of the stairs that led up to the front verandah, she looked over the farmhouse with an artist's practised eye. It was a typical weatherboard structure with two levels plus an attic and cellar. Her eye could see where some of the gingerbread trim had once adorned parts of the structure, and where the paint had faded and cracked. Despite all of this, it was still very sound architecturally, and had clearly been well-cared for.

Jane walked up the stairs and, crossing the front verandah, she halted in front of the door and rang the bell that was suspended next to it. She heard someone putting something down and walking over to the front door. The door opened, and a tall, slightly bedraggled man stood there. "Jane!" he said. He spoke in the refined accents of an antebellum Virginian aristocrat. "Daria said you'd be here after finishing up at your apartment."He stepped to one side to let her in.

Jane smiled at the figure. "Hi, Richard!" she said as she walked into the front room of the house. "I wasn't aware you'd be helping out."

Richard John Rawlings shrugged. "Daria mentioned she and Quinn were to help Amy start to clear Ruth's house out," he said, "so I decided to lend a hand." He gestured towards the back of the house. "Simon's out back, in the barn, along with a couple of farmhands from Mount Folly looking over the farming gear in the barn. I might buy some of it for one of the farms back at Mount Folly."

Jane nodded. "Any particular reason?" she asked.

"From what I've seen so far the gear only needs a little refurbishment, something we can do back on the plantation," he said. "It's also easier to get than sending back home for it. Same goes for the tools in the toolshed."

"Where's Daria and Quinn?"

Rawlings indicated the top of the house. "Daria and Quinn are going through the attic," he said. "Stacy Rowe's also here. They've found some old clothes and suchlike, so Quinn and Stacy are going over them quite carefully, examining them to see what needs to be done to conserve them." He gave Jane a grin. "In fact, Quinn has found a few wedding dresses and was looking at seeing if they're fit for Daria to wear. Said that it would take care of the 'something old' part of what a bride should have on her wedding day."

Jane smirked. "Boy, I'll bet she was impressed with that little announcement!" she said. She indicated the front of the house. "Who owns the Bentley? Is that Simon Wallingford's car?"

Rawlings shook his head. "Simon came up with me as far as Harrisburg," he said. "We arranged to hire the truck there. That's..." He was interrupted by the sounds of voices coming down the stairs. They both turned to see Amy Barksdale supervising the removal of the bottom half of a dresser. On one end of the dresser was one of Rawlings' servants, while on the other, much to Jane's surprise, was a figure she recognised almost immediately.

"Hi, Pete," she said as they began to negotiate the way out to the front. "I see you got involved in this as well."

James Longstreet grinned at Jane. "Well, I was visiting Washington on official business and, having a few days to spare, called in on Amy," he said. "She mentioned what she was doing and I decided to help." He turned his head to Amy. "You want this down here or do we put it out on the vehicle there?" he asked.

Amy pointed out the open door. "I think we'd better put it on the truck," she said. "From what Jake and Helen told me this has been in the Morgendorffer family for generations and Ruth will want to have it with her in the retirement complex." She looked at Jane. "Daria's up in the attic," she said.

"So Richard told me," Jane said. "I'd better go on up and let them know I'm here." She stood to one side and allowed Longstreet, Amy and the help go out through the doorway. Then, she turned and headed for the stairs.

"The attic entrance is at the end of the hallway,"Rawlings said. "Tell them lunch shouldn't be all that long. I left Hattie in the kitchen and she looked like she was preparing a pretty decent meal." Jane nodded and headed up the stairs.

As she climbed the stairs Jane reflected on the man she had been talking to. Richard John Rawlings had entered their lives the previous summer when both Jane and Daria met him in a dinner on the village green in Lawndale. They had rescued him from the attentions of a waitress there and, out of gratitude, he had bought them lunch at an eatery in Cranberry Commons. Initially he had passed himself off as a Virginian Tidewater aristocrat who was following the path of a relative who was in the Army of Northern Virginia when it had invaded the North in 1862. However, it was not too long before the truth had come out.

Although Rawlings was indeed a Virginian aristocrat it turned out that he was Major-General Richard John Rawlings of the Confederate General Staff. He had come to their world from an alternate reality where the Southern Confederacy had won its independence in what they called "the Second American Revolution." However, due to some quirk in the fabric of what Jane and Daria had started to term "the Multiverse," it was, in Rawlings' world, still the late 1860s, with the War having finished in 1864.

Rawlings had come into their world via a gateway that existed between the two dimensions, something that Daria had written about in a story she wrote back in high school. (Jane had received confirmation that the events in Daria's story about Holiday Island had actually happened, but she had not seen any need to tell her that.) The confederates had discovered the gateway thanks to a group of white supremacists from Daria and Jane's world, who, stumbling upon the gateway in a cave formation, had initially thought that it led them back in time. They had therefore decided to se if they could change history, but soon discovered that they had, instead, stumbled into another world.

One discovery they made horrified them. In Rawlings' world, in reaction to a series of bloody encounters that had created a manpower problem for the Confederate armies (which also existed, as a result of the same battles, for the Union,) as well as a reaction to the North's emancipation Proclamation, had, in the winter of 1862-63, issued their own Emancipation Proclamation, setting in place a system of compensated emancipation for slave owners, and recruiting black men into the Confederate Army. After the war had ended, the white supremacists, in an attempt to reverse this, had attempted to set in place a scheme to overthrow the Confederate government in order to replace it with a regime of their own devising. However, the confederates had tracked the white supremacists to their lair, which was in a cave system on a property that Rawlings owned and had unknowingly leased to them through local agents. Given the chance to obliterate this stain on his family's honour, Rawlings took command of the assault on the cave system, which happened at the same time as a US Army Special Operations force had commenced operations against the terminus in their world. This eventually led to Rawlings and the Special Forces commander meeting in the cave system, and in the Confederates not only gaining control of their end of the gateway, but of all of the supplies and equipment the supremacists had stored on the plantation owned by Rawlings.

Once they had realised what they had, the Confederates decided that, in order to deal with the other world much better, to send selected individuals through the gateway into Daria and Jane's world to find out as much as they possibly could, while the US Government in that world started to establish diplomatic and trade relations with Rawlings' world. Command of that operation had been given to Rawlings, who located and purchased the version of Mount Folly, his ancestral home, that existed in Daria and Jane's world. It had been while following the path of the 1862 Maryland Campaign (which had a completely different outcome in his world) in order to find points of divergence in their separate histories that Rawlings, following the path that the division he had commanded in the campaign he was familiar with, had met Daria and Jane... and had fallen deeply in love with Daria Morgendorffer, a sentiment she reciprocated.

The problem was, however, that they came from two completely different worlds. For the brief time they were together in Lawndale Daria and Rawlings had a short, but passionate, affair (or at least as passionate as Jane thought Daria was capable of, which, to her surprise, was very) after which they went their separate ways. They had kept in touch by letter, but it was Daria's deteriorating state, where she was quite clearly pining for her lover, that caused Jane to go down to Mount Folly, Virginia, in order to see Rawlings and to get him to at least do something that would settle the situation between him and her best friend once and for all.

Which led Jane to reflect on the second person she had greeted. It still spun her out a bit to realise that, downstairs, helping to clear out the Morgendorffer family homestead was a major historical figure from the Civil War. She had met James "Old Pete" Longstreet and another major figure, Jeb Stuart, on that trip to Mount Folly where, concerned with Rawlings' own deteriorating condition, they had enlisted themselves and, as it turned out the President of the Confederate States, Robert E. Lee, in their cause. It was they who sent a letter to President Lee recommending that Rawlings marry Daria, something that Lee, equally concerned about a man who had been a divisional and a corps commander in his army, agreed to, adding that the only condition he set was that he eventually be allowed to meet Daria. All four of them had then come to Boston where, in the living room of the apartment Daria shared with Jane, Rawlings proposed. Daria accepted, but felt the need to teach both Jane and Amy a lesson about, as she put it, "playing Yenta."

At the time, she thought that Amy and Longstreet had been subtly flirting with one another at Mount Folly. And by the looks of things, Jane thought as she made her way down the upstairs hallway, Amy and "Pete" Longstreet may be starting out on a relationship themselves. Hopefully that won't complicate things too much. Mind you, things are already pretty complicated. She reached the access and went up the retractable stairs into the attic space. Poking her head through the opening, she called out, "Daria?"

"Hey, Jane!" said Daria. "Over here!" As she continued up the stairs she could see her best friend kneeling by an opened chest going through some documents She was wearing an oversized shirt, her glasses and a pair of jeans over her boots. Nearby she could see Quinn and Stacy, dressed in a similar manner, carefully examining some old clothes that had been kept in a series of steamer trunks and other storage boxes.

Jane walked over to where Daria was kneeling. "I see you're having fun," she said. "You too," she continued, looking over at Quinn and Stacy. Smirking, she said, "Richard tells me that you've been looking over wedding dresses for your big sister's big day." She ignored the sour look Daria shot in her direction.

Quinn smirked back. "Oh, yeah," she said. "But somehow my big sister seems to object to my suggestions."

"That's because it would be just too weird wearing a wedding dress that Great-great-great-grandma Morgendorffer or a distant relative wore on their wedding day," retorted Daria. "Besides, weren't you the one who was saying that these dresses should be conserved?"

"True," replied Quinn. "But they've been giving me and Stacy some ideas." She smirked at Daria.

