Liam O'Conell sat at the end of the long empty dining room table,
sipping hot black coffee, the Chicago newspaper spread before him as he
read the lists of the wounded and dead, five pages of fine type - to many,
just names, to him, names he knew. Many had passed through his doors of the
recruitment office. Young lads full of life, ready to go and fight for their
Uncle Sam. Now many would be coming home on trains in pine boxes to be
claimed by loved ones or buried on the battlefields where they took their
final breath of air. He picked his cup up again and brought it to his lips
as he sipped the hot black brew, then he folded the paper and laid it aside.

        "Good morning, Mr. Liam! What can I get you for breakfast this
morning?" asked a slender lady with graying hair tied in a bun.

        "Good morning, Annie. Well, let's see, some hot biscuits and fried
ham would be nice, along with some eggs. Just make sure you cook plenty as
I got three hungry boys sleeping upstairs in one of the spare bedrooms."

        She smiled, "Yes, sir, I saw the mess those boys made in the water
closet last night, but I am sure it was the first real bath they have had
in ages with real soap and hot water."

        "True, my dear lady, so true. I guess I should head upstairs and
awaken the little devils so I can get them ready to depart south for
Cairo."

        Annie detected sadness in Liam's voice as he spoke the last words
about the boys' departure. She prayed that Liam and his wife would have a
2nd child, a son this time, for she could see in his face what a joy it was
for him to be around the lads at work and helping the youth of Chicago.

        Liam stood and walked out of the dining room into the living room,
then began to walk up the stairs when there was a loud knocking on the front
door. He headed toward the front of the house and to the door.

        He turned the knob after unlatching the chains and removing the iron
bolt that held the door firmly locked from the inside.

        A messenger stood on the steps, dressed in a dark blue army uniform,
his cap pulled tightly over his ears and his jacket collar pulled up tightly
around his neck to block as much of the cold air as possible.

        "Telegram, sir!" and the soldier saluted.

        Liam saluted back. "Thank you and please come inside to warm
yourself."

        "Thank you, sir." The soldier followed Liam inside and over to the
fireplace where the fire burned brightly, giving off welcome warmth from the
cold outside.

        "Liam unfolded the thin sheet of paper in which the message was
written.

TO: QUARTERMASTER LIAM O'CONELL, CHICAGO, IL
FROM: A. LINCOLN, WASHINGTON CITY

Quartermaster O'Conell, it displeases me to hear of what happened while
three of our fine boys were being examined for enlistment to the service of
our country. I will be frank with you. I agree to the placement of the
Doctor in confinement in Fort Dearborn but I would like to make a suggestion
as a lesson to all of our Doctors working in our service. You may, under my
direct orders, have the Doctor Watson put to death by firing Squad at noon
today. I be damned if he deserves a court martial.
A. LINCOLN

        Liam let out a low whistle as he refolded the paper. The private
looked at him but did not say a word. It was none of his business when some
one was dispatched a message he just delivered them. "Private, follow me,
please."

        Liam walked toward one of the doors leading out of the living room
and opened the door. They walked inside. The small office was warm but not
overheated. A small fire was kept burning in the small room during the day,
in case someone needed to use the big desk to write or if Patrick came home
early from his office in the Illinois Central Station.

        Liam sat down behind the big desk and pulled out a white sheet of
paper. He wrote several paragraphs and then folded the telegram inside and
placed it in an envelope, then sealed it with a dose of wax, then he stamped
it with the family seal and addressed it to Commander Russell at Fort
Dearborn. "Private, make sure this reaches the desk of Commander Russell
at Fort Dearborn before the 11 o'clock hour of today!"

        "Yes, sir!" The private saluted. "Anything else, sir, before I take
my leave to deliver your dispatch?"

        "No, Private, that is all! Thank you for asking and your quickness
on bringing the dispatch to me. You and thousands others are what we need to
win this bloody war."

        Liam stood and shook the private's hand, then saluted. The private
saluted again and walked out of the office and down the hall. Liam heard the
front door being closed as the private closed it and walked to his waiting
mount. The soldier mounted his horse and galloped down the drive and onto
Michigan Ave.

        Liam walked back out of the small office and reclosed the door. Then
once more he turned and began to climb the stairs.

