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    Pepper Pyle
    Pepper Pyle
    Pepper Pyle
    Ebook109 pages1 hour

    Pepper Pyle

    By Robert Hatting

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    About this ebook

    Civil war hero, richly historical details, and unique story.

    The role of a writer is to bring the accounts of the unsung heroes to the public. Here is the one such a Civil War hero, Colonel Willard Pyle presumably killed or captured in Lordsburg massacre. 

    Since his body was never found, the Union officers of the 'Repudiated Command' deemed him a deserter and placed a bounty on his head. Since he had been an officer in the Confederate Army, the reward for his kill or capture was substantial.

    One Galvanized Yankee against all odds never gives up –neither in battle nor in life. 

    After an unexpected attack, Pyle gambled a peek around and only saw the bloating bodies of his squad, the coolies they were escorting, and low flying circle of vultures anticipating a feast. He was able to stand with the assistance of the girl and the boulder. 

    He needed to find a water and a shelter. For himself and for his only companions – two women and one old China man and a girl who looked like 12 years old Apache kid. He knew if he was to track the attacker down, she would have to come along. 

    Robert Hatting brings this little known but extraordinary story with an authenticity of its time and in rich details known just for a few. 

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherBlair Pacific Publishing
    Release dateNov 2, 2018
    ISBN9781386130284
    Pepper Pyle
    Author

    Robert Hatting

    Born in Seattle, raised in numerous locales during his youth; including many years in the Panama Canal Zone, and on his grandfather’s ranch in eastern Oregon, Hatting was worldly and rural, bilingual, and developed the ability to observe and record at an early age. He also developed a strong work ethic and bravery beyond his years. He was a gifted athlete and an above average student. Moving often because of his father’s profession, he had to adapt quickly and positively. Plus he was often called upon to defend himself, so his martial arts skills were honed in reality — not in some gym (Being a new kid in school was a constant and often bloody challenge). Rob Hatting’s novels have been read by thousands around the world.  Rob writes from experience — his locales are actual places — described true-to-form; his characters are depictions or amalgamations of real people and his stories are grounded in reality. The underpinning of each novel is the base character of the writer. An adventurer by nature, his experiences range from that of a cowboy, rancher, deep-water sailor, professional diver, rodeo performer, businessman, auctioneer, pilot, trucker, knife maker, horse-trader, commercial fisherman, beach bum, and inventor. Each craft and adventure has given him a myriad of experience from which to write.  He can pilot a plane, drive most anything with wheels, and captain/pilot a ship. He boxed, rodeoed, and competed in numerous team and individual sports. Hatting spent two tours in Vietnam as a brown shoe, (civilian contractor) ten years as a computer salesman with NCR, and has bought and sold over forty businesses throughout the world (eight were weekly newspapers, four were knife manufacturers,...). Rob attended Western College of auctioneers in 1977 to augment his business and journalism degrees from OSU; using his creativity as a ‘turn-around’ specialist. His personal adventures morphed into novel writing while working on the Alaska Pipeline in 1975. His first novel was published in 1978; his second in 1981. He wrote and published several each decade and currently has twenty-one fiction, three non-fiction, and six screenplays available to his credit.  Rob became a full-time expatriate in 2003; Mexico, Costa Rica, and finally Panama for over a decade. He moved to the Philippines in 2015 where he currently resides.

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      Book preview

      Pepper Pyle - Robert Hatting

      Prologue

      During the civil war many captured southern soldiers and officers were released to serve in the Union Army as infantry soldiers and posted only in the west to help with the Indian hostilities. They were referred to as Galvanized Yankees.

      One such man captured was Colonel Willard Pyle, a former Texas Ranger who had enlisted in the Confederate Army. He was captured along with six of his men and served a year in the POW prison in Rock Island, Illinois. During that year of incarceration, he planned and orchestrated the only mass escape from the infamous Rock Island prison. Pyle colluded with the escapees and covered their escape. He was given a choice — face a firing squad or transfer his allegiance and become a Yankee soldier. Pyle opted to become a Galvanized Yankee and was assigned to a company in Arizona territory and later to a command post in New Mexico Territory. He was an able and courageous soldier and his superiors soon recognized his leadership abilities. They advanced him — first to corporal, then to sergeant, and then to master sergeant.

      While imprisoned in Rock Island, Pyle had arranged for some hot peppers to be smuggled into the camp to fight scurvy. They called him Pepper and the moniker stuck with him throughout his service to the Union army. Pepper served two twenty-four month additional hitches and then disappeared a few months before the termination of his third enlistment. He was presumed killed or captured at the Lordsburg massacre. Since his body was never found, the Union officers of the ‘Repudiated Command’ deemed him a deserter and placed a bounty on his head. Since he had been an officer in the Confederate Army, the reward for his kill or capture was substantial.

