Promises to the Dead

by Mary Downing Hahn

  Near him lay the lieutenant. It made my heart ache to see him there. He wasn't very old, I thought, and I wondered if he'd lied to the army about his age, like Private Otis Hicks.

  The flies had already found his wounds, and they was swarming all over the blood. I waved them away, and they rose in a buzzing cloud, as ugly as Beelzebub himself. But they didn't go away. They just hung in the air over Lieutenant Colston, biding their time. As soon as I quit disturbing them, they'd go back to their feast.

  Sick to my stomach, I turned my head and threw up the little food left in my belly. What I'd seen on Pratt Street was nothing compared to this.

  Since I couldn't do anything for them, I left the dead men behind and followed the river downstream. I walked slow, keeping my eye out for Perry. I hoped I'd find him somewhere along the way—lost in the woods, maybe.

  As I trudged along, I called his name over and over. But he never answered. A crow cawed from the top of a dead tree. Gnats hummed and buzzed around my ears. Birds sang all around me just as if it was an ordinary day. To them I supposed it was. What men done to each other had no meaning for birds or beasts.

  The longer I walked, the more sure I was I'd never see Perry again. All we'd been through was for nothing. He was most likely drowned and gone forever. I stumbled along, pretty near blind with tears.

  Which is why I didn't see Colonel Abednego Botfield until it was too late. All of a sudden, he stepped out from behind a tree and grabbed me just as Lydia once had. But this time, there was a gun to my head instead of a knife at my throat. And I knew I'd found my death at last.

  CHAPTER 16

  Damned if it ain't Jesse Sherman, the plague of my life," the colonel muttered. "Seems I can't get away from you, boy." He looked and sounded bad, ashy-faced, his shirt and jacket all bloody, his voice low and hoarse. But his grip was as strong as ever.

  "I seen you back there by the river." I spoke up as bold as I could, for nothing I said or did would make any difference now. "Riding away from the gunfire like some yellow dog."

  "Fool horse threw me," the colonel said, letting fly a string of curses. "As for your yellow dogs," he went on with a smirk, "I figure it's better to be a living dog than a dead lion."

  "Don't you go quoting the Bible to me, you old devil." Though my mouth was dry with fear, I managed to spit on the ground.

  "Better show me some respect, Jesse Sherman." The colonel pressed his gun harder against my head. "You know what a bullet does to a boy's brain?"

  I winced, for the muzzle of that revolver was cold and hard, and I could pretty well picture what a gunshot would do to me.

  "Now," he said, "it seems to me if you're here, your little friend can't be far away. Why don't you quit playing and tell me where Lydia's boy is?"

  "Even if I knew—which I don't—do you think I'd tell you?" I braced myself, expecting him to pull the trigger for sure.

  Colonel Botfield was sagging a little, I thought, and growing more ashy faced, but he didn't loosen his grip on me or let his pistol waver. "You think I mean to harm him, don't you?"

  "If you was to get Perry, I reckon you'd give him to the widow, like you done before. She just about killed him back in Baltimore. No doubt she'd relish the chance to finish what she started."

  "Ah, Jesse, Jesse, you're such an ignorant boy. Philemon hasn't taught you enough to come in from the rain, has he?" The colonel gave a sharp laugh that turned into cough.

  I was beginning to think he was hurt worse than I'd thought.

  "Let's sit for a spell." Still keeping his gun on me, the colonel lowered himself to the ground and leaned against a tree. "Don't try running off. I'd just as soon shoot you as look at you. Besides, I got something to tell you. You wouldn't deny a fellow his deathbed confession, would you?"

  "I don't want to hear none of your stories," I said, "whether you're dying or not. The sooner you take your last breath, the better, if you want to know."

  "Seems you got no choice." The colonel waved his gun at me. "So listen up, boy. If you saw me ride away from the skirmish back there, I reckon you heard what transpired between me and Susie."

  "Maror," I muttered, full of disgust for the man. "Her name is Maror."

  "Not when I knew her," the colonel said. "She was Susanna then. Susie to me. Almighty young and pretty she was. And full of fire."

  He stopped on account he was coughing. I thought maybe I could get away, but the second I moved, he grabbed hold of me.