        Davie, John, and Ernest all were deep into their dreams still, warm
and comfortable under the thick blankets of the big bed and the soft
goosedown pillows below their heads. They did not hear Liam when he opened
the door and walked into the bedroom. Liam looked over at the big bed and
the three sleeping boys. What a peaceful sight, the three with their arms
wrapped around each other, Davie in the center with his two young charges,
holding them tightly while they slept. If only he had a way to capture this
moment in time forever. Liam stood there and looked down on the boys for
what seemed the longest time, but it was in reality only a brief moment. He
walked over to the big window and pulled back the curtains, letting the soft
light of the morning sunshine into the room and onto the boys. Then he
noticed for the first time Davie in this new light and how the boy's red
hair shone in the light, a little long, reaching the nape of his neck, but
the curls and the brilliance of the dark red really stood out on the white
pillow and the boy's milky white skin.

        He quietly clicked open his gold pocket watch to look at the time -
7:30 am, time to get the lads dressed and ready for breakfast. Annie would
be wondering about the delay, since it had been over an hour since he told
her what to prepare.

        "Davie, John, Ernest, time to get up, sleepy heads. It is a new
day, my boys, and a what grand day to start your new adventure." He popped
John and Ernest lightly on their behinds to get them to begin to stir.
 

        The three yawned and Ernest sat up, looking confused at first at
where he was. Then he smiled at Liam, "Good morning, sir."

        "Good morning, Ernest, my lad. Wake the other two up, will ya. Looks
like my slap on the rump worked only once out of two."

        Ernest smiled, then he started to shake Davie awake and his brother.
"Come on and wake up. No sleeping while on duty," and he giggled.

        Davie yawned again and slowly opened his eyes, then they popped
open when he saw Liam laughing at Ernest as he was shaking the two other
boys. John finally woke up, yawning and stretching, and he threw the covers
back, exposing all three of their chests and stomachs. Liam just winked
when John realized they were not alone in the room and tried his best to
cover back up.

        "No, no, my boyo, you're not covering back up. Time to get dressed,
and remember, there are no secrets in the Navy."

        John peeked from beneath the covers. "Umm, SIR, we're naked!"

        Liam laughed, "My boyo, you were naked yesterday, remember? I don't
think Davie has forgotten that already."

        Davie blushed, "Yeah, I got shot at while naked. I don't think I
could forget that." Then he laughed.

        Davie said, "All right, time to get up," and he pulled the covers
off the two brothers and himself and climbed out of bed. His penis, in the
standard fashion of a seventeen-year-old, stood out like a battering ram on
an ironclad. All 8 inches of uncut manhood flapped as he walked over to the
table and bent over to pick up his duffel bag, exposing his smooth ass
cheeks to Liam and the brothers. Liam tried hard not to stare at the perfect
mounds of milky white flesh exposed to him, the spots where the splinters of
wood had pricked them shone like little red freckles. The two brothers
noticed Liam and smiled at each other. "Umm, Davie, you better protect your
hindquarters!" giggled John.

        Liam looked over at John and smiled at him. Davie had picked up the
blue underwear and socks and he smiled too at Liam. "Liam can look, he is a
good guy." Liam broke into a smile.

        "Thanks, Davie, my lad."

        "No, thank you, sir, for everything you have done for us. It really
means a lot to us poor boys. Most others would not have cared if we were
clean and had a good sleep. They would just have stamped their paperwork
and continued on."

        Liam stood there for a moment speechless. "Thank you, Davie, for
those kind words of thanks. They mean a lot to me." The boys had dressed
while listening to Davie and Liam speak to each other as friends and not as
a high ranking officer and a midshipman. They tied their shoes and brushed
their jackets, then all walked out of the room together, headed for the
breakfast table. The three stopped in front of a large mirror hanging on
the wall right outside the room. Their reflections in the glass caught
their attention and the three turned to look at themselves. Gone were the
dirty, messy hair and the tattered street clothes. The three faces staring
in the mirror were those of three handsome boys going off to war, their
blue uniforms' clean brass buttons shining, their sailors' caps perched on
their heads. Dark brown hair flowed from beneath two, with crimson red out
from under the third, US Navy printed in gold on the black band that
circled the dark blue caps.