"And those ideas could yet see you wind up in a pink taffeta dress at your funeral," Daria said.

"What, she doesn't rate the bridesmaid's dress?" asked Jane.

"That is reserved for you, Lane," Daria replied. Switching her glare to Stacy, she continued, "I haven't worked out anything suitable for my sister's amiga, but I'll think of something" She looked at the dresses they were examining. "Perhaps the most hideous of those wedding dresses."

Quinn shook her head. "They're not that hideous," she said. At Daria's sceptical look she said, "Well, maybe one or two. But even you have to admit there are some lovely dresses in this lot."

Daria gave a small smile. "Well, I do have to admit there are a couple.."

Jane smirked. "I never thought I'd ever hear you say that, Daria!" Smirking at Quinn and Stacy, she said, "Must be love that's doing it to her."

"Keep going, Jane," Daria said. "I'm sure there's a dress here we can put you in when we bury your body in the local graveyard." She looked over at Quinn and Stacy. "Besides, as Quinn well knows, there is simply no way I'll be able to wear any of those dresses, even if I wanted to."

Jane's eyebrows rose. "Oh? How come?"

"Don't get me wrong, Jane," Quinn said. "These dresses, as well as the other clothes are in remarkably good condition, considering they've been stored in chests and trunks for over a hundred years. But many of them were made from thread-dyed fabric dyed with aniline dyes, which is essentially acidic in nature. Plus, even though they've been stored in mothballs, they were also wrapped in acidic tissue paper, which has weakened the fabric even further."

"Ah," said Jane. "So I take it they'll be re-wrapped in acid-free paper as soon as you can get to it?"

Both Quinn and Stacy nodded. "This is simply a preliminary examination," Stacy said. "Quinn and I have been in touch with our professors at college, who are quite excited at this discovery! Clothes worn by different generations of an entire family, and all of them marked with clothing tags, so we can actually put faces to the clothes!"

"Daria also found what amounts to a small library of Sears, Roebuck catalogues that date back to the1880s," Quinn said. "Those, plus what we've found here, give us material for literally dozens of essay papers!"

"Not to mention diaries, journals and letters," Daria said. And it's all been put away quite well."

"Any pictures?" Jane asked.

"No hidden masterpieces," Daria said, "but plenty of photographs." She looked at Quinn and Stacy. "Finished there?" she asked.

"Pretty much so, Daria," Quinn said. "We'll put these away for now and see what's in that chest over there." She pointed to a trunk that sat in a nearby corner.

"If you like I can go over and open it up," said Jane "and see what's in it."

"Ok," Quinn replied. "But be careful handling any clothes."

Jane nodded and walked over to the trunk. "Is there a key to this thing?" she asked.

"It should be unlocked," said Daria. "Most of them were."

"Right." Jane tried the lid. "It's locked," she said.

Daria reached into a pocket of her jeans and pulled out a ring of keys. "Try one of these," she said, tossing the ring to Jane.

"Thanks." She looked at Daria's left hand. "Where's your engagement ring?" she asked.

"Oh, I'm wearing it," Daria said. "Just not on my hand. It's hanging on a chain around my neck. Don't want to catch it on anything."

"Gotcha." Jane tried several keys that looked as though they might fit. On the fourth try she felt the lock turn and heard it click. "Got it," she said and raised the chest.

Inside she saw, siting on top of a layer of tissue paper, a large foolscap sized oilskin satchel with some writing on it. Next to the satchel lay a jewellery case covered in dark blue velveteen, which was worn around the edges. On the lid were some small gilded letters.

"I think this one might be for the both of you, Daria," Jane said, turning her head in Daria's direction.

Daria looked up. So did Quinn. "What is it?" Daria asked.

"Something wrapped in tissue paper with an oilskin envelope similar to the one Richard kept his maps in," Jane replied. She reached into the trunk and pulled out the satchel. "The envelope's got some weird kind of writing on it. Looks almost like Gothic." She handed the satchel to Daria, who had come over to look at it.

Daria took the satchel and walked over to the nearest window in order to better read the writing. "It's not quite Gothic script, Jane," she said. "It's pretty close, though. It's in Fraktur."

"Frakwhat?"

"Fraktur. It's traditional Germanic lettering." Daria looked at the writing. "It says Jakob Eduard Morgendorffer." She looked up. "Jane, I think you've found something really important. Well, important for the Morgendorffer family."

"So who's Jakob Morgendorffer?"

"He's the first of the Morgendorffers in America," Daria said, opening the satchel and peering in. "Emigrated from Bavaria in the late 1840s and managed to eventually buy this farm."

"There's this as well," Jane said. Reaching into the trunk she pulled out the jewellery box. "Not too sure what the gilt lettering is, though.

Putting the satchel down, Daria took the jewellery box and carried it over to the window. "Interesting," she said. "Philadelphia Mint." Suddenly her eyes widened. "It can't be!" she whispered.

"Can't be what?"

Daria looked at Jane. "Jane, if this is what I think it is..." Hands trembling slightly, she opened the lid. As she saw what was lying inside the box she drew in a sharp breath.

"Daria?" Puzzled, Jane walked over and peered into the box. When she saw what was lying inside it she too drew in a startled breath.

There, lying on the white satin interior, was an object that was obviously a medal. It was made of bronze and was in the shape of an upside-down five-pointed star not too dissimilar to an antique sherrif's badge in shape. In the centre of the star was what looked like a Greek goddess of some kind resting her left hand of a bundle of rods and holding a shield that looked as though it was emblazoned with the arms of the United States. She was driving off another figure that also had snakes attached to it, and the whole scene was contained in a circle of stars. It was suspended from what looked like a trophy of some kind containing crossed cannons, balls and a sword, all surmounted by an eagle. The eagle was itself suspended from a ribbon consisting of a ribbon striped with thirteen red and white stripes topped by a solid blue bar. There were no stars in the blue bar but it was clearly intended to represent the American flag. Finally the ribbon was suspended from a clasp consisting of two cornucopias and surmounted by the arms of the United States.

Jane and Daria looked at one another. "Is that what I think it is?" Jane asked.

"I think so," said Daria. "It's a Congressional Medal of Honour from the Civil War." Her hand trembling, she gently put it down on the window ledge and sat down on another trunk. For a moment neither of them said nothing.

Jane spoke first. "Do you think it could be your Great-great-great-whatever grandfather's?"

"It's possible," Daria said. She then reached over and, after picking up the case, turned the medal over. The reverse was plain, except for an engraving that said: Jakob E. Morgendorffer, 81^st Pennsylvania, 17^th September 1862.

"My God," said Daria. "He must have won it at Antietam." She replaced the medal and, closing the lid, put it back on the window ledge. "Let's see what else is in this trunk." Together they went back to the trunk and, very gently, lifted the topmost layer of tissue paper from inside it. They then sat back on their heels, astonished at what they had found.

Inside, lying on top of another layer of tissue paper, and with some sachets containing mothballs lying on top of it, was a Union Army uniform coat, complete with insignia, buttons and cap. And, apart from some slight wear, it looked almost new.

Daria turned her head. "Quinn!" she said. "You might want to come over here. There's something you've just got to see!" Curious, Quinn and Stacy came over and peered into the trunk.

Both girls caught their breaths. "Oh My God!" said Quinn. "Is that a Union Army uniform?"

Stacy reached out and gingerly felt the material. "And it looks to be in almost perfect condition!" she said. "I can still feel the coat lining, which is pretty rare."

"Somebody better go and get Richard," Daria said. "He'll probably be better able to understand this than any of us will."

To Jane's surprise, Stacy added: "Better get Pete up here: he'll also want to see this."

Jane looked from Stacy to Daria and Quinn. "Does she..." she began.

"She does," Quinn said. "She worked it out not too long after she met Richard, Pete and Jeb that night in The Pizza Place."

"I confronted Quinn with it on the trip here," Stacy said, "and we both spoke to Daria." She smiled at Jane. "Don't worry, I haven't told anyone. Not that they'd believe me. Besides," she continued, looking at Quinn with a sheepish grin, "Quinn made it very plain that if I spoiled things for either Daria or Amy by gossiping, she'd eviscerate me. Besides, I was only a gossip in high school because..."

"Because she was insecure about herself," Quinn said, "something that Sandi Griffin made much worse. But since I helped her get her grades up enough to get into Boston with me she's managed to overcome that quite well."

"I see," said Jane. "Well, I'd better go and get our resident experts up here and see what they can tell us." She headed towards the exit and went down the stairs, returning a little while later with Rawlings and Longstreet in tow.

"Ah!" said Rawlings when he saw the uniform. "Saw those often enough both before and during the War."

Longstreet looked at the insignia. "That's a First Sergeant's uniform," he said, pointing at the sky-blue downwards-pointing chevrons topped by a diamond. He took a close look at the buttons. "Standard Federal issue too, by the looks of it. Nine button frock coat issued to an infantryman, going by the trim." He looked at the girls. "Anything found with it?" he asked.

Daria reached for the satchel. "There's this," she said, handing it to Longstreet. "And this," she continued, picking up the box containing the medal. She handed it to Rawlings, who took it and opened the box.

"Well, well!" he said. "Looks like we've got a tin star winner here." He showed the medal to Longstreet who simply raised his eyebrows.

"'Tin star'?" said Jane. "That's a frikkin' Congressional Medal of Honour!" At that statement, Quinn and Stacy stood up from the trunk and went over to look. Both their eyes widened at the sight of the medal lying in its case.