  When the coughing spell passed, Colonel Botfield said, "I'm not finished my story yet. I got myself a child by Susie. A daughter. You know who she was, don't you? Or are you even dumber than I think?"

  I stared hard at the ground, counting each stone that lay there. Though I didn't say her name, the colonel grinned. "That's right. Lydia was my daughter."

  I was so full of hate I could hardly speak. "You hunted your own kin. If you'd found her, you would've took the reward from the Widow Baxter and then sold Lydia south!"

  "I'd have made sure she went somewhere good," the colonel protested. "Her and the boy both. In fact, I was making plans to send them to a friend of mine in Round Hill, the very same man I sold Susie to. Wouldn't she have been glad to see her mama again?"

  The old devil spoke so proud you'd have thought he was a godly man doing the Lord's work, instead of the low villain he in fact was. He coughed again, long and hard. When he wiped his mouth, I saw blood. Once more I edged away, and once more he grabbed me.

  "Trouble is, things didn't work out the way I planned, did they? First Lydia up and died having another baby by that fool Peregrine. Then you went and stuck your big nose into my affairs and made off with my grandson. I got him back, but I didn't count on my niece Henrietta being so vengeful."

  He paused and looked at me hard. "So here I am, about to die in the woods with no one nearby but the most useless boy in the state of Maryland. I ask you, Jesse, what am I to do now?"

  I shook my head, signifying I had no idea how to answer his question. Truth to tell, I neither knew nor cared what the villain did as long as he died without Perry knowing who his granddaddy was.

  Colonel Botfield tightened his hold on my arm and stared into my eyes. "Promise me something," he whispered.

  I drew back as far as I could, for I didn't want to make no more promises to the dead. But that man's grip was like death itself. There was no escaping it.

  "Find Perry," he said, "make sure he's safe. Don't care where. Slave or free. Give him the money I got in my pockets. Keep five dollars for my burial money and see it's done proper. Don't let me rot in the woods like an animal."

  He stopped to cough. "Keep going along the river the way you were and you'll come to the ferry. Should be someone there willing to fetch my body."

  I watched the colonel sag back against the tree trunk. He was breathing hard, working to get air. I knew from the raspy sound he was making he didn't have long in this world.

  "Promise me you'll do all I said," he mumbled, fixing me with that stare of his. "And tell Perry who gave him the money. He ought to know. I never meant him no harm. Nor Lydia either."

  No matter how pitiful the man was now, he'd done a heap of harm to many a slave, including Lydia and Perry. I fought to harden my heart against him, but pity got the best of me. I ended up giving him my word, thus binding myself to yet another promise.

  Colonel Botfield lingered a while, more dead than alive. He didn't open his eyes, nor did he speak again. I could have gone off and left him, but he was as fearful of dying alone as any man. So I sat with him and watched and waited.

  With some agony, Colonel Abednego Botfield finally passed from this world to the next. There wasn't nothing peaceful about his going or the expression on his face. The old villain looked as fierce as if he'd died in sight of hell's gates. Which no doubt he had.

  I sat there a while, staring at the corpse. He was the first man I'd seen die right before my very eyes. Alive and full of evil one second, dead and empty the next. Where was the col
onel's soul now?

  If there was any justice, I reckoned he was burning in the fiery furnace. Unlike his namesake in the Bible story, Colonel Abednego Botfield didn't have the company of Shadrach and Meshach. Nor was he going to step out of the flames unhurt like those three. Surely God would not take pity on that villain's soul.

  It took a while to get the courage to reach into the pockets of the colonel's coat and fish out a leather bag. Inside I found close to three hundred dollars in gold coins, as well as enough silver to pay the burial expenses. It was more money than I'd seen in my entire life. If I ever found Perry, he'd be a wealthy boy.

  I got to my feet and looked down at my old enemy. "When I get to the ferry landing," I promised, "I'll tell someone where you are. I'll make sure they know your name and where you come from. You'll get your proper burial, colonel."

  I hesitated a moment. "And I'll do my best to find Perry and give him the money. I'll tell him who gave it to him, too."

