Sue, pet, is there a moon?
Tis a very new moon. . . .
Captain Sue, I thought as much. Captain Sue, have you employed those horrid curl-papers again?
No, sir, I was under strict orders not to do so.
Delighted to know that you obeyed orders. You may be permitted to approach the Colonel . . . indeed, you may be permitted to approach even closer . . . ah, that’s better.
Her body shaking suddenly, her grief wetting his naked arm, her hot wild young wet grief.
Sue . . . after a time . . . don’t.
Charley— I—can’t—
Is it because I’m—? You said you wouldn’t, again.
Tisn’t! No, no— Oh, Charley, what if they should come here? To Macon? What would they do to you? To—to the girls? To—me?
I think we’d all be safe, my dear. Very safe indeed. There are some decent people among them.
And tears to come, and soothing and exploration and then the easy bliss . . . increasing power of bliss, the burning gasping glee of bliss, the ease, the wiping away of hurts of war or any other hurts. Colonel Charles Whitlow Overcash went to sleep.
Major Lonny, acting as paymaster, went to Andersonville.
For some hours the poverty-stricken Reserves edged past the extemporized office consisting of a broken field desk cobbled together by the addition of one leg which wouldn’t fold, consisting also of several barrels turned on end— They presented themselves, smooth-chinned or bald-headed, bearded dreamer or young dunce, to the paymaster’s extemporized family. They signed for their money or made their marks; there were more marks than names, for some of the signatures were little more than marks although the individuals insisted that they could write, and read too. Fragile scrip was put into their hands, more than three thousand folds of it, when all was done. This distribution had begun when Floral Tebbs and his party were On Picket and was completed by lantern light; thus all contingents of the guards On Picket and On Parapet had an opportunity to draw their pay, excepting those unhappy individuals in the guardhouse. (In the latter cases commanders signed for the men; some of the men would never see their money.) Flory had fifty-two dollars Confed in his pocket. It didn’t remain in his pocket for long. He kept taking the money out and looking at it.
You going to wear that money out, you Flory, fore you get a chance to spend it. This from the gangling Mackey, who was scarcely less excited about his own pay.
Aw.
Flory had never owned fifty-two dollars in any kind of currency before; almost he had never owned fifty-two cents. He should have received fifty-four dollars for a part of May, for June, July and August. (Early in June the rate of pay for infantrymen was raised from eleven to eighteen dollars per month.) But fines stood against his name: on two occasions he had been fined one dollar for misuse or abuse of Government equipment. Now he wished that he had been better behaved.
Think I know where, said Mackey in concealed excitement.
Ask that there tall what-you-call-him, said Irby Flincher. You know, Sojer, from Company D. Jim Waller—that’s his name. He went there recent, and knows where to go.
Think we could find it in the dark?
Maybe steal a lantern. Twill be dead dark soon. But let’s ask that feller Waller.
They spoke in riddles, and Flory Tebbs might not know what was going on, although he clung to his comrades. He talked boastfully of cleaning out Uncle Arch Yeoman’s candy jars, and maybe the tobacco box as well; he complained with the others that they were not paid nearly enough, the Government ought to allow them more money now that the purchasing power of Confed had shrunken so badly. He talked of buying a bottle of pine-top, or maybe only half a canteen of it. But Irby Flincher and Mackey Nall continued to dwell apart from him, he could not reach them, they whispered at times, they laughed loudly about some joke in which Flory was not asked to share.
Ah, said old Duckworth, man might know what you was up to. Get off with some idle young strumpet, and act like Sodom and Gomorrah!
Flory wondered who Sodom and Gomorrah might be; certainly they were not in Company E; they might, like the man Waller, be members of Company D.
Duckworth preached at them, but received only nose-thumbings from the unregenerate. Best you should give the bulk of your substance to the Lord, and prepare yourselves for His coming! For He’s a-coming, make no doubt of that. And where will you be when we all get called to the Judgment Seat, lined up maybe like we done today in front that paymaster?
Aw, go lay an egg, you old Duck.