"Oh, we know what it is, Jane," said Rawlings. "And we're well aware that it was meant for valour on the battlefield."

"The problem," said Longstreet, "is that so many of them were handed out for pretty frivolous reasons during the War, most notably the mass award of eight hundred and sixty-four of them to the Twenty-Seventh Maine in 1863."

"What, they gave them to an entire regiment?" said Jane. Longstreet nodded.

"Turns out that Edwin M. Stanton, the Secretary of War, offered those men of the Twenty-Seventh who extended their enlistments beyond their intended mustering-out date a medal each," he said. "This was during out little trip into Pennsylvania in '63. The unit basically remained in the Washington defences until around the 6^th of July before marching for home." He nodded at Rawlings. "We read all about it in the Yankee papers as well as hearing about it from some pretty disgusted Yankee piquets in Northern Virginia and the Valley."

"We were amused to find out that pretty much the same incident happened in your world during the Gettysburg Campaign," Rawlings said. "Thankfully your government launched a review in 1916 and struck out a lot of those awards. Including, needless to say, the mass award to the Twenty-Seventh Maine. Because there were quite a few brave men who deserved something to recognise their feats."

"Did the South have any medals during the War?" asked Quinn.

"We authorised them in '62," said Longstreet, "but never got around to striking any until after the War. We've got a committee going through the official reports to determine who gets what. We've instituted one called the Southern Cross of Honour, but based the conditions for winning it on those used by the British for their Victoria Cross." He looked at Rawlings. "Shall we see where he got it?" he asked.

"There's an inscription on the back," said Daria. "The name, his unit and the date I think he won it. September 17, 1862."

Both Rawlings and Longstreet shot one another a look. "Sounds like he was at Antietam Creek," Longstreet said. "From all accounts I've read, that fight was nearly as bad as Cacotin Mountain." He opened the satchel. "Let's see if he's got the citation in here." Rawlings handed the medal back to Daria and both he and Longstreet started looking very carefully at the papers.

"Here's his enlistment papers," said Rawlings. His eyebrows rose at what he read. "No wonder he made First Sergeant, Pete," he said. "He did three years' service in the Royal Bavarian Army. Left with the rank of Unteroffizier." He looked up at Longstreet. "You're more familiar with foreign ranks than I am, Pete, but I'm guessing it's some kind of noncommissioned officer."

Longstreet nodded. "It's the equivalent of a corporal," he said.

"Well, he joined Company D, Fifth Pennsylvania as a corporal," said Rawlings, "and was promoted to sergeant not long afterwards. I'd have done the same if I'd had someone like him in the 22^nd Virginia." He read some more. "Looks like the Fifth Pennsylvania didn't see any action, although it was in readiness on the day of First Manassas." He turned over the page. "Ah! Here's some of the answer! He was mustered out in Philadelphia as a Sergeant and re-enlisted in the Eighty-First Pennsylvania at the same rank."

"What company?"

"Company H," Rawlings said. "His combat record's what you'd expect from someone in Richardson's division. First saw action at Fair Oaks. He was then at White Oak Swamp, Malvern Hill, in reserve at South Mountain, wounded at Antietam, wounded again at Fredericksburg, saw further action at Chancellorsville, Gettysburg, Strawberry Plains, Reams' Station, Deep Bottom, Petersburg and Appomattox." He looked at Daria. "Seems he saw quite a lot of the monkey show during your version of the War."

"And he got the tin star for something at Antietam," said Longstreet. The two Confederates leafed through the papers. "Ah! Here's the citation!" He started reading.

"Morgendorffer, Jakob E.

"Rank and Organisation: First Sergeant, Company H, 81^st Pennsylvania.

"Place and Date: At Antietam Creek, 17^th September, 1862.

"Place and Date of Birth: Himmelsfarb, Bavaria, 27^th March, 1826.

"Entered Service: Initially at Huntingdon, Huntingdon County, Pennsylvania in Co. D, 5^th Pennsylvania Volunteers 21^st April 1861. Re-enlisted in 81^st Pennsylvania and assigned to Company H at Philadelphia, September 1, 1861.

"Date of Issue: 31^st December 1863.

"Citation: While suffering two bullet wounds to the thigh inflicted when in front of the Rebel Position in the Sunken Road at Antietam, First Sergeant Morgendorffer refused evacuation to the rear, settling for having his wounds bound up whilst under heavy fire. His example and steadfastness under fire inspired the men of his Company to the faithful execution of their duty.

"Additionally, First Sergeant Morgendorffer further demonstrated his leadership under fire when he spotted and pointed out to his Captain, Thomas C. Harkness, an opportunity to place the Regiment athwart the eastern end of the Sunken Road. His Captain pointed this out to his Commanding Officer, Colonel Charles Johnson, who relayed it to his Brigade Commander and Divisional Commander. As a result, Richardson's Division of the Second Corps, Army of the Potomac, was able to occupy the position and deliver galling enfilade fire onto the Rebel Position, forcing the Rebels to evacuate the position, having suffered heavy casualties. In the process, First Sergeant Morgendorffer suffered an additional wound, which led to his evacuation to the rear for treatment.

"For these Acts of Gallantry Above and Beyond the Call of Duty, First Sergeant Morgendorffer is hereby awarded the Congressional Medal of Honour." Longstreet looked at Rawlings. "Looks like he earned it, Richard," he said.

Rawlings nodded agreement. "Definitely not a tin star in his case." He looked at the trunk. "Wonder if there's a picture of him in there?"

"Only one way to find out," said Quinn. Gently she and Stacy lifted out the tunic and cap, finding another layer of tissue paper underneath. Underneath it was a pair of sky-blue trousers with a dark blue stripe running down the side seam. "Infantry trousers," said Rawlings. "Freshly issued, too." He shot a look at Longstreet. "Think the whole outfit was freshly issued for that parade they had in Washington after their version of the War?" he asked.

"Could be," replied Longstreet.

"What parade?" asked Jane.

"Some time after your version of the War ended," said Rawlings, a victory parade was held through the streets of Washington DC. The units of the Army of the Potomac that took part were issued with new uniforms to make them look good, while Cump Sherman's boys showed the good citizens of Washington what a real army looked like." He and Longstreet exchanged grins. "Sort of what we did in our victory parade in Richmond."

"Wonder what else is in here," said Quinn. "There's something lying underneath this tissue paper." She lifted the paper and, as she did so, her breath caught. Lying crosswise in the trunk was a sword, still in its scabbard, and attached to its baldric. Underneath it was a waist belt with a square buckle.

"Ah!" said Rawlings as she gently lifted the sword out of the trunk. "Looks like they let him keep his NCO's sword." He took it from Quinn and looked at the cross-belt plate. "State issue," he said, drawing the sword and looking at the blade. "So's the waist belt," he said, glancing at it as Quinn took it from the trunk.

Lying underneath them was another uniform. Although it, too, was dark blue, this one had seen a lot of service. Its colour had faded somewhat due to being exposed to the weather. In addition, one arm was stained with some dark material." "Is that...?" said Quinn, who pointed at the sleeve.

Rawlings put the sword down and looked at the tunic. "Dried blood," he said. Pointing at the sleeve he said, "That's been cut away from him. Probably so they could get to the wound to treat it." He gave a sheepish grin. "As I know from personal experience."

Very gingerly, both Quinn and Stacy lifted the tunic out and laid it out on the top of a neighbouring trunk. Underneath it lay another layer of tissue paper. Quinn lifted that out to reveal a blanket. "There's something underneath this blanket," she said, and lifted the blanket out. Underneath the blanket were some framed pictures. "I think we've found some photos." She lifted them out and laid them on top of the blanket.

The frames were typical of the Civil War period. In one frame was the photograph of a man wearing a First Sergeant's uniform, complete with kepi cap, sword and waist belt. The resemblance to Jake Morgendorffer was quite pronounced, but instead of being clean shaven, he wore a chin beard and moustaches. The look in his eyes, however was that of a veteran soldier and, as such, resembled the look in Rawlings' and Longstreet's eyes: of men who had seen too much death in their lives. His carriage, however, was relaxed, yet dignified, and reminded Daria and Jane of Israel Horton, Rawlings' butler at Mount Folly, who had been a Regimental Sergeant-Major in a Confederate coloured regiment.

He was standing next to a piece of furniture, on which he was resting his right forearm. On the front of his coat, worn underneath a button on the left side of his coat, was a medal that clearly was a Congressional Medal of Honour.

"So that's Jakob Morgendorffer," Daria said as she looked at the photograph. "I'd have to say that he looks rather... determined. Not someone to cross lightly."

"How come he's wearing his medal like that?" asked Jane. "Shouldn't he be wearing it on his left breast?"

"We don't have any particular convention for wearing medals, Jane," Rawlings said. "The convention you're familiar with arose much later in your world. We just wear them as we feel comfortable."

"We wear them as we feel comfortable?" Jane looked at Daria and arched an eyebrow. "I think someone has left something else out about his service."

"Oh, has he?" said Longstreet. "Doesn't surprise me one bit." He jabbed a thumb at Rawlings. "This one's a Cross of Honour recipient," he said, grinning at Rawlings' discomfort. "Won it for trying to commit suicide on the battlefield."

