by Michael Ross
“I’m Moses Jones, and this here my wife, Patty. Our young’uns Joe, Katy, and the baby is Ben. The Confederates, they say I got to serve in their army. I ain’t goin’ to fight to keep my family in chains. So we run north all the way from Alabama.”
“Rest easy here till morning. I’ll drive you north to a pastor friend. I’ll see you have food and he’ll help you decide what to do next. You’re free!” said Albinia, smiling.
The next morning they loaded a wagon, and Albinia drove north to Lancaster with the family.
“Why so early, Mrs. Horner?” asked Franklin.
“Oh, I just love the early morning. And not so many people on the roads to ask questions.”
Mabel snorted. “Couldn’t have anything to do with that young minister up there and getting there in time for church now, could it?”
Albinia blushed but said, “Why, of course not. I hardly know Pastor Jenkins. He seems a very … proper man of God.”
Mabel smiled and kept kneading the bread dough. “Ye needn’t play innocent with me, dearie. I’ve noticed him making a trip or two here when there was scant need, just to check on you. It’s all right—I’ve prayed for ye to find an honorable man. It’s been more than a year since ye lost Mr. Horner. It’s time.”
“Nonsense,” protested Albinia. “He’s just a good man, dedicated to God and helping the slaves. I’m a widow. I’m sure he could have his pick of young unmarried ladies. Besides, how could I be a pastor’s wife?”
“Quite easily,” said Franklin, “if my opinion is of any worth. If you’re going to hear him preach, you’d best start.”
“You two are impossible with your matchmaking,” said Albinia. Once on the road north with her charges, she had to admit the thought was not unpleasant. Mabel was too close to the truth.
✳ ✳ ✳
Julia wanted to pace in her dark prison cell, but her shackles would not allow it. Since she was captured at Tupelo, she’d been dragged along with the army from one camp to the next, ostensibly because the general officers did not have time to consider her case. Privately, she thought they simply didn’t know what to do with a rich female spy. After days on end on the train, chained to a seat, and more days rolling in a prison wagon, she arrived at this barn converted to a prison. Since there were no other women prisoners, she was forced to be in with the men, most of them Confederate soldiers who violated Bragg’s niggling rules.
She would be tried the next day.
✳ ✳ ✳
Luther and Hiram made good their escape, joining other elements of the Army of Ohio. They heard that Wilder surrendered all four thousand men of their unit, but they were free a few days later. That meant their unit couldn’t fight for a time, under terms of their parole. Hiram and Luther were gladly received into the other battalion of the Third Ohio. Luther carrying a rifle met with some consternation, but Hiram vouched for his story, and he won grudging admiration. He learned to shoot quickly, soon accurately picking off targets at fifty to one hundred yards. In view of the recent Emancipation Proclamation, the commander was inclined to allow Luther to fight. Luther could hardly believe the Proclamation. He felt at once joyful and bitter. That Lincoln fellow said the slaves were free, in the Confederate states, at the start of the New Year. It was September, and if the Confederates didn’t rejoin the Union by January 1863, Lincoln declared all their slaves free, and negated the Fugitive Slave Act. However, it didn’t really apply to him—Kentucky was a slaveholding state but had not seceded. Luther was still technically the Clays’ property. The war changed things, however. He’d been in Kentucky a while now, and no one made a move to reenslave him. He couldn’t trust all the white men, but he didn’t think most of the men in the Ohio regiment would allow him to be put back into slavery, even if they did still think him inferior to themselves. The Proclamation would clear the way for Negroes to fight in the Union army.
Though they started south of Munfordville, their new battalion moved west and north, retreating toward Lexington.
✳ ✳ ✳
Will took position on a high hill in his old role of sharpshooter. That morning, they had marched north over a bridge near Gallatin and found the body of one of their men, a scout Morgan sent north. The townsfolk said that the Federals abused the body after killing him, and propped him up to be a warning to Morgan. Enraged, the whole 2nd Kentucky, now about one thousand men, set off after the Federals.