Boys, I give no care how you revile me and spit upon me. For well I know I’m Saved; but when the flames of the Devil start a-reaching and a-grabbing after you, then will you regret! Great shall be the lamentation of you all, with wailing and gnashing of teeth!
Irby gnashed his teeth, Mackey combed through his lore of obscenity which was vast though hackneyed. Floral followed the other boys when they left the tent; he fought to hold back tears; he was scorned, undesired, he had not Shot A Mudsill. But, by God, next time he went On Parapet. . . .
Look who’s a-coming, said one of them, and they turned and stood challengingly in the gloom. What you want, Flory?
Where you bound, fellers? What’s ado?
Hell, Irby, we’re done in.
Naw, let him come along.
Bet he couldn’t even get it up, and they both laughed loudly.
I could, when I was his age.
Well, bet on it. Bet you a dollar?
Bet! So we might as well take him with us, so’s we can see. You got your pay in your pants, Flory?
Got it, cried Flory. He slapped his pocket. Now, please to tell me where we’re bound? To Uncle Arch’s?
Naw, naw, naw, not to Uncle Arch’s. Mackey tried to mimic Flory’s treble. And twill cost you at least five dollars Confed, or so tis said. First we’re going over here to Company D to find that man Waller.
Irby Flincher added in a whisper, Then we got to get us a lantern, cause we don’t know the way around outside the post too well. And we got to get past the sentries.
Ho, cried Flory, hain’t no trick to that! Reckon I know every coon-trot in this country.
Lanterns were guarded jealously, people were forbidden to remove them from any tent or shack where such illumination was permitted. But Flory Tebbs thought suddenly of the paymaster. That major, he whispered to his companions; and they stood to listen with what amounted almost to respect. Major Lonny had not yet left the camp, they had seen him strolling past with other officers while they cooked their evening meal. There was no northbound train expected during the evening, and if a southbound train arrived with fresh prisoners at this late hour it couldn’t depart until all the prisoners had been counted from it. Hence the paymaster must be spending the night, hence a tent must have been made available.
While Irby Flincher sought Private Waller, Flory and Mackey hunted out the paymaster’s tent (there was such a tent, indeed) after questioning only a few people. It was called the Visitors’ Tent, and stood slightly northeast of their own camp, among pines near the path which led to the soup house. The sentry guarding this region was stationed even farther to the northeast. Flory and Mackey snaked silently among the trees and came up to the Visitors’ Tent from the rear, and saw no shadow walking on dirty dark canvas. A faint light glowed. Mackey made cat sounds, then growled like a dog. Nothing moved in the tent. Flory went under the rear canvas and, sure enough the paymaster must be in residence, for there was his desk dumped in the corner, complete with the mended leg sticking up and straps buckled tightly. Flory thought of currency, vast slabs of it, still to be paid to other troops; but doubtless those scabby black bags were now well-guarded at the commander’s headquarters. He blew out the lantern, he and Mackey carried it away in triumph, and met Irby Flincher at a pre-arranged rendezvous in the ravine below the fort.
We got to watch shar
p. Sentries on the depot road.
Well I know! Stood there often my own self.
You tell me, said Flory, what direction we’re bound?
Over towards the car tracks, then left.
Flory had learned Right and Left since he joined the Fourth Reserves; he had never been absolutely certain just which was his right hand, and his left, before. Such designations were not applied at the Widow Tebbs’ house. One said, Under there. No, tother side. One said, It hain’t on the shelf next that corn. It’s nigh that rag lamp alongside the string of dried pumpkin.
Flory said, Left? Then we got to get past the depot and past them quartermaster’s offices and stores.
And car tracks go smack betwixt them buildings and the guards’ hospital, so’s there’s bound to be sentries.
Just you leave that to me, said Flory pridefully. He led the way through sloping woodland toward the northeast fork of the Sweetwater branch, but avoided a swamp which spread between the three small forks. They skipped across the ooze and continued west up a fourth miniature fork which began at a slow-rising spring amid hummocks near the railroad. They crossed the tracks and circled warily south and west beyond General Winder’s quarters; there were lights burning in the quarters, a dog barked protractedly but the dog did not come close.