  With that, I turned my back on Colonel Abednego Botfield and continued along the river toward New Berlin, still hoping to meet Perry somewhere up ahead.

  ***

  I reached the ferry landing sometime in the afternoon. The sun had finally broke through the clouds, and the Potomac river shone like silver. The ferry had just come across, and I went up to a kindly looking man in the crowd.

  "I don't know if you heard," I said, "but there was a skirmish up the river a ways. The Yankees left the Confederate dead lying where they fell. Mr. Cornelius Baxter was one of them."

  "Cornelius Baxter?" The man studied me as if he suspected me of funning him. "I saw him just a few days ago crossing this very river, and now you say he's dead?"

  I nodded, and the fellow with him said, "I don't know nothing about who was killed, but the boy's right about the skirmish. A lot of folks heard the gunfire."

  Another man nodded, his round face solemn. "They say the Yankees rounded up some runaway slaves—women and children, a man, too. Don't intend to return them either. They're keeping them as contraband."

  A big bubble of hope swelled in my chest, but I kept my face plain. Didn't even smile. "Was one of them a boy about yea high? Light-complected?"

  The man shrugged and spit in the gutter. "I didn't see them myself. Don't know what they looked like. Don't care neither."

  I figured I'd better drop the subject of runaways before the men got suspicious of me. Didn't want them thinking I was a Yankee eager to aid and abet. Though, truth to tell, I guessed I was.

  "Farther down the river, closer to town," I went on, "I come across Colonel Abednego Botfield from Talbot County, Maryland. Shot by the Yankees. Before he died, he gave me some money to see he was buried proper."

  I paused and gazed at the men. "Can one of you gentlemen fetch the colonel's body and tend to the matter?"

  "I know Abednego," the first man said, pulling a long face. "I'm grieved to hear of his death. I'll make certain his remains are shipped back to Talbot County."

  Though it surprised me to hear anyone admit to grieving for the colonel, I handed him some silver. "I'm almighty grateful to you, sir. A promise to a dying man—"

  "Don't worry yourself, boy," the man cut in. "Things will be done proper for Abednego. He was a good man, true to the Cause."

  He tipped his hat and strolled away with his friends, talking low and sorrowful. They shook their heads and cussed Mr. Abraham Lincoln for causing all this grief and woe.

  After I boarded the ferry, I saw the men assembling wagons and horses to go and gather the dead. I breathed a deep sigh, for I'd fulfilled one part of my promise to Colonel Abednego Botfield. All I had to do now was find Perry and do the rest.

  CHAPTER 17

  The ferry docked in New Berlin late in the afternoon. Despite the sunshine, the breeze had a chilly nip, and I was cold and weary and hungry. I headed uphill into town, wishing I could use some of Perry's money for food, but I was pretty sure I'd be hauled off to jail if I tried. Where would an ignorant boy such as myself have gotten a silver coin?

  When I saw a man come walking toward me, I stepped in front of him. "Pardon me, sir, but do you know where the Yankee camp is?"

  He regarded me with humorous contempt. "Which one? There must be dozens of bluebellies infesting the woods around here."

  "I was hoping to find the ones that snuck across the river this morning and skirmished with the rebels."

  "Oh, that must be Captain Granger's boys." He pointed at the hills around us. "Just go on up there and start asking. You'll find them sooner or later."

  With that he strolled into a tavern, leaving me to begin my search. I trudged through the woods for a long ways, staggering with weariness and hunger. The bag of money clinked in my pocket, getting heavier with each step. I guess the jingle of the coins put me in mind of the colonel, for I kept looking behind me, expecting to see the old devil riding after me on that big bay horse of his. I knew he was dead, but I swear his ghost scared me even more than the living man.

  At every camp I was met with suspicion and questions. No one knew the whereabouts of Captain Granger. No one cared. But they sure wondered why I was wanting to know. I asked once or twice for Private Otis Hicks, thinking he'd put in a good word for me, but nobody had ever heard of him.

  Finally a guard told me I'd come to the right camp at last. "What do you want with the captain?" he asked.

  "There was a skirmish this morning, just across the river," I said. "I hear his men brought some slaves back with them."