From his position, Will could see through a glass the Federals behind stout stockades, shooting out at the line of his comrades, forcing them to take cover at the side of the road. Three men fell, wounded or killed, Will couldn’t tell. He loaded the Whitworth and set it on a log for support as he lay hidden. Every time a Federal head popped out above the stockade, the Whitworth barked. Soon the fire from the Federals decreased greatly. Will reloaded and paused, looking through the glass. He saw his old nemesis, Ben Drake, recently promoted to lieutenant, lead a charge up the hill toward the stockade. Two Federal heads popped up and took aim. Will didn’t hesitate—he took up the Whitworth and began firing as rapidly as he could, reloading, firing. The first two Federals toppled backward. Ben and the others ran forward. Other Federals tried to fire. The line with Ben knelt and fired a volley of their own, reloading quickly, fixing bayonets, and charging again. Will kept such a steady rate of fire he thought he might exhaust his cartridge box. The barrel of the Whitworth was hot. Then Ben and the others gained the stockade, and it was over in seconds. The Federals were defeated.
Later in camp that night, as Will sat in front of the fire, he was surprised to see Ben approach with Jesse. They were equal in rank, so no ceremony was needed. Ben seemed a little awkward.
“Will? I … I … just wanted you to know—I heard what you did today. It was you shooting up on that hill. I know we haven’t been the best of friends, but I want you to know I appreciate what you did. You could have held off, you could have been just a little slower to load—no one would have known, and I wouldn’t be standing here now. I could have been like Niles and Smith when they attacked that last stockade. I just want to say thanks—and I wonder if we could bury the hatchet?” he said, sticking out a hand.
Will rose and went forward, taking the proffered hand and shaking vigorously. “Nothing I’d like better, Ben. I just did my duty, same as you. That was incredibly brave, charging that stockade and ordering that volley. You’re a good officer, and I hope we can be friends. There’s not many of us left from the Rifles. You too, Jesse,” said Will, extending a hand again. Jesse smiled, shook it, and he and Ben left. As Will settled back by his fire, he reflected: some days are just better than others.
✳ ✳ ✳
September 1862
Will marched as in a parade, right down the streets of Lexington. The Federals retreated and today, the Raiders were coming home. He and many others petitioned their officers for time off to see family and friends. Will saw Morgan riding proudly at the front of the group.
As soon as the parade was over and they made camp, Will got his horse and rode for home. Home—he hadn’t seen the little farm in a year. He still carried his guns, as caution dictated—the Federals might not be that far away—but he didn’t wear his uniform. Today he was just a civilian, a son returning home for a visit. He turned off the main Versailles road, imagining Rustler coming out to meet him, and his mother maybe baking a pie. How tall would Lydia be now? Will himself had just turned eighteen—Lydia was six now. How might she have changed?
As Will turned toward the cabin, his anticipation turned to dread. What had happened? The cabin, or what was left of it, was a burned out shell. The barn, too, had been burned. The place was deserted. There were no animals, no people, no crops growing. He just couldn’t believe it. Where was his family?
✳ ✳ ✳
Julia rose. Two soldiers came to her cell. It must be time. She prayed and mustered her courage. She must not let them see her fear. Everything depended on it.
“Mrs. Johannsen? If you’ll come with u
s please,” they requested. Moving behind her, one of the soldiers apologized, “I’m sorry, but we must bind your hands behind you. General Bragg’s rules.”
“Of course, you must do your duty. Though I’m surprised the general would be concerned about a mere woman like me.”
“From what I hear, one of the reasons the general has held off so long with you is because you’re a woman. We’re taking you to see General Forrest first.”
Julia walked quietly, composing herself. She had heard rumors and stories of Nathan Bedford Forrest, none of them good, except his genius as a commander. He had a reputation for harsh treatment of enemies, which she supposed he would consider her.
Entering the command tent, the soldiers stood at attention on either side of her, while at a table, eight or so officers with General Forrest in the center sat waiting on her.