      Book 1

      Chapter 1

      It didn’t take me long to size up the Lieutenant. He was green as grass but thought he knew everything. Gad, I detested those clowns they send from the academy. His logic was like that of a mule.

      Sergeant, load those coolies that can’t walk into the supply wagon, he ordered.

      I pointed to the wagon. Already accomplished, Sir, I replied. Only six can’t walk. Everyone else is fit to make the trek to the mines.

      He began walking toward me leading his horse. It was typical. He was supposed to lead, not mess with details. That was my job.

      I don’t need the details, Sergeant. Just do as you’re ordered, He barked as he approached me.

      Since I only had three months left on my enlistment, I decided to push back at the young officer.

      I understand my job, Lieutenant. I’m not sure you know yours. Just climb on that horse and lead us outta here. My men and I can handle the rest, I shouted so my men could hear.

      I knew he said something but I didn’t understand. A hail of gunfire and the shot that tore off my left hand was all my ears heard before I slumped to the ground in extreme pain. I witnessed many of my men die without returning fire. We had been ambushed so I scrambled for cover behind a boulder. The Chinese scattered like quail and several of the elders and one youngster crabbed toward the big rock. The Chinese youth picked up my hand, and then wrapped her scarf around my wrist in tourniquet fashion.

      I expected more gunfire but the only sound I heard was the pounding of my heart. The little China girl was still holding my hand and was attempting to attach it to my bleeding stob. Smashing the mutilated appendage into my flesh was excruciating but I managed to push her away without hurting her or exposing me to whomever had ambushed us.

      It won’t grow back, throw it away, I instructed through my gritted teeth.

      An older China lady tried grabbing the youth to protect her – the girl resisted and clung to my arm. My mutilated left hand flew out of sight as the little one crawled closer and pulled the scarf tighter. The girl and the Granny were shouting at one another but I couldn’t understand their gibberish. I held the pain in contempt as I peered around the boulder to see who was shooting at us. The little one held on tight and tried to pull me back to the safety of the rocks. Once again, the older woman reached for the child.

      So far, there were only rifle shots and they were sporadic; like only two or three people attacking. The distinctive reports of the .30-.40 Krag, the infantry weapon issued to my men, were silent. No one in my squad was firing back. Then I heard the same sound that had blown off my hand — the distinctive report of a buffalo gun — a big caliber—Sharps .50.

      There must be a white man shooting at us, I mumbled to no one in general.

      I know, said the young Chinese girl. I saw him when we were helping my grandfather into the wagon, she reported in perfect English.

      I was shocked. This small Chinese youth was speaking like a refined lady. That impression faded when the report from the buffalo rifle sounded again. The young woman screeched but held my tourniquet tight. She witnessed her grandmother bleeding out from the large wound in her chest. She sobbed and held my arm. My only people are now gone, she sobbed.

      I wasn’t sure we would survive. We hugged the boulder as the heat of the afternoon bore upon our parched bodies. No other shots were fired and it appeared as though our attackers had left. As the shadows of late afternoon lengthened, I gambled a peek around the boulder and only saw the bloating bodies of my squad, the coolies we were escorting, and low flying circle of vultures anticipating a feast.

      I was able to stand with the assistance of the girl and the boulder. I propped myself against the boulder and took stock of the situation. My left arm was throbbing but the tourniquet kept me from bleeding to death. The girl loosened it as we both inspected the damage. I was surprised the teenage girl didn’t approach her grandmother or her grandfather who was slumped over the sideboard of the wagon. She glanced toward the body her grandmother a couple of times but seemed to be more intent on my wound. I nodded toward the body of the old woman.

      She is gone and we are alive. I am sad but I had promised not to grieve for the old ones. What do we do now? She asked as she wrapped part of my neckerchief around the wound.

      I pondered her question as I took mental inventory of my squad and the coolies we had been charged to escort. My squad was dead, their bodies stripped of weapons and some clothing. Since we were infantry, only five horses had been stolen; the Lieutenant’s mount and the wagon team. I scanned the hills for any evidence of our enemy before I took several steps toward the Lieutenant. Since there was no mutilation of the bodies, I assumed the attackers had been Comancheros; renegades from various tribes plus Mexican bandits that had banned together with a rogue white man. Comancheros dealt in captives; mostly women and children that had been captured by the tribes, traded to the Comancheros, and ultimately sold to rich Mexican overlords south of the border. Being captured by the Comancheros and sold as slaves was worse than death at the hand of the Apaches.

      The young Chinese girl finally stood in front of me, waiting for an answer. Her facial expression brought me out of my reverie. I was about to answer when movement near the dry wash caught my eye. I reached for my pistol but it remained holstered as the girl placed her hand on the leather flap. Two Chinese women and a man emerged from the wash and began walking our way. The four Chinese began jabbering in their language. I didn’t

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