  "What's it to you if they did?" He eyed me with scorn. "Those slaves are contraband now."

  I longed to punch that soldier as hard as I could, but I knew such a deed wouldn't advance my cause. Forcing myself to speak civil, I said, "Can you at least tell me if there was a boy with them? A pretty child about seven years old?"

  The guard grinned. "You have anything to make my telling you worthwhile?"

  I reached into my pocket and brought out some silver coins. "This is all I got."

  The guard counted the money. "Fifty cents. I reckon that's enough to stake me to a game of cards tonight."

  Dropping the coins into his pocket, he said, "There was a boy, three women, a baby, and a man. The last I seen of 'em, they was near the hospital tent." He pointed off to the left. "Seems the man was wounded."

  It was the best use I could have put that money to. I thanked the Yankee and ran off, hoping to find Perry fast. It took longer than I reckoned, though. Almost every soldier I passed stopped me and asked where I was going and what I was doing. Luckily they all thought I was way too young to be a danger to anyone. By the time I found the hospital tent I was weary of their questions and their jokes, which all seemed to be at my expense.

  The first person I saw was Hyacinth. She was standing with her back to me, gazing through the trees at the setting sun. The clouds had turned to purple and deep red, and the sky itself was like a lake of fire.

  I went up to her quiet-like and said her name.

  She wheeled around, amazed to see me. "Jesse," she whispered, "we never thought to see you again, boy. Where have you been?"

  "Trying to catch up with you." I grabbed her hand. "Where's Perry? Is he all right?"

  "Bless you, Perry's fine, but worried sick about you." She led me toward a small tent. "He's going to be real happy to see you, Jesse."

  Hyacinth lifted the flap and led me inside. "Look who I just found," she cried.

  Perry let out a squeal and ran to me. The two of us hugged each other so hard we nearly squeezed the breath out of ourselves. When we let loose, Maror gave me a hug herself. Pearl was sitting beside Thomas. He sported a bandage on his head and a sling on his arm but appeared to be in no danger of dying. They greeted me with smiles, and the baby whimpered.

  "Sit yourself down and have something to eat," Hyacinth said. "Poor thing, you look half starved."

  I took a plate of beans and dug in. They were hot and tasty, full of salt and pork fat. I grinned at Perry, and he grinned back. Trut
h to tell, I felt like I'd been reunited with my own family, the one I'd never had and always wanted.

  After I'd eaten my full, I told them what had transpired, leaving out nothing but the colonel's last words and the bag of money. I planned to wait until Perry and I were alone to give him his inheritance, for I still hadn't decided exactly what to tell him.

  Maror gave me a grim smile. "That's the best news I've heard in a long while," she muttered. "I just wish I'd been the one to shoot the devil."

  Hyacinth patted her mother's hand. "Forget Colonel Abednego Botfield, Mama. Put him behind you, along with your old name." She glanced at Perry, who was too busy toying with a loose button on his jacket to notice. "That man can't harm you or anyone else now."

  Not caring to linger on this subject, I turned my attention to Thomas. "What happened after I got swept away from the boat? Where were you and Perry all that time?"

  Thomas shrugged. "A bullet hit my arm and another grazed my head. Since I wasn't no use the way I was, I went overboard with Perry. We got washed down the river a way and hid ourselves amongst the rocks. The soldiers found us and took us along with the women."

  "We'd have stayed to look for you, Jesse," Maror put in, "but the Yankees were in a rush to get back across the river."

  "What do you aim to do now?" I asked. "The camp guard said you're contraband. Does that mean you're prisoners?"

  Thomas shook his head. "I told the captain we was on our way to Ohio, and he said to go on with his blessings. What would they want with us? We're just more mouths to feed."

  "We'll be leaving first thing tomorrow," Maror said. "Before the sun's up. War or no war, we've still got danger to face."

  "Are you coming with us, Jesse?" Perry asked.

  I was sore tempted to say yes. But if I ran off to Ohio, who would care for Uncle Philemon? It worried me not to be there to hunt his dinner. The Lord only knew what he'd been eating all this time. Living on biscuits and eggs, most like, and whatever else Delia could concoct.