        Liam stood back and looked and smiled as these boys saw themselves
for the first time as more than poor Irish and street orphans. The pride
shown in the faces, the eyes, and in their standing like they were kings of
their own destiny, and for the first time they were. Then he walked up
behind them and stood as he placed his hands on John and Ernest's shoulders
and smiled with these three lads. He stood like a proud father, tall and
erect, beard and mustache neat and trim, his large wide-brimmed officer's
hat on his bright red hair. "My lads, there is going to be a special stop
before I see you off on your train south, and that is a photographic studio.
I want my own photo of my special boys so I can place one here at home and
one on my desk. I never have seen such a proud bunch since this damned war
started."

        "Now, my band of brothers, let's go and have breakfast."

        The three boys looked at Liam and smiled, then Davie asked, "How
did you know we adopted each other as brothers?"

        "Well now, my laddies, if one could not see the bond between the
three of you, that person is blind." He slapped the boys on their backs,
"Shall we dine now?"

        "Yes, father."

        Those two words hit Liam like a cannonball. Then, in amazement,
the three boys looked and saw a tear forming in Liam's eyes. The three
hugged him tighter and closer as if he really was. "Thanks, lads. Come on,
Annie is waiting for us."

        They walked down the stairs and entered the large dining room.
Annie heard them and walked out from the kitchen. "Ahh, there is my band of
soldiers and sailors, then the big man of the house, Mr. Liam," she smiled.

        "Now, if you will excuse me, I will return with breakfast for you
gentlemen."  Annie walked back into the kitchen, soon returned with a fresh
pot of hot coffee and 4 clean mugs on a large silver tray. Annie set the pot
of coffee on a tile and then sat a clean mug in front of each of them, then
she sat a bowl of sugar and a small container of fresh cream on the table.

        Annie then turned and headed back into the kitchen as Liam poured
the hot coffee around the table, filling the boys' mugs to the brims.
"Drink up, my boyos! Enjoy some Irish cream, the best coffee one could ask
for."

        Davie reached for the sugar and added several teaspoons to his mug,
then added a little cream and stirred it. John and Ernest added a lot of
sugar and cream to theirs and waited for it to cool down before taking their
first sips. Liam sat back and drank his black and strong as he watched the
younger boys sip their strong coffee. They would get used to it fairly quick
on the Navy.

        "John, Ernest, would you two prefer fresh milk instead of coffee with
your breakfasts?"

        "Yes, sir," answered the brothers. "We never had coffee so strong
before. Where we stayed it was like hot colored water. If it is no trouble
to Miss Annie."

        "No trouble at all, my wee ones, and it is Mrs. Annie O'Riley, but
you can call me Mrs. Annie or Annie, my boyos," she spoke as she placed a
large plate of hot biscuits on the table, fresh from the large oven located
in the kitchen. Then she sat molasses and honey and other jams on the table
and some fresh butter. "I will be back with the ham, eggs, bacon, and some
hash potatoes. I thought the boys would like to have some breakfast potatoes
since I know one of the three is one of the finest Irishmen in the Navy and
the cutest. He will be a heart breaker, all the young lasses will be after
his hand. I just hope no Southern Belle tries to steal him away and
persuades him to join their side."

        She bustled back into the kitchen while everyone just looked at
Davie. His cheeks once again were bright red.

        "If he keeps on blushing, we're going to rename him `Blushing Boy'.
Now won't that be a fitting name on a ironclad, `the blushing boy in blue."

        Davie swatted at John. "Will you hush up before I have to bend you
over my knee and whip that butt of yours."

        Liam laughed, "I knew I was right when I called you three a `band
of brothers'."

        Everyone laughed at the comment made by Davie.

        "Well, me boyo, if you're going to whip someone's hindquarters, you
best be taking him out behind the woodshed and not here at my table." Davie
looked up at Annie as she sat two glasses of cold milk on the table for John
and Ernest.

        "Yes, Ma'am." Davie replied.  He blushed as he answered, as he
thought that he might enjoy whipping those cute buns.

        Breakfast passed quickly as the four ate in silence, the mood
darkened as they realized in a few hours they would depart for the war and
they might not return or, if they did, it would be in a plain pine box if
they were lucky enough.