"Somehow I'm not surprised," Daria dryly said as she examined her fiancee. She looked again at the photograph of Jakob Morgendorffer. "I wonder what it was like for him?"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Position of the 81^st Pennsylvania Volunteers, Caldwell's Brigade, Richardson's Division, Near the Sunken Road in the vicinity of Antietam Creek, 9:00am, September 17 1862.

First Sergeant Jakob "Dutchy" Morgendorffer drew on his curved-stemmed pipe and looked towards where, moments before, he saw the troops of French's division run into a Rebel force that was hidden in what appeared to be a sunken road that snaked across the centre of the battlefield.

The battle had started at dawn, when he and his fellow Union soldiers in Company H, Eighty-First Pennsylvania Volunteer Infantry, heard a crescendo of shooting come from the right wing of the army and saw clouds of black powder smoke rise from the direction of General Joseph "Fighting Joe" Hooker's wing. "Looks like old 'Fighting Joe' is living up to his nickname, meine Kinder," he had said.

"And it looks like he's run into a whole mess of Rebs," replied a corporal.

Jakob took out his pipe and pointed the end of its stem at the corporal. "And we won't be?" he asked. "Just attend to your duties, remember your training and put your trust in der Alte and the Good Lord."

Many of the soldiers were veterans by now, but they had some new men, or "fresh fish" in the outfit. Not as many as I would like to have, Jakob reflected as he drew on his pipe.

"Old Dutchy" was a reassuring figure to the men of Company H. He seemed so unflappable in combat, of which he had seen his fair share. His officers also felt reassured by his calm presence in the company, but that was mainly because they knew that, not only had he re-enlisted for three years when his original three-month enlistment in the Fifth Pennsylvania had run out, but that he had served in one of the better armies of the German States, that of the Kingdom of Bavaria.

Jakob reflected on when he first joined up to fight the Rebels. He had walked into the local town hall in his home county of Huntingdon to volunteer his services as soon as he had heard they were taking volunteers. The recruiting officer was a young US Army officer who looked as though he had just graduated from the military academy.

"Name?" he had asked.

Jakob immediately braced to attention in the manner he had learned in his three-year stretch in the Royal Bavarian Army: ramrod straight, eyes three inches above the head of the officer in front of him, elbows bent so that the palms of his hands were level with his hips, buttocks tightly clenched. In his mind he could feel the drill sergeant feel his buttocks and growl "Tighter!" His heels sharply clicked as he came to attention, something that caused the bored young officer to raise his head in curiosity.

"Jakob Eduard Morgendorffer, Herr Offizier!" he had barked out.

The officer looked at his posture. "Can you please spell that for me?" he asked. Jakob spelled out his name.

"Prior military service?"

"Three years with the Konigsliche, ah, the Royal Bavarian Army, Herr Offizier!"

"What rank did you leave with?"

"Unteroffizier, mein Herr!"

"Can you please tell me what your duties were in that rank?"

"I was in charge of a sektion, mein Herr!"

"Corporal, then," said the officer, writing that down. "Could you please spell out the rank title?" Jakob did that.

"What unit did you serve with?"

"Erste, ah, First Royal Infantry Regiment, Mein Herr! Konig!"

"I see," the officer said, writing it down. He looked over and waved over a sergeant. "Could you take over here, Sergeant?" he said, standing and collecting his papers. "Mister Morgendorffer, if you could come this way?" He indicated a nearby door.

"As the Herr Offizier wishes!" He followed the officer into what turned out to be an office where several soldiers and civilian clerks were sorting and filing papers.

The officer led Jakob to a desk where another officer sat. He looked somewhat older than the younger man. "Excuse me, sir," said the younger officer, "but I've found this man. He could be of great use to the army President Lincoln's raising to put down the insurrection in the Southern states."

The older officer looked up at the younger man. "So could a lot of other recruits, Lieutenant," he replied. "What makes him so special?"

"He served in one of the armies belonging to one of the German states," the lieutenant replied. He handed the incomplete form to the older officer, who took it and read. As he did so his eyebrows rose.

"Three years in the Bavarian Army? And mustered out as the equivalent of a corporal?" The older officer looked at Jakob, who had assumed his posture. "You were in the King's Regiment, I gather."

"Jawohl, mein Herr!"

The officer eyed Jakob. "We can use experienced corporals," he said. "I'll muster you in and arrange for you to be made a corporal. How'd you like that?"

"As the Herr Offizier wishes!"

The officer shook his head. "We'll have to teach you our rank structure," he said. "For example, I'm" he continued, reaching up to touch his shoulder strap, "a captain and this," pointing at the junior officer," is a lieutenant. Captains command companies."

"Jawohl, Herr Hauptmann! Herr Premier-Leutnant!"

The captain shook his head. "Jim," he said, "could you get this fellow sworn in and finish up his paperwork? I'm thinking that the sooner we get him fitted into our military structure the better."

The lieutenant nodded. "I'll get on it straight away, sir," he replied. Turning to Jakob he said, "Come this way, please," and led him out of the office and into another room.

From there everything had proceeded relatively smoothly. There was a wait for uniforms, something that Jakob found rather inefficient, having been used to the procedures of a major German state's military. In the meantime, however, he not only demonstrated his familiarity with a rifled musket (as well as his proficiency: the Bavarian Army was a pretty good one) but managed to train his section so well that before long he was promoted to sergeant. His platoon, once the uniforms had arrived, was probably the best turned out of the entire regiment. Certainly the best trained.

Soon they were on the march for Washington, entraining at a small college town called Gettysburg (where the railhead had wound up before the start of the war) before arriving by train in Washington DC and being encamped on the broad expanse of the Mall. They missed out on the first big battle of the war and not long after, the regiment's term of enlistment had expired, with the unit travelling to Philadelphia to be mustered out of service.

Jakob could understand why many of the men in the regiment wanted to leave. Military life was harsh and Americans, or so he thought, were not all that amenable to real discipline. Besides, many of them were either small farmers or tradesmen and had to get back to their farms. Jakob was lucky in that not only did he have sons who were old enough to handle much of the farm work, but that his neighbours in the Big Valley (as it was known locally) were Mennonites from Germany, who, while being pacifists, were also good neighbours who had offered to help his wife Hana and his sons run the farm. So he didn't face the same pressures as many of the men from Huntingdon County to return home.

So, when the recruiting people asked if he would re-enlist, this time for three years, Jakob did not hesitate. As an experienced soldier, he was posted as a sergeant to Company H of a newly-formed regiment, the Eighty-First Pennsylvania, which was largely recruited from Philadelphia and the neighbouring counties as a three-year outfit. Here he helped with the training of the unit, and was eventually promoted to First Sergeant or, as he tended to think of it, Feldwebel or Der Spiess, the nickname that was given to Company Sergeant-Majors in the various German armies. Here his efforts to train the company up to what he considered to be an acceptable standard were helped by a leavening of ex-soldiers throughout the whole Regiment with a cadre of Regular Army NCOs spread throughout the outfit. He was also helped by the fact that the new army commander, Major-General McClellan, was determined not to move the army until it was properly trained and ready.

Eventually they did move, but not overland. They moved by sea down Chesapeake Bay to a peninsular in Virginia, where they disembarked and, for several weeks, moved slowly towards Richmond, which was now the Rebel capital. Eventually they soon dug themselves in within earshot of the city's church bells, which they herd ringing constantly, warning the inhabitants of their approach.

The Eighty-First was in position near a small settlement called Fair Oaks Station when suddenly they were attacked by the Rebels. The Rebels managed to get into the fortifications on the left of their brigade, forcing back the division on their left. The regiment was sent in to close the gap and fought hard, distinguishing itself in its first action. It was at Fair Oaks, and in the later engagements of what soon became known as the Seven Days that Jakob, who had long been called "Dutchy" Morgendorffer by his men and NCOs, earned his reputation for steadiness and sang-froid under fire.

After the army had retreated underneath the protection of the ships on the James River several of them had asked him if he wasn't frightened. "Frightened?" he said. "I was terrified!"

"But you look so calm under fire!" replied one NCO.

Jakob shook his head and puffed on his pipe, a sight that had helped steady his men under fire. "Any man who says he isn't frightened when being shot at is either an idiot or a lying fool," he said. "The secret is: attend to your duties, remember your training and put your trust in Die Herr. That is what my old Company Sergeant-Major, meine Spiess, used to tell us young recruits. And he had been taught that by an old veteran who had fought in Napoleon's wars." He sat back and puffed on his pipe. "Besides, die Offizieren have it much tougher than we poor Landser! They have to set an example in courage for all of us!" That gave many of his NCOs, and the officers who had overheard him, food for thought.

Before long the regiment boarded its transports and headed back up the Chesapeake. This was somewhat downheartening for the men, who knew that they had the chance to end the war in their grasp, but had it snatched from them by the Rebels under their new commander, Robert E. Lee, who was beginning to earn the reputation that would make him something of a bogeyman for the North.

They landed at Acquia Creek and marched towards Falmouth, a town they would soon come to know well. However, at Brook's Station the entire column was turned around back towards Acquia Creek, where they once again boarded their transports and sailed back to Alexandria. There they disembarked and marched back to their old campsite overlooking the East Branch of the Potomac and the Washington Navy Yard. After two days they were ordered forward to Arlington, the large mansion that overlooked Washington and which had been the home of the man who now led the Rebel forces in Virginia.