“Sir! Bringing the prisoner as ordered, sir!” saluted the soldier to her right.
“Very good, gentlemen. Please stand guard outside the tent,” he said, turning his attention to Julia. “Now, Mrs. Johannsen. What am I to do with you?” He glanced down at his notes. “You are accused of treason and espionage against the Confederate States of America. Your husband and your father serve in the Federal army. But you have a brother on our side, is that correct?”
“Yes, sir. My brother Will is with Colonel Morgan, the last I knew.”
“And you came to General Bragg’s headquarters looking for him, you say?”
“Yes, sir. I hadn’t heard from my brother for two months. I was concerned he might have fallen in battle and not been reported.”
“Admirable, I’m sure. Such sisterly devotion. But wouldn’t a letter or a telegram have served just as well? Surely you are not stupid, madam. You know there is a war on. Why would a lady like yourself, currently in charge of a shipping company, risk such a dangerous trip alone? Could you have had, perhaps, other motives as well?”
“Why, no sir. I simply wanted to assure myself of my brother’s well being, and to see him—he left suddenly when Morgan smuggled, ah, took, the rifles out of Lexington. I was in Cincinnati at the time. I haven’t seen him since. You can’t do that with a telegram.”
“True, true. And I note here that your company, the Ohio Zephyr, has been of some service in the past to the CSA, in spite of being headquartered in the North. You’re a Kentuckian by birth, I believe, a sister of the South. Your family has a farm near Lexington. But then we come to the crux of the problem. After sneaking into a Confederate camp, ostensibly looking for your brother, you gave conflicting information to the hotel clerk and the unfortunate camp guard concerning your brother’s regiment. The guard has since been shot, I must say. If you knew the camp was for the First Mississippi, why would you even look there? Clearly you knew your brother was with Morgan, the 2nd Kentucky. After your arrest, when the female matron searched you, maps and battle plans were found in your shoe. Can you explain that to me, Mrs. Johannsen?”
Julia racked her brain for the right answer but could think of none. What would appease this man? “I can only think they were placed there after my arrest, to cast doubt on my story. Possibly someone has a grudge against my company or my husband.”
Forrest closed the file with a sigh. “Mrs. Johannsen, in spite of your acting skills, which you have ably displayed, and your courage, I don’t believe it any more than you do. Are you aware that the penalty for your crimes is death by hanging? It’s not a pretty sight. Come, Mrs. Johannsen. Confess and tell us to whom you would have passed the plans. Or if not for yourself, think of your brother, your family, and the vengeance that may fall on them for your treachery. What would your brother think of you exposing him and his comrades to ambush and death?”
One of the other officers spoke, “General, the facts seem clear. This woman is a traitor, both to our cause and to her fair sex. Women have no business mixing in war—however, it seems clear that she knew what she was about and the possible consequences. Therefore, I don’t see how we can extend mercy. She’s just as apt to do it again. And who knows how many times she may have affected a battle before now?” There were noises of agreement from the others.
“Very well,” said Forrest. “It is General Bragg’s decision as commanding officer, but I think the verdict of this tribunal is clear. Guard! Take the prisoner to General Bragg, along with this message.” He hastily scrawled the results of their investigation and handed it to a soldier.
“This way, ma’am,” said the soldier. They soon arrived at the farmhouse Bragg was using as a temporary headquarters.
Bragg looked up at her with fierce bushy eyebrows. He was gruff, and looked like a lion about to pounce. “Yes, yes what is it? Oh, yes, the spy,” he perused the note from Forrest. “Well, everything seems in order here. Do you have anything to say for yourself?”
“Only that I want this war to end. I want my husband, my father, and my brother back. A woman can’t take up a rifle and fight. I want to save thousands of lives by bringing a swift conclusion to the killing.”
“Admirable—but not at the expense of the Confederacy, madam. We shall yet drive the Federals off our land,” Bragg said. He sighed, dropping the paper. “In the meantime, it is regrettable, since you are a noncombatant and a woman, but the evidence leaves me little choice. It is clear you are guilty. You’ve as much as admitted it, not that it mattered. I sentence you to death by hanging. May God have mercy on your soul. Guard! Remove the prisoner.” Bragg turned back to his paperwork, dismissing her as an errant child.