        They stood up from their places at the big wooden table and went
upstairs to retrieve their bags. They came quietly down the carpeted stairs,
toting the big bags full of clothes. Once they walked out the front door,
they no longer would be boys, but men.

        The three followed Liam out the front door to the waiting carriage.
Joe helped the boys store their bags on the carriage roof, then held the
door with a smile as they climbed in. They took their seats just as the
night before and, once ready, Joe picked up the reins to the horses and
lightly snapped the whip over their backs and the carriage eased out of the
drive, the morning snow falling harder and faster as the north wind chilled
the city that was beginning to awaken. The heavy blue wool coats protected
them from the chill of the cold January morning as the carriage continued
on toward a photography studio owned by Matthew Brady. He had already made
a name in the photography business, recording the horrors of war forever on
glass plates.

        The carriage weaved through the brick streets, passing the wagons
and carriages headed to the railroad station located on the south side of
South Water Street, on land that the railroad had recovered from Lake
Michigan a few years before as the charter lines were being completed of
the Central Railroad. The central railroad was now known as the Illinois
Central. The central station was the largest in the midwest. Joe eased the
carriage to a stop in front of the wood building that housed the indoor
studio. Joe climbed down from his seat box and opened the door for Liam and
the three boys and then closed it. Joe walked with a slight limp as he
headed a few doors down to the barber shop while the gentlemen had their
photographs taken. He knew it would be a while before they were finished.

        Davie walked up to the door and opened it. John, Ernest, and Liam
followed Davie inside. The bottom floor was warm and cozy, not overheated
like many of the buildings in town this time of year. The room was dark and
imposing. A slender young man walked over to greet them.

        "May I help you gentlemen today?"

        "Yes sir, you may. I want to have a portrait made of these three
fine lads before they head out."

        "Yes, sir, would you like for them to be hand tinted also?"

        "Yes, I would," replied Liam.

        "Please follow me, gentlemen." The young photographer led them up
a set of stairs to a large skylighted room with a bench and a backdrop of
dark red hanging on a wall.

        "OK, gentlemen, would you please step toward the bench and
backdrop, please."

        Liam motioned for the three boys to move over to the backdrop. They
walked over and stood in front of the red covering where the morning sun
shone through the glass skylights and lit their faces in a soft glow.

        "Sir, would you like to be in the photograph also?" asked the
photographer.

        "Not this one. I want just the lads, then we can take another one
with myself included."

        "Very well, sir," spoke the photographer as he walked over to the
large box camera mounted on a tripod. He ducked under the black covering
and looked through the lens, then came back from under the covering. "Boys,
I need you to move closer together. I would like the oldest of the three to
stand behind the younger ones while they sit on the bench." The boys moved
into the new positions. The photographer ducked back behind his camera once
again and did his sightings for the new positions. He looked again and
realized something was missing. Ah, the Union banner. He stood up and walked
over to the backdrop and pulled a braided cord and a large garrison flag
dropped down behind the boys. The photographer noticed Liam's smile as the
large flag unfurled against the dark red. The photographer walked back to
his camera and poured the proper amount of flash powder on the pan, then
slipped the wet glass plate into the proper position behind the lens. "OK,
boys, big smiles. Now on the count of three."

        "One"
        "Two"
        "Three"

        There was a bright flash as the powder exploded, casting a bright
white light onto the boys. "Very good." He removed the wet glass plate from
the back of the large camera and carried it quickly to a darkroom where he
would develop it. He picked up a new blank plate and placed it in the back
of the camera and motioned for Liam to join the three boys. Liam walked
over and joined the three boys. He stood beside Davie and placed his right
arm on Davie's shoulder and his left on John.

        The photographer nodded and then ducked under the covering and once
again he began the countdown to three. The fresh charge of flash powder
went off. They held their positions until the photographer nodded and
removed the glass plate, then off he headed to the darkroom, then walked
back out. "My assistant will have the prints ready in about 1 hour. Would
you like to wait or have them delivered to you?"

        "Have them delivered to my home on Michigan Ave. Please."

        "Very well, sir. The cost is two dollars per print. How many do you
wish to have?"

        "Two each, sir." Liam reached into his pocket and pulled out a ten-
dollar note and handed it to the photographer.