You taking us plumb to Alabama, Flory?
Now just you watch. Well do I know this region. Hellfire, Sojers, I was raised here!
He could not guess their destination, or what excitement awaited; it was enough that he moved respected and depended upon. He hadn’t shot a prisoner yet, but he would shoot one perhaps tomorrow. Meanwhile he seemed to have regained the stature which he had assumed when he fought his friends, when he bit off a portion of Mackey’s ear. He fancied that possibly some of the other older guards had decided to buy a pig with their riches; and Irby and Mackey were invited to partake of this delight at some secret wilderness barbecue, because of their prowess in killing prisoners. Yes, that could be the answer to this puzzle, easily. The bed of fire glowing a welcome, scorched dripping body of the pig held up on its spit, scent of burnt hair and cracklings newly made, the bottles of liquor handed round. Well, pine-top gagged him and burnt his little throat, but once more he might try to drink it. He was a man and a half, by God. Or would be.
Now he ain’t a-guiding us to Alabama, Irby. We must be halfway to Egypt or somewheres.
Jesus Mighty!
What is it?
God damn stump. I like to broke my leg! Flory, you get us out this here forest or I’ll kick your balls off.
Light the lantern, Sojer.
No, too many guards yonder. Flory, you—
Them lights ahead, said Floral Tebbs, ought to be that quartermaster place. We get around there safe, we can come square out on the railroad.
I think the little bastard’s right.
Sure as death I am right.
They were not challenged, no sentinels walked near, they left stores and offices behind them and floundered through vines until they could creep into a low ditch and then up to ties and rails beyond. Reckon I guided you in the right fashion, cried Flory triumphantly.
Reckon you did. Waller says it’s just down the tracks past here, then take first road to the right. He says usual you see a lamp a-burning in the house.
Flory stopped so abruptly that the others bumped him. They swore, stepped aside, looked at him through vague damp starlight, for the slice of moon was fallen below the trees. Where we a-going? He added, Sojers, but the word became a gulp and a grunt.
He’s scairt.
I said he was too blame small. Couldn’t get it up—
Flory, they wanted to know, and spoke jeeringly between their giggles. Flory, did you ever poke a girl?
His voice was shaking. Whwhwhat’s that?
You know. Give her a good poking, where it does the most good.
No, I never, he managed to confess through puny bewilderment. Never did.
Aw-haw! I win my dollar.
But—where we—going to do it? Whwhwhat girl?
Oh, she ain’t exactly a girl, guess she’s a growed-up lady with kids and truck, but Waller says she does take a good poking and likes it right well. Hell, that’s where lots the growed-men guards go. Even officers as well.
There’s a nigger wench along that road up northwest of the depot, said Mackey. But they say this white lady is better. But you better have that five-dollar shinplaster handy. I still think I’ll win that dollar off’n Irby, sure enough.
They started down the tracks. Flory stood fastened to mud and gravel between the ties. After a few minutes he could not make out the slight shapes which were his companions, going on ahead with the tinkling lantern, seeking the lane which led to the Widow Tebbs’. Flory trembled in momentary spasm, a taste of his supper came into his throat. He had a wish to put his head upon his mother’s lap and cry and cry and cry. Sometimes he had done that, when he was little, when he was hurt; he had done that when he was bitten by a stray dog, he had done it when he was watching workmen on this railroad and a stone flew from under a pick and hit him on the cheek. When he was hurt, his mother had been kind to him, often. She’d say, Now, you hain’t kilt. Just stop that bawling, baby boy, cause twon’t get you no place. You want bread-and-lasses? Well, I’m a-going to fix you some right now, and she had been tender if coarse-spoken when her flabby hands lifted her apron or petticoat and wiped his face.