The once impressive house was now a shadow of its former self, having been looted and vandalised in the early days of Union occupation. The main building was now a hospital, while on the flats one could see where there had once been an ornamental forest. The hillside itself was now scarred by field fortifications that had been built to protect Washington from attack from the south.

The regiment had arrived at 2:00am in the morning on the 29^th of August, 1862. After a fitful rest in the open, the regiment was mustered at 10:45. Rumour had it that Federal forces under Major-General John Pope had engaged the Rebels near the old Bull Run battlefield and the regiment was being readied to move out in support. The rumours were confirmed when, at 11:00am, the regiment was put in motion towards Manassas Station, arriving only to act as part of the rearguard for the retreat of Pope's army from that field which seemed to be only one of woe for the Union.

It was the first time many of the soldiers in the regiment had seen retreating troops who looked so whipped. Many of them were walking, heads down. Some had thrown away their rifles, others their packs. All looked dejected. "Was it that big a defeat?" wondered one private aloud.

"They said the thing about Bull Run," Jakob boomed in his deep, carrying voice. "But we recovered from that defeat, and we'll do so again. Remember, I saw the soldiers who retreated from that fight and they were running. These boys aren't." He looked around. "So cheer up! We will whip the Rebs!"

Not long afterwards, as they followed the retreating Army of Virginia, they heard cheering up ahead. "Wonder what's going on?" said one private. As the cheering came towards them they saw a group of officers on horseback riding down the column. At their head was a small, dapper figure on a large black horse.

"It's General McClellan!" said one soldier. "'Little Mac's' here!" The entire regiment broke out into cheers as McClellan rode down the column, hat raised in the air.

Jakob turned towards the private who had wondered aloud about the defeat at Manassas. "See?" he said.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The approach of his captain broke Jakob out of his reverie. "Better get them ready to get up, Dutchy," Captain Thomas C. Harkness, the commander of Company H, said to him. "I think we're going forward shortly." He indicated where a runner was talking to the brigade commander. "I think he's just arrived from the divisional commander."

Jakob braced to attention and gave a butt-salute against his rifle, which was at the "advance arms or "shoulder arms" position. "Jawohl, mein Herr!" he said. By now Captain Harkness was used to Jakob addressing him as mein Herr, understanding that it was something that had been rammed into him by his instructors in the Bavarian Army. He returned Jakob's salute and moved on down the ranks of the company.

Jakob turned around and faced the men. "Sergeants and corporals to me!" he shouted. Immediately the sergeants and corporals got up and headed over to him. "The Captain's just told me we look like moving forward," he said. "So get your men ready to get up and move out at a moment's notice." The sergeants and corporals all nodded and moved back to their positions. He replaced his pipe in his mouth. Noticing that it was out, he took his pipe out of his mouth and reached into a pocket for his tobacco pouch.

"Looks like we're moving forward, eh, First Sergeant?" said a voice behind him. He turned around and saw Second Lieutenant Thomas Morton standing behind him.

"It does look that way, Herr Sekonde-Leutnant," he replied. "The Captain has just told me to get the men ready to move out."

Morton looked towards the firing. "Looks like the Irish Brigade's copping a pasting," he said.

Jakob nodded and continued refilling his pipe. "It does indeed, mein Herr," he said. He finished packing his pipe, replaced his tobacco pouch in his pocket and drew out a box of lucifers. He took one and struck it against the heel of his left brogan and lit his pipe.

Morton looked at Jakob. "Well, I had better be getting to my position," he said. He nodded at Jakob and moved to the rear of the line.

Where all the Leutnants should be in a fight, he thought. He puffed on his pipe and looked in the direction of the fighting. The smoke where French's division was had grown thicker and he could see a steady stream of wounded coming back towards where the surgeons practised their grisly trade.

And I hope I don't wind up needing their services this day, thought Jakob. He puffed reflectively on his pipe.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Ask you somethin' Dutchy?"

Jakob turned in the direction of the voice. "What is it you want to ask, Edward?" he said.

Sergeant Edward Reynolds, one of Jakob's NCOs, said, "How come you're fightin' this war? I mean you no disrespect, Dutchy, but you weren't born here."

"But I chose to come and live here, Edward," Jakob replied. "America has been gut to me and my family."

He shifted his pipe. "I and mein frau, Hana, came to America with only what we could carry and only a few guilden between us. Nevertheless, we managed to find work and, after a few years we managed to go to the Big Valley back in Huntingdon County with our neighbours, some Mennonites from Germany, and got a farm." He puffed on his pipe.

"But you had a chance to go home when your enlistment expired," Reynolds said. "Why didn't you?"

"Back home in Bavaria I would have simply been another peasant working on someone else's land. Here I have my own farm and I can afford to hire others to help me work it." He looked at Reynolds. "That is something that could never have happened for someone like me."

He looked further. "And I think you had better get back to your post," he said, straightening up. "Der Alte must have gotten his orders." Sure enough he could see Colonel Johnson running towards where the company commanders were standing. He stopped, spoke for a moment and the company commanders braced to attention and moved towards their companies.

Captain Harkness came running towards Jakob. "Get 'em up!" he shouted . "Form into column of fours! We're moving out!"

Jakob turned and shouted. "Get up! Sergeants will form company into column of fours! Markers, fall in!" He stood beside Captain Harkness as he watched the sergeants form the company up and take their positions.

Jakob turned and butt-saluted Harkness. "Company ready to move out, mein Herr!" Harkness nodded and took his position in front of the centre of the company column, with Jakob taking his position. Looking over he saw Colonel Johnson standing in his position. Finally the column began moving forward.

Jakob could see that the brigade was moving towards the sunken road held by the Rebels. "Looks like it's our turn, mein Kinder," he said. He began to feel the familiar gut-wrenching sensations of fear build up, but he firmly suppressed them, concentrating on what he had to do.

"And it looks like it'll be pretty hairy," muttered a private. Jakob said nothing.

Soon the column broke into double-quick step, with each man moving at a quick trot. Suddenly the head of the column turned sharply to the right, with the rest of it following. Jakob could see members of the brigade commander's staff standing near where the column had turned, directing the troops to the right. As the Eighty-First Pennsylvania started turning right Jakob could see what was happening: the brigade was deploying well out of effective rifle range (although the occasional minie ball still fell nearby) into line behind the hard-pressed Irish Brigade. The regiment halted and immediately turned into line of battle. Captain Harkness took his position in the line: on the immediate right flank of the front rank, and Jakob slotted himself in behind him. Looking around, Jakob saw that the sergeants and lieutenants had taken their positions behind the rear rank so as to carry out their role as file closers.

He looked ahead of him and saw that the brigade had not just moved in behind the Irish Brigade but had overlapped it somewhat, with about half of the Eighty-First extending beyond it's position, with the Fifth New Hampshire extending the brigade further. He looked at the Irish Brigade and saw that it had indeed been taking a beating in front of the Rebel position.

Suddenly he heard the colonel call out " Forward!" The regiment's captains echoed him.

"March!" As one, the regiment moved forward, heading towards the embattled Irish Brigade.

As they moved forward Jakob kept one eye on the dressing of his company, while he also kept an eye on where they were heading. As they approached the rear of the Irish Brigade he saw that they had started to move backwards, their regiments heading towards the gaps that had opened up in Richardson's line as it moved to take over the position from French's battered division. Many of the Irishmen were walking backwards. So that they won't suffer the shame of being shot in the back as they retire, thought Jakob.

As soon as they had passed the Irish Brigade they came under Rebel rifle fire. They also started coming under Rebel artillery fire. "Hellfire, Dutchy!" shouted a corporal. "This is worse than anything during the Seven Days!"

"Just tend to your duty, Corporal," Jakob growled. He is right, though, Jakob thought as he heard the zip! of Rebel Minie balls fly past and heard artillery rounds crash into the right of their brigade. This is going to be hot work.

Eventually the brigade reached where the Irish had halted and traded fire with the entrenched Rebels. Both the area where they had been and the ground behind it was coated with blue bodies, some of them moaning, others lying with that stillness that comes only with death. Jakob knew that their brigade had left its own trail of bodies behind it. The Eighty-First, however, had not been all that badly affected.

The regiment halted. As one the men raised and fired their rifles at the Rebels, both in the sunken road and in the cornfield behind. Then they started to reload as quickly as possible, with the company commanders and the colonel moving behind the line urging them on. Jakob could see that they had abandoned the idea of neat volleys, concentrating on getting as much lead as possible into the Rebel position. From his position on the right flank of his company he added his encouragement to that of his captain.

Suddenly he felt a massive blow strike his right thigh, followed by an intense burning pain. His leg buckled and, as he went down, he felt something slash across his forehead, releasing a blinding gout of blood. As he hit the ground he hears someone yell out, "Dutchy's down! The First Sergeant's been hit! Get the bandsmen here!"

Jakob reached up to wipe his eyes clear. So this is what it's like to be wounded, he thought as he felt the pain from both his thigh and the gash on his forehead. Not good. He felt hands pick him up and put him behind the firing line, then look at the wound on his forehead.

"You're lucky, First Sergeant," said the bandsman who also doubled as a medical attendant. "Only a gash. The surgeons'll be able to stitch that up without any real trouble." He poured water on the wound, cleaning it and washing the blood out of his eyes. "Here, take a sip of this," he said, handing Jakob a canteen.

Jakob took the canteen, put it to his lips and swallowed. "Gross gut," he said.