        "Follow me, please." They stepped behind the photographer as he led
them back to the first floor. The photographer walked over behind a large
counter and pulled out a sheet of paper and a quill pen. He wrote down the
address, then a receipt for Liam, and he unlocked the cash drawer and
removed a two-dollar note and handed it to Liam.

        They thanked the man and walked out the door into the cold morning.
The snow pelted down on their heavy topcoats and kepi caps. Joe stood with
the carriage door open, waiting for them to enter. They entered the
carriage and took their seats and Joe mounted the driver's bench and the
carriage began to head toward the Railroad station on South Water Street.

        The boys chatted about this and that. All were excited, for none of
them had ever ridden the steam cars before.

     * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

        The heavy wet snow blew in from the north. The prisoners in Fort
Dearborn had a single stove in the large wooden room. Doctor Watson
shivered in the cold. A thin blanket was all that he had to cover up in and
it did not help much. There were a lot of other people locked in the room,
both men and women, most accused of spying for the rebels, then there were
the deserters from the Army, ones that ran when the firing was the hottest,
and others who would not obey orders of their superiors. They would be
tried and, if convicted, branded for life or hanged. The dark room was
beginning to lighten, as the morning grew closer to the noon hour. The old
windows moaned with each gust of the wind, chilling all in the room and,
during the night, one broke and fell on top of a helpless man, cutting deep
into his neck. The man died before anyone could help him. The prisoners
listened to the guards talking past the heavy wooden door about a message
the warden had received that morning about someone being shot at noon. The
prisoners gathered in small groups and discussed who it might be. Was it
one of them in this cell or someone in another cell in the complex they
talked about? Who the lucky one was to be able to escape this hell-on-earth
place. Over across the lake, away from the old Indian fort on the small
island, they could hear the soft tolling of the church bells ringing out
the 11 o'clock hour, one hour till they found out who would die today.

        The warden was puzzled at first over the direct orders from the
President and the handwritten note from the Quartermaster but he learned
quickly not to ask questions about such matters, but to do as told by the
men who held the high command.

        A cannon boomed over the lake. The old British 6-pounder was a relic
from the War of 1812 and used to salute the town on every hour during the
day. It was also used to signal trouble by mixing a special red powder with
the black powder, so when the gun fired the smoke was a dark red. The
signal gun was located on the roof of the casemate cell and every time it
fired, part of the roof shuddered from the boom, causing dust to float down
on the prisoners as to remind them of why they were there.

        The warden listened for the signal gun to sound, then looked over
to his secretary. "Private Lewis, go retrieve the Doctor Watson!" "Yes,
sir, Warden Russell."

        The young private headed out of the door and toward the large cell
that held the spies. Lewis selected two soldiers to follow him with their
muskets to help him escort the Doctor Watson back to the warden's office.
They moved quickly through the parade ground and to the casemate cell
and Lewis explained to the guards who the Warden wanted to see in his
office. The guards nodded and lifted the heavy wooden bar that held the
door shut from the outside. The two soldiers who were with Lewis walked in
the room. Lewis barked out, "Watson, step forward now!"

        The doctor stood and walked forward, dropping the thin blanket to
the wooden floor where another man snatched it before it touched the floor
completely. The other prisoners in the room knew who was going to die now.
The two soldiers stepped in behind him with their muskets leveled at his
back, the bayonets poking him to make him move on. Once outside in the
parade ground, the doctor looked around, trying to figure out how to escape
these mere boys playing soldiers. He slowed to a slow pace, waiting for one
of the bayonets to prick his back. The one on the right did and he swung
around, fists flying, and struck the soldier in the mouth. The boy went
down. The doctor then dropped to the ground and rolled toward the soldier
still standing and grabbed his legs, causing him to fall and to lose grasp
of the musket. The doctor reached out now to grab one of the guns when he
felt a heavy boot come down, stomping his balls into the snow. The doctor
screamed like a woman and grasped his now swelling balls. Lewis looked down
and kicked the doctor in the stomach. The warden heard the scream and raced
out of his office onto the parade ground in time to see what was happening.
He walked over to the standing soldiers, one with blood trickling down from
the busted lip.

        "PRIVATE LEWIS, WHAT IS GOING ON HERE!" shouted the warden.