✳ ✳ ✳
October 1862
After seeing his home in ruins, Will wondered what other tragedies had happened. He turned his horse back toward town, hoping someone among his acquaintances might give him news of his family. He decided to go see Jenny—surely she and her aunt could give him some news of what had happened.
He arrived at the Simpsons’ house, tied his horse, and knocked at the door. There was no answer for several minutes. The house looked dark. Desperate, he tried again. After a few more minutes, the door opened. Jenny’s aunt, Mary Simpson, stood there, but didn’t seem to recognize him.
“Yes? What is it you want?”
“It’s Will Crump, ma’am. I got a letter from Jenny, and I’ve come to see her. I wonder too if you can tell me what happened to my family—I went to the farm, and no one is there.”
Mrs. Simpson seemed to be speaking from far away, not really looking at him. “Crump? Oh, yes. Jenny’s not here.”
“Not here? Do you expect her back soon?”
Mrs. Simpson seemed to come to herself and now answered angrily. “No. She’s not here. Go away! She and my husband have gone to Philadelphia to seek help. After … after what happened. She may never return. I … I’ve lost them both!” she said, sobbing now. “Go away!” She turned and started to close the door. Will reached out a hand in desperation and blocked her.
“Mrs. Simpson, I’m sorry. Truly I am. But please! I must know—what’s happened to them?”
“Your family? I have no idea. The Federals were here for months, now it’s the Confederates! I wish all soldiers would rot in hell. Nothing but misery since this war started. My Tim lost an arm—and he lost himself, his mind. One of the Federals came and raped Jenny, if you must know. She sits and stares all day, then screams and cries, and has nightmares when she does sleep. She’ll never be the same. Satisfied? I’m selling the house—we’re getting away from this war. Now go away or I shall be forced to use this,” she said, producing a pistol from the table by the door, and leveling it at Will.
Will turned and left, the feeling of joyful victory turned to hopelessness and dread. Where now was all that he had been fighting for?
✳ ✳ ✳
Will made a few more inquiries, visiting families of those he had known in the Rifles. He discovered that a group of Southern sympathizers had gone about trying to terrorize those perceived to be in sympathy with the Federals. They thought that might have been how the farm was burned, but no one
in town knew anything specific about his family. There was no mail for him. He decided to write to Albinia and Julia again, to see if he could discover what happened to his parents and Lydia.
There were more here wanting to fight for the Confederacy than he would have imagined—he talked to Duke and found new companies, battalions, and even regiments had been raised in the past few days. Will recognized one familiar face from his boyhood—a planter named Jameson, now in Company H. Morgan took part of their regiment east toward Louisville. Will was soon kept busy, moving with Duke’s command, north toward Covington, and engaging in some sharp battles.
Then on October 6, 1862, his hopes of rescuing his home from the war disappeared completely. Orders came—they were withdrawing from Lexington. A large federal force was on its way south from Cincinnati. They said Bragg hadn’t beaten Buell in the east, and was now threatened from behind. Morgan’s Raiders were to withdraw. Will briefly saw Morgan, and he seemed as dispirited as the rest of the men, unusual for him.
✳ ✳ ✳
Luther never expected to see this place again. The Third and Fourth Ohio Cavalry camped on the grounds of Ashland. His tent was only a few yards from where he had hidden that black night to escape. Conflicting emotions warred within him—hate for the life of slavery, longing for his mother and sister, fear at possibly being recognized. What would the Clays do if they saw him? The overseer, Flanagan, was gone, as were many of the slaves he had known when he was here. After a day or two, he risked going down to the field slaves’ quarters, to see whom he might find after dark.
As if he’d never left, there sat Auntie May at her fire, softly singing.
“Auntie? Auntie May?”
She turned in surprise, “Who dere?”
“It’s Luther.”