The bandsman took back the canteen. "You're welcome," he said. He put a bandage on Jakob's head wound, tying it around his head. Then he took a knife and sliced open Jakob's trouser leg. Looking at the would he said, "It gashed your leg open," he said. "Nothing a few stitches can't fix. But we'll have to have you go back."

"Can I stand?" Jakob asked. "Walk?"

"If you use your rifle as a stick to lean on, sure," said the bandsman.

"Then bind it up and get me on my feet," Jakob said. "Only I stay with mein Kinder."

"You sure about this, Dutchy?" asked another voice. Jakob looked over to see Captain Harkness kneeling beside him. "That's not an inconsiderable wound there."

Jakob waited until the bandsman had bandaged his leg. Then, using his rifle as a prop, he got to his feet. "I would rather stay here and do my duty, mein Herr. Besides, if I let a couple of scratches stop me, what sort of an example do I set them?" Harkness shook his head, but he did not order Jakob to the rear.

Jakob limped along the company's firing line giving encouragement and ignoring the minie balls as they zipped past. Strangely, now that he had been wounded, he felt calm, unconcerned about what might happen to him in the heat of battle, and it was this feeling of calm that enabled him to observe something that would have an effect on the course of the battle.

As he hobbled along the line he suddenly noticed that the Rebel line's cloud of smoke ended quite suddenly, opposite where his regiment had overlapped the position that had been held by the Irish Brigade. In front of his company there was what appeared to him an opening in the Rebel position. He squinted, and saw that there appeared to be a dog-leg in the road where it came up from where decades of wagons and animals had worn the road's surface below that of the surrounding ground. Could it be that the Rebs haven't occupied that spot because it is above the surface? he wondered.

He turned and saw that Harkness had moved closer. "Mein Herr!" Jakob shouted. "Captain Harkness!"

Harkness turned and seeing that Jakob was calling him, hurried over. "What is it, Dutchy?" he asked.

Jakob pointed to where the Rebel line seemed to have ended. "It looks like the Rebs haven't extended their line past that point, mein Herr," he said.

Harkness looked at where Jakob was pointing. "By God, you're right!" he said. He turned to Jakob. "You may have just found us the key to this engagement!" He looked over to where the Colonel was standing. "I'll go and tell the Colonel right now: he might be able to get the news to the brigade commander." He turned and, conscious of Jakob's wound, lightly clapped him on the back. "Well spotted, First Sergeant!" he said and immediately rushed over to one of the second lieutenants. Jakob shrugged and then resumed his hobbling up and down the line, giving encouragement and overseeing his sergeants as they acted as file closers. After a while he heard the sound of horses approaching. He turned and was astonished to see General Richardson, the divisional commander, accompanied by General Caldwell, the brigade commander, quickly dismount and walk up to Captain Harkness.

"General Caldwell tells me that you appear to have found the end of the Rebel line hereabouts," he heard Richardson say to Harkness. "Would you care to point it out to me?"

Harkness walked over to where Jakob stood. "It's over there, General," he said, pointing at the end of the Rebel position. "First Sergeant Morgendorffer here pointed it out to me, and I relayed it to my commanding officer." Jakob felt slightly flushed at being praised by his company commander to the divisional commander.

Richardson looked at Jakob. "He did, eh?" he said. "Good work, First Sergeant! Good work!" He noticed Jakob's bandages. "Badly wounded?" he asked.

Jakob snapped to attention. "Only a couple of scratches, Herr General!" he said. Richardson raised his eyebrows at Jakob's accent, but said nothing.

He turned to Caldwell. "Caldwell, advance your brigade to that spot," he said. "Position the last two regiments across that road and have them pour fire onto the Rebel flank. I"ll have the rest of the division pin the Rebs down in front." He looked at where the end of the Rebel line had been pointed out to him. "By God, I think we can flank those bastards out of that road!" He raced back to where his staff were holding their horses, mounted and raced back to the other brigades of his division.

Caldwell didn't wait. "Where's Colonel Johnson?" he asked.

"The Colonel's down," said one of the regiment's officers. "Major McKeen's got the regiment."

"Tell Major McKeen that on my signal he is to move his regiment in line with the Fifth New Hampshire at that point," Caldwell said, pointing at the end of the road. "He is to wheel into line and flank the Rebs in that road. Got it?"

The officer nodded. "Good, go." Without waiting to see if his order had been obeyed Caldwell turned and issued similar instructions to one of his staff officers, who saluted and raced off towards the Fifth New Hampshire.

Harkness turned to Jakob. "Think you can keep up?" he asked.

"I'll have to, mein Herr," Jakob said. Caldwell overheard this exchange, but chose to ignore it. The staff officers came back, and Caldwell raised his sword, waved it and pointed it forward.

Jakob heard Major McKeen: "The Eighty-First will move forward at the quickstep. Forward, March!" As one the regiment, flanked by the Fifth New Hampshire on it's left flank, moved forward, keeping its alignment perfectly. As soon as they moved the Rebel fire they were taking began to intensify slightly, but not enough to seriously halt the regiment's forward progress. Since they were moving at the quickstep Jakob had no real difficulty in keeping up.

Soon they reached the road. As one the regiment wheeled into line by file and, as each company came into line it started delivering a brisk fire down the flank of the Rebel position. Although the commander of the rightmost company occupying the Rebel line had attempted to refuse his line in an attempt to deny the Union troops an open flank it wasn't enough, and soon the weight of Union fire began to tell as the Rebel position began to disintegrate under the hail of lead. However, as their position fell apart, the Rebels still managed to return fire.

As Jakob hobbled along the line of his company he felt once more a sharp blow to his leg. This time, however, it was his other leg that was hit. As he fell he held out his arms to break his fall, ending up in the dirt of the road. He tried to raise himself up, but this time both legs refused to work and he lay back down on the surface of the road.

A bandsman came up to him and, lifting his head, gave him a sip of water from his canteen. "I think you'll be going back to the rear this time, First Sergeant," he said as he slit Jakob's trouser leg and began to dress the wound.

"I think you may be right," replied Jakob.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Jakob lay back on the straw pallet in the makeshift hospital and tried to tune out the groans from the men surrounding him.

Civil War field hospitals were not the clean, relatively sterile environments that television shows such as MASH has made field hospitals out to be. Rather they were ramshackle, often dark and frequently filthy places where an army's surgeons operated on men who screamed in agony as knives and bone saws either amputated limbs or probes searched for lumps of metal inside wounds and needles sewed flaps of skin and flesh together. Hygiene usually was a bucket of hot water for surgeons to clean their implements in or a bucket of water thrown over a makeshift operating table before the next wounded man was placed on it for a tired and very fatigued surgeon, who frequently used injections of morphine to kill the pain in their weary limbs so that they could operate hours on end, to usually remove shattered limbs. Morphine addiction amongst surgeons was one of the overlooked injuries that resulted from the Civil War. Although painkillers such as morphine and chloroform did exist, they were frequently in short supply, so surgeons operated on wounded men without the benefit of painkillers of any kind, except for perhaps some alcohol in order to get the men so drunk that theoretically they would not feel any pain.

The lack of hygiene showed in Civil War casualty statistics. In the Union Army deaths from disease outnumbered deaths from combat by a ratio of two to one. No accurate figures exist for Confederate deaths.

Jakob was relatively lucky. His wounds, although debilitating, had not sent him under the surgeon's knife. This basically meant that he would keep his legs, but he had to endure the pain as an assistant surgeon first probed the wounds for any metal or cloth fragments that might still be in the wound and then, after dousing his wounds in raw spirit, sewing the gashes in his legs and forehead up without the benefit of any painkillers. Then, after his wounds were rebandaged he was taken outside of the makeshift treatment centre and placed on a thick layer of straw underneath a shadecloth that had been erected in an attempt to keep the sun off the wounded men. Medical orderlies moved amongst the men bringing them drinks of water.

The sounds of battle had died away from the centre of the field sometime after Jakob had been brought to the rear, but at around midday it had flared up to the east, where General Burnside had his wing of the army. It had died away by the late afternoon, and rumour had it that General Burnside had managed to cross the creek and had nearly taken the town of Sharpsburg before being hit in the flank by AP Hill. Now the sounds of battle had died away completely, but still wounded men kept coming into the makeshift hospital.

He heard someone making his way over the straw. "Ah!" said a familiar voice. "I've finally found you!" Jakob turned his head and saw Captain Harkness, showing the stains of battle, standing near him. "Don't move, Dutchy," Harkness said as Jakob made a move to sit up. "You're badly wounded and that exempts you from, well, what you usually do when addressing me."

"Dankeshon, mein Herr!" Jakob said. He relaxed as best he could in the straw. "How did the battle go? Did we win?"

Harkness took off his kepi and sat down next to Jakob. "We took the ground behind the road," he said. "However, General Richardson was forced to halt just beyond that sunken road the Rebs were in." He looked away at a sight only he could see. "God, Dutchy," he said. "That road was a sight no man should be forced to see. The Rebs were lying three deep in places. You could walk all along that road and not put a foot on the road proper, stepping on dead bodies all the while." He looked back at Jakob. "I hear they're calling it the Bloody Lane. Fitting name for it."

"And the Rebs? Did we drive them away?"

Harkness shook his head. "We could have split their centre and come up behind Jackson's command," he said. "General Richardson knew that, and , so I hear, so did General Sumner. They both sent for further reinforcements. However, Little Mac didn't send them. The Rebs are still in Sharpsburg, and it looks like they're digging in."