        "Sir, he tried to escape. He hit Bob in the face and then tripped
Scott, causing them both to fall. I took action by stomping those nuts
of his in the snow, sir."

        "I see, Private Lewis. Is that how it happened, soldiers?"

        "Yes, sir," replied Bob and Scott.

        "Well, well, now, prisoner Watson goes and hurts one of my fine
soldiers. What do you have to say for yourself, you British pig?"

        Watson spit in the snow, then slowly stood. "I am glad we lost the
revolution so that all the filthy Irish trash could have a proper home in
the wild where they belong." The doctor sneered as he spoke, his voice
hard and cold.

        The warden's face turned angry as his blood boiled. "I see, you
British trash, and, after the orders I received from the president this
morning, a bullet is too good for you. I am glad the quartermaster included
a note about you. As I am also Irish, you scum, I find fuckers like you to
be worth nothing, not even the air you breathe in your filthy lungs. You
will die today but not by a bullet, sir. Privates, carry the good doctor
over to the post we have erected for him."

        "Yes, sir." They grabbed the doctor roughly under his arms and
dragged him to the center of the parade ground. There he was shoved against
the oak post and the iron cuffs clamped around his wrists so he could not
move.

        Warden Russell looked at his watch - 11:30 am. Then he looked up at
the parapet where the signal gun sat, its stubby nose pointing over the gray
lake. "Gunners, fire the gun to let Chicago know that we have rid the world
of another traitor!"

        "Yes, sir, Warden!" The gunners loaded the piece and then lit a slow
match to ignite the powder charge when the warden gave the command to fire.

        "Gentlemen, I want you to watch closely as I do this and I want you
to understand what happens here stays here today. Do you understand?"

        "Yes, sir," replied the three privates.

        "Very good. Now, Scott, please hand me your musket."

        Scott handed over the musket to the warden. They stood back as the
warden walked closer to the doctor, his face dark and angry, his eyes
blazing blue fire as each step took him closer to the British Pig that
stood, unable to move, unable to protect himself, unable to do a damned
thing but stare at the big Irishman walking toward him with the musket,
the barrel glinting in the morning sun.

        "Time to die, you British filth!" The three privates looked on as
the warden took the bayonet and sliced it up between the doctor's spread
legs, cutting away the fabric of the trousers. The trousers slipped from the
doctor's hips and Russell used the bayonet to finish pulling them down to
expose the doctor's shriveled manhood to the cold air. The doctor shivered
as the bayonet brushed his skin. Russell smiled when the doctor shivered
from the touch of the sharp cold iron blade.

        Then, without saying a word, the warden thrust the bayonet up,
ripping and cutting into the doctor's exposed nut sack. The doctor screamed
in pain as the iron cut and sliced, then the warden looked up to the
gunners. "FIRE THE GODDAMNED GUN NOW!"

        The gunner touched the touch hole and the gun roared over the lake.
The six-pounder jerked back on its carriage, the muzzle smoking. The warden
thrust again into the doctor's bleeding nuts and with a swift slice cut the
hanging bloody balls off and they fell to the ground. The doctor passed out
from the pain, his head hanging limply as his life blood poured onto the
fresh white snow beneath his feet. The three privates stood in shock, not
able to move as the warden, like a possessed demon, wiped the blade on the
doctor's dirty white coat. Then the warden stood back and cocked the hammer
on the musket, brought it to his shoulder, and leveled it at the doctor's
forehead and pulled the trigger. "Let him hang there for now. Then take him
and burn him. I do not want to stain such a proud land with his filth as he
rots in the ground!" The warden spit on the doctor and walked back to his
office after returning the musket to Scott. He turned back around. "You're
dismissed, Gentlemen."

        The three privates just stood there for a moment. They all wondered
what had that man done. Then they headed back inside the wooden buildings
of the fort to get warm and to think and ponder what they had just
witnessed with their eyes.

 * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

        The carriage arrived at the large brick Central station on South
Water Street. Joe pulled it under the large overhang in front of the three-
story building dressed in red brick and marble. Joe climbed down as porters
rushed to the carriage, waiting to gather the luggage of the passengers
inside. When Joe opened the door, they stepped back when they saw the blue
uniforms of the passengers, then once again stepped forward when they saw
the family crest on the door. They knew to whom the carriage belonged.
Liam nodded to the black porters and told them that he did not need their
services. They nodded and stepped back out of the way.