Irby and Mackey were gone ahead into the night. It was not far to the side lane. Once they seemed to halt, as if waiting for Flory. They moved on after calling some taunt intended for his ears. Flory turned toward the north. For a time he tried his old trick of walking on the rail but he kept falling off. He trudged on, and then there were men with guns immediately ahead of him. He toppled into the ditch and lay motionless until the men had vanished. It could have been that these were sentries patrolling the area of stores and offices. No lights in any of the buildings by this time. Even Uncle Arch’s store was dark when Flory reached the depot’s vicinity. He walked wearily into camp, slipping past guards who were probably asleep. Before he reached the wall tent which was Home he could hear old Duckworth’s snores.
Mackey Nall was not so fortunate. When later he and Irby Flincher tried to creep to camp they were challenged. Irby made his escape among trees, but Mackey was seized and a pass was demanded of him. He had no pass; thus he was marched to the guardhouse. . . . Irby crawled into the tent as silently as he could, a few minutes later, and when Flory coughed the other boy could tell by the manner of his coughing that Flory was awake.
You little prick, muttered Irby.
Just bet I ain’t. Want me to come over and rub your eye out like I nearly done afore?
Leastways you never have got you a Yank, and I did, by Jesus God.
Irby. Did you—? Whereabouts is Mackey?
He got cotched and jailed. I damn near did too.
Irby, did you—do that—? Poking that lady—?
Hell, we never got no chance. Blame yard was just full of folks a-waiting their turns.
The bulk of their company drew Parapet the next morning and marched straggling along the gummy road toward the east, and deployed by uneven files down the path which led from station ladder to station ladder. When he had climbed in his turn Flory found himself on the platform of Station Number Forty-one, and saw that Irby was a few rods distant on Number Forty-two. Irby Flincher’s inherent viciousness had resolved itself into a combined hatred of Yankees, superior officers, comrades. Honestly Irby could have told no one which he loathed the most (because in fact he despised himself most of all; and thus like all who find themselves despicable he turned the weapon of revulsion out and away, waved it blindly, brandished it at God and Nature) but he seemed declaring in each twitch of his moody eyes or his blobber-lip that Flory was less worthy than dung, less to be admired than a maggot. Irby’s s
tudied contempt reached along ninety feet of jagged post-tops even when it was unvoiced. When it was voiced it took the form of rusty barbs, fish-hooks twisted through Flory’s skin.
—Whyn’t you hold your gun proper?
—Hey, you Flory! Lost me a dollar, you did!
—Shouldn’t never have bet you could get it up.
Sergeant Sinkfield, swaggering in the path on a round of inspection, looked up and told Irby to shut his trap. This rebuke administered to his tormentor should have delighted Floral Tebbs but he was plunged too deeply into the pitch of despair. His nostrils were raw and dripping, his soul was sodden as the mat of motionless gray clouds overhead, he had had no appetite for breakfast. He gazed stupidly at hobbling currents of prisoners, unable to sense their demented activity or inquire about it, unable to ask a question of himself.
A fresh rumor of exchange had come into the stockade, it had been peddled by Little Red Cap. Promptly this rumor gave birth to many little rumors and they were waved, hugged, embroidered, waved hysterically again, as if no such gossip had ever been voiced to be accepted by the credulous, to poison them in time. New (and therefore vigorous) prisoners talked together volubly, slapped one another on the back, pumped one another by the hand, spoke of Akron and Fort Dodge and Mattoon and New Haven. Surviving veterans (therefore they were cynical men) who had managed to retain a fair portion of their strength, swallowed momentarily beneficent pills of legend which brought—momentarily again—vitality into frames and minds long clutched by the drug of cynicism. Their eyes shone despite any discipline they tried to impose in order to keep their eyes from shining; they went with briskness to shebangs of friends; they said, Have you heard? Well, I don’t believe it— But— Thought I’d tell you— Somebody heard Wirz talking in his office— Ten detachments going out right away. No, seven. No, six. It was a letter to General Winder from the Rebel war department. Everybody who can walk, going to Savannah. No, Charleston. Paroled. No, exchanged. Going to take them on boats to Maryland. They’re going to remove all the sick. No, it’s just us well ones. Have you heard—? Did you hear about—?
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