Jakob looked away. "So we fight again tomorrow?" he asked.

"I'm not too sure the Army's up to it," Harkness said. "Rumour says that we took a pounding driving the Rebs out of their positions. To look at the field in front of the sunken road, well, one could believe it. They're calling this the bloodiest day in the War so far, saying that this fight is worse than Shiloh out West."

Jakob shuddered. "Liber Gott in Himmel," he said. They had read all about "Bloody Shiloh" in the newspapers. To say that this fight was worse than Shiloh... "How are the men taking all of this?"

"Our boys are pretty all right," said Harkness. "General Richardson said that the way we fought made it look like we were on the drill field. But talk to some of the boys from the other units in the Army and, well, they think we may have been whipped. At least we made the Rebs pay this time."

He got up. "Anyway, they tell me that they'll be taking all of the wounded to hospitals in Washington City tonight. So you'll be taking something of a holiday from the War in Washington, getting better. And I think you've earned it.

"Oh, and one other thing: I understand General Richardson and General Caldwell have decided to see if they can get you one of those new Congressional Medals for what you did today: you impressed them both with your courage and steadfastness to your duty today. So guess who has to write up a formal report when he gets the chance to?"

Jakob flushed slightly. "Sorry to put you to such trouble, mein Herr."

Harkness shook his head. "Think nothing of it, Dutchy," he said. "It'd be a pleasure to do it." With that, he walked off, leaving Jakob to mull over his captain's words.

A medal, hein? he thought. I wonder what Hana will make of it?

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Morgendorffer Farm, Present Day.

Daria, Jane and the others sat around the large kitchen table looking at the picture of Jakob Morgendorffer, his Congressional Medal of Honour and his papers, partaking of a pretty extensive hot lunch that Hattie Denton, Rawlings' cook (who had followed Rawlings to Boston claiming that he won't be fed proper if he hired a cook there, although Daria suspected that Israel Horton, Rawlings' butler and a former Regimental Sergeant-Major in a Confederate States Coloured Troops regiment had a hand in that) had prepared. Simon Wallingford, the estate manager at the main Rawlings property of Mount Folly, on the James-York Peninsular (and another Confederate officer) had joined them, as had the servants that Rawlings had brought with him to help with the clearing.

The servants, however, sat together at the far end of the table, apart from the whites. This had disturbed Daria and the others, who saw it as a holdover from the days when the version of the Confederate States of America that Rawlings, Longstreet and Wallingford came from. It also served as a reminder that, no matter how well they were fitting into Daria and Jane's world, there were still some differences that would, on occasion, jump up and hit them full on. "At least we don't segregate blacks and whites, the way that the Southern states in your own past did," said Longstreet when this was brought up. "Besides, it'll take a while for things to change. But we will change things at our own pace, not at that determined by others." Which led Daria, Jane, Quinn and Amy to wonder just what Longstreet and Rawlings were up to.

Now, though, they were all looking at the photo of Jakob Morgendorffer. Daria sat back in her chair as she contemplated the photo, his medal and his papers. "You know, Quinn," she said, "I have an idea that ol' Jakob here might be at the root of the troubles Dad had with Grandpa Morgendorffer." She indicated the photo as she spoke.

"What do you mean?" Quinn asked.

"Well, say that Grandpa Morgendorffer heard stories about Great-great-whatever Grandpa Morgendorffer from his parents, or even his grandparents, who might well have known him while he was alive." She looked at a somewhat sceptical Quinn. "It is possible, given the ages that Civil War veterans in our world lived to. When he went into the Marines he may have felt an impulse to live up to Jakob Morgendorffer's, well, legacy. Or, rather, what he thought was Jakob's legacy. Combine that with the rather combative indoctrination the Marines receive and, well..."

"He may have felt that all the Morgendorffer men would have to live up to Jakob's legacy," Quinn said. "Which may explain in part why he sent daddy to military school, in order to toughen him up. To make him worthy of the Morgendorffer name." She looked at Daria. "But of that's the case, why haven't we heard about Great-great-whatever Grandpa Morgendorffer winning the Congressional Medal of Honour from Daddy?"

"I don't know, Sis," said Daria. "Maybe he didn't know the story because the ol' 'Mad Dog' felt that he didn't need to know it. Which argues that Jakob here may have made him feel somewhat... inadequate." She shook her head. "In any case, we've got to decide what we do with this. I mean, this stuff is to important to be left lying around in a trunk. It deserves to be put on display somewhere."

"Perhaps I may make a suggestion?" said Rawlings. As all turned their attention on him, he continued. "We're having our engagement party at the retirement complex Ruth's moved into. I suggest that we show everybody the photograph and the medal then, tell them where we found it and what else was found with them, and suggest that they be loaned to the Antietam National Battlefield's museum, which, in my opinion, would be the appropriate place to display them."

Daria thought about Rawlings' suggestion. "Not a bad idea, Richard," she said. She looked at Quinn. "What do you think?"

"I think that's a great idea, Daria," she said. "Besides, we might find out if Grandma Morgendorffer knows anything about Jakob."

"All right then. That's what we'll do."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Community Centre, Golden Acres Retirement Complex.

The community centre at the retirement complex Ruth was now living in was fairly well appointed, with comfortable chairs, tables, a kitchenette and a couple of wide-screen TV sets. In one of the large rooms a spread had been laid out on several tables that had been joined together to make a series of buffet tables where the guests could browse through the finger foods available.

They had just cut the cake that had been baked to celebrate their engagement, using a genuine officer's sword that Rawlings mentioned had been carried in the Civil War by his "relative." Daria, however, suspected that it was his sword, and possibly the one he had carried as a colonel in the 22^nd Virginia Battalion during the Peninsular Campaign and The Seven Days back in his world. Now everyone who had been invited to the party stood either congratulating Daria and Rawlings or making small talk amongst themselves. Jodie and mack were talking to Tom and Elsie Sloane, while their parents made small talk with Ruth, Jake and Helen. Tess Barksdale, along with Rita, Erin and her husband, Brian, were talking with Amy and Longstreet, while Jeb Stuart and his wife, Flora Cooke-Stuart, stood listening and joining in with "family reminiscences", as they put it, of William Barksdale. Much to Amy's relief, the Stuarts had chosen to come in Jeb's Jaguar rather than on their matching customised Harley-Davidsons.

Both Daria and Jane were fascinated, though, by a fourth figure, who stood a little of to one side. He was tall, and while he was not handsome in the classic manner that Rawlings was, he would have stood out in any crowd. Like the rest of the antebellum Southerners that had entered their lives recently, he wore his manhood in a way that declared that he felt no need to prove his masculinity to anyone, least of all, himself. Like the others he wore facial hair but in his case it was a well-trimmed beard that was dark in colour, matching his equally dark hair. He also bore himself with an air of aristocratic dignity that was even more refined that Rawlings' own bearing. Yet, he seemed somewhat shy around women, preferring to stand off to one side and watch the proceedings.

Quinn came over to where Daria and Rawlings. "Who's that really handsome guy over there, Richard?" she asked, pointing at the fellow. "He looks rather... lonely."

"That's George Washington Custis Lee, Quinn," Rawlings said. "An Old Army friend of mine and my best man." He winked at Quinn. "One of those Lees," he said.

Quinn gave Rawlings a look that said she understood what he meant by both the Old Army and those Lees references. "Is he?" she said. "How so?"

"Eldest son," he replied. "However, he isn't exactly what one would call a social butterfly." He looked at Quinn. "He could benefit from someone going over and engaging him in some small talk. Someone who is, shall we say, aware that he can't really talk to all that many people around here."

"Gotcha," Quinn said. She looked around. "I suppose I had better go over and keep him company, then." She looked at Rawlings. "You don't mind, do you?"

"I think it could well be good for him, Quinn," Rawlings said. "He does need to relax more around the womenfolk." Quinn gave a small smile and wandered over to where Custis Lee was standing and began to engage him in small talk.

Daria gently elbowed Rawlings. "I thought you said he was a friend, Richard," she said.

Rawlings looked down at Daria. "He is," he said. "And he needs to unbend a little around women." He leaned over to whisper, "Personally I think it's the effect his mother and father had on him."

"I take it his mother's pretty formidable?"

Rawlings nodded. "Both Mary Custis Lee and the Old Man can be like that," he said. "And in the Old Man's case, he usually doesn't know he has that effect on people."

"I see." Looking over Daria could see that Quinn had gotten the somewhat taciturn Southerner to begin to unbend somewhat. "Must be pure hell, living up to the reputation his father's going to leave behind him."

"I think Custis needs to start being his own person, and not his father's son," Rawlings said. "And Quinn may well help him with that."

"So it looks like you're trying to stick me with a Lee as a brother-in-law," Daria said, watching the interaction between Custis Lee and Quinn. Then she smirked. "Mind you, it could be amusing seeing how Mom and Dad cope when they find out who the in-laws are." She frowned slightly. "But I thought the Lees were not all that wealthy. They might find it difficult to keep Quinn in the fashion she's kind of become accustomed to."