        The three boys grabbed their bags from the roof of the carriage
and waited for Liam to lead the way to the boarding area for the trains.
Liam led them through the heavy glass doors with fancy brass covering them,
into the main waiting area of the station, their shoes echoing on the
marble floors. The station was crowded with people coming and going back
and forth. Porters toted bags of luggage as newsboys hawked the morning
paper. The porters worked for the high class hotels in the city and they
would carry your bags for a price. The poor immigrant passengers fended for
themselves, some carrying everything they owned in old cases and bags. Then
you had the merchants carrying their wares in small cases and bags thrown
over their shoulders. Ticket agents stood behind glass cages with gilded
brass bars in the front. Large train boards hung on the walls, listing the
trains for the Illinois Central and the Michigan Central lines. Blue clad
soldiers stood in companies with their officers, waiting for the troop
trains heading south. Liam led them out to the train sheds that covered
the six tracks that led into the station. Six trains stood steaming in the
cold air. Liam had looked at the boards and found train #7 was leaving
for Cairo on track six, so he led the boys over to the train and met the
conductor standing on the platform; they exchanged words. Then Liam
pulled out three passes, stamped and signed by the war department and
motioned to the three boys standing beside him. The conductor looked
at the passes, then took his brass ticket punch and punched the cards
and handed them back to the boys.

        Liam pulled the three boys aside and pressed gold coins into
Davie's hand. "Davie, this is for the three of you and your trip to Cairo.
I wish I could go with you to make sure you made it safely, but alas I
must stay here. You take care of John and Ernest for me, understand?"

        "Yes, sir, I do," replied Davie.

        "Very good, my boy. I want each one of you to know how proud I am
to have had you as my guests in my home last night. Even more I am proud to
have let me pose with the three of you in the photograph and that I
consider you as my own sons."

        Liam, for once in many years, had tears flowing down his face into
his beard. He was not ashamed to show them as people looked on at the
three boys and the high ranking officer. They figured they were his sons
and smiled, but they also felt their hearts go out at the sadness in the
man's eyes. They knew that they might not come home again.

        The steam whistle blew at the head of the long passenger train.
They would board the last car out of six that already was crowded. They
hugged Liam and said their goodbyes as they climbed the iron steps to the
platform of the car.

       Davie, John, and Ernest waved their hats in the air as the train
jerked into motion. Liam stood and watched and waved back, then broke into
a smile as the famous three saluted him and he returned it. Then he watched
from the platform as Davie put his arms around the two younger boys like an
older brother. The tears fell from his face as he watched the train
disappear around the curve and over the long wooden trestle on the shore of
Lake Michigan. Liam put his hat back on his head and wiped away the tears.
He never noticed the photographer who snapped a photo of him and his boys
as they said their goodbyes. The photograph, once developed, would be
rushed to the printing presses of the Chicago paper, then on to every paper
in the Union. The caption under it read 'The fond farewell of a father to
his sons.' Liam lifted his head as he heard the engine blow her lonesome
cry as she turned and headed south for Cairo as the cannon boomed over Lake
Michigan.

 * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

 This chapter is for my greatest friend and cousin, Brent, for he was here
when I needed him the most. Thank you, brother, for showing me true
friendship. This chapter is also for Mark, the boy of my dreams and my
greatest friend who knows all of my secrets. I only wish he were mine.
Then to you, Chris, my sunshine way out west, I wish only the best to you
in everything you do.

 Then to my friend Michael, you're the best in many ways. The best in life
to you, my friend.

 Now to my readers, this is also for you, for what I write is part of me,
so when I share me, I consider you my friends.

 I wish to thank Ed for all that he has done for me; thank you, Ed. I can't
forget my great friend Willy either and the wonderful trip to North
Carolina. What Ed and you did for me there, I am forever grateful and in
your service.

 As always, please E-mail me your comments at Swarri1349@aol.com
Thanks for spending a little time with me. "Once I dreamed of a golden
shore and my perfect boy."

I'm not a poet, so I will stop there.
Stephen