"The Lees got a pretty decent compensatory package from the US Government in my world for damages incurred when the North occupied several of the Custis properties," Rawlings whispered. "It helped pay for the renovations to Arlington and the rebuilding of White House. I've also had some of my men of business give some investment advice to the Lees, and I know that Wade Hampton's been doing the same." He leaned in closer. "In fact, myself, Wade Hampton and some others have put together a fund to purchase and restore Stratford Hall, the Old Man's birthplace, plus the surrounding estate, in order to give to him as a gift from a grateful nation when he leaves office."

Jane, who had come over, overheard the last remark. "Is that what that message you received at Mount Folly was about?" she said. "That's a really nice gesture, Richard!"

Rawlings shrugged. "It was inspired by Mount Vernon here," he replied. Suddenly he looked over to where a couple of attendants were setting up an easel with a covered frame on it. "Ah!" he said. "It's arrived."

"What's arrived?" asked Jane. Looking over, she noticed the easel. "Is that...?"

Rawlings nodded. "And I think that's our cue," he said. He led Daria out in front of the easel. Turning, he cleared his throat. "May Im have you attention, please?" he said.

The hubbub died down as people turned to look in Rawlings' and Daria's direction. "First of all," Rawlings began, "on behalf of both myself and my lovely fiancee, I would like to thank all of you for attending this little soiree. Initially we were looking at having it either at Jake and Helen's residence in Lawndale or at Mount Folly, but we decided to have it here in deference to Ruth's condition. So, once again, an not just on our behalf, but also on behalf of Jake, Helen and Ruth, I thank you all for coming.

"Recently I, and one of my friends were helping Daria and her family clear out the Morgendorffer family farmstead up in Western Pennsylvania. During this we came across something that was of great importance not only to the Morgendorffer family but also of importance to the history of this nation." He indicated a spot in front of the easel. "Jake, if I could trouble both you and Helen to bring Ruth here?" he asked. Both Jake and Helen looked at one another as they helped Ruth to the spot indicated.

James Longstreet and Amy were standing there, Longstreet with a chair ready to receive Ruth. "Thank you, James," Ruth said as she sat down in it.

"Glad to be of service," the Georgian said. They all turned their attention to Rawlings.

Rawlings turned to Daria. "If you could do the honours?" he asked, giving a little bow as he did so.

Daria reached over and grabbed the cover. "Ladies and gentlemen, may I introduce you to First Sergeant Jakob Eduard Morgendorffer, Company H, Eighty-First Pennsylvania Volunteer Infantry and winner of the Congressional Medal of Honour?" she said as she drew the cover off.

Everybody crowded around the easel. There they saw the photograph, or, rather, a restored copy of the photograph they had found in the attic of the Morgendorffer family homestead. Underneath it was a label identifying Jakob Morgendorffer, with his date of birth, his death and a brief biography that Daria had managed to piece together from not just Jakob's personal papers but some other documents she had found with them. Underneath that was a small square of infantry blue velvet, to which was attached Jakob's Congressional Medal of Honour and beneath that was a copy of the citation.

Everybody looked at Jake, Helen and Ruth. All three of them had looks of astonishment on their faces. Ruth in particular sat there with one hand resting on her chest. "Good Lord!" she said. "That's old Dutchy Morgendorffer!" She looked at her granddaughter. "You found that in the attic?"

"We found the original photograph, plus the medal and some other things, in a chest in the attic," Daria said. "The original photograph is in an acid-free envelope that Tom Sloane gave us. He also took us to a place where they managed to restore the photograph professionally and printed off this copy. We have a copy on a mini CD-ROM, as well as copies of all his documents."

Tom nodded. "I showed the photo to some of my lecturers in photograph conservation and restoration and they have attributed it to Matthew Brady's studio in Washington DC," he said. "Quite possibly he had it taken the day he got his medal."

Helen looked over to tom. "Thank you, Tom," she said. She frowned slightly in concentration. "But why 'Dutchy?' I thought the Morgendorffer family were German in origin, not Dutch."

"We are, Mom," Daria said. "'Dutch' was the term native-born Americans of the period used to describe Germans, basically because the word Deutsche, as pronounced in some Low German dialects, sounds like Dutch to English speakers' ears."

"I see." Helen looked at Ruth. "I take it you knew about Jake's ancestor, Ruth?"

"Only what I heard people say in the district, Helen," Ruth said. "He was quite well known in the Big Valley back home. People said that he could be slightly standoffish, but put that down to his being German. Otherwise they said he was one of nature's gentleman, always good with children, always happy to help out his neighbours. Nathan's grandparents spoke of him quite often, as he lived to be a fair old age." She looked at the photo. "I knew he had served in the Civil War, but nothing about this!"

Daria nodded. "Somehow I suspect Grandpa Morgendorffer may have known," she said. "It may explain just why he was so... strict with dad. He may have felt that they all had to live up to Jakob Morgendorffer's legacy."

Ruth nodded. "That might explain some things," she said.

Daria turned to Jake. "Dad?" she asked. Jake said nothing, but simply stared at the photo.

After a while he spoke. "You think he was responsible for what my father did?" he said.

"Not him directly, Dad," Daria said. "Just all the stories people may have told about him and the indoctrination the Marines tend to get during their training. Though it does seem surprising that Grandma Ruth didn't know about him winning the Congressional Medal of Honour."

"From what I know about Dutchy," Ruth said, "he really didn't talk all that much about his part in the War. Wasn't all that active in their veterans' association, either. All he wanted to do was get back to the farm."

"Well, we showed the people in Veterans Affairs Jakob's papers, as well as his citation," said Rawlings. "They were quite astonished to find an unknown Medal of Honour winner from the Civil War, but not surprised."

"'Astonished, but not surprised'," Helen said. "Why was that?"

"Their list of Medal of Honour winners was compiled from 'some old documents that had been lying around the old War Department building'," Daria said. "So they were not all that surprised to find they had overlooked Jakob. They're going to put a headstone with a copy of the Civil War era Medal of Honour engraved into it at his grave in Huntingdon County, and want to know if the family will be there."

Helen looked at Jake and Ruth. "I think we can make time to be there," she said.

"I managed to get in touch with a group of Civil War reenactors who recreate the Eighty-First Pennsylvania," Rawlings said. "They said that they'd be honoured to attend." He looked at Helen, Jake and Ruth. "I would also like to suggest that the family put the medal, as well as Jakob's uniforms and accoutrements on display as a long-term loan at the Antietam National Battlefield museum, since that's where he won it."

"That's not a bad idea, Richard," said Helen. She turned to Jake and Ruth. "Jake? Ruth? What do you think of Richard's suggestion?"

Ruth looked up from the photo. "I think that's a marvellous idea, Helen," she replied. "We should go ahead and do it." She looked at Jake. "Jake, honey? What do you think of Daria and Richard's idea?"

"I think it's a great idea, Mom." He looked at Rawlings. "I take it that we can't get a replica of his medal so that the family can hang this in, say, the living room back home?"

Rawlings shook his head. "Not from my reading of the act governing United States medals and awards," he said. "But I think we could have a good quality photographic reproduction of the medal done for what you suggest." He looked at Jakob's photo. "Believe me, he is most definitely someone the Morgendorffer family should be proud of." Longstreet and Stuart both nodded.

Daria, listening to what her fiancee was saying, and witnessing Longstreet and Stuart's nods of agreement, felt a sudden welling of a strange emotion inside her. This had taken her by surprise, and she wondered what this strange feeling was. Then it hit her: she was feeling proud of her ancestor. Proud that he had elicited such responses from men who, she realised, may well have fought against their version of Jakob Morgendorffer in their world, and who acknowledged him as a worthy opponent. And considering just who two of these three men are, that's quite an achievement, she thought as she took hold of Rawlings' arm and smiled up at him. "Thank you," she said. She looked at Longstreet and Stuart. "All of you: thank you for saying that."

Longstreet held up a demurring hand. "Only saying the truth," he said. Stuart grinned and nodded.

And having two of the Army of Northern Virginia's senior leaders... no, make that three, counting Richard, saying that my ancestor is a hero... well what does one say to that? Daria said nothing, but simply smiled.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The graveyard was now silent. The dignitaries and the people who had come to witness the rededication of an overlooked hero's grave had all dispersed. The honour guard from the recreated Eighty-First Pennsylvania, along with a colour-guard from a unit of the Pennsylvania National Guard that traced its ancestry back to the Eighty-First, had departed. Only the members of the Morgendorffer and extended Barksdale families, along with one other, remained at the graveside. They were, however, not alone.

Standing off to one side stood a figure. He was dressed in the weathered and patched uniform of a Union Army First Sergeant. As he stood there watching the people at the graveside he puffed meditatively on a curved stemmed pipe of the type that was associated with Germans. Although he was standing in the open he could not be seen by those who stood at the graveside.

Suddenly he turned around. Walking towards him he saw a couple that bore a marked resemblance to one couple who stood at the graveside. The female wore a long green dress with matching jacket and boots, while her tall companion wore the uniform of a Confederate colonel. They came up to where the Union NCO stood and halted alongside him, giving him a nod in greeting, to which he replied with a not and a waving salute with his pipe. Together, they watched the group slowly walk away from the grave.

The Confederate officer suddenly turned and held out his hand to the Union sergeant. After a brief pause the Union sergeant took it and shook the Confederate officer's hand. Then, he released it and, drawing himself up to attention, saluted the Confederate, who returned the salute. Then, he indicated that the Union sergeant should accompany himself and his companion. Together, all three walked in the direction indicated, slowly fading away, and leaving the graveyard to slumber in the pale winter sun.

Fin.