There was a new weapon being discussed, the Gatling gun, that could shoot hundreds of cartridges in minutes. It would be the ultimate weapon if it could be gotten into production before the war ended, which was doubtful.
The South seemed to be hanging on by sheer willpower, with heavy losses and devastation everywhere. In the North, contrary to popular sentiment, instead of marching off to war singing Glory, Glory Hallelujah,” there were draft riots with many killed because men objected to being drafted into the army. They said there were a thousand killed in New York City alone. In the South, where people were starving, there were bread riots. Lincoln was running for reelection this coming November, but the war had dragged on too long and his popularity was down.
The South was still in love with the song Dixie,” not seeming to realize it was a minstrel show song written by a Yankee who was furious over its becoming the Confederate anthem.
This past January, songwriter Stephen Foster had died, a hopeless, penniless drunk in New York’s Bellevue Hospital.
Out on the Western frontier, the South had been stirring up the Indians to fight the government troops in order to keep the Union stretched thin. There weren’t enough Yankee troops to fight the South and keep the Indians under control, too. There had been rumors all this year that the Union was desperate enough to recruit captured Southern prisoners of war to put on Union blue and go west to fight Indians.
Cherokee watched the moon move slowly past his tiny window, throwing the shadow of the iron bars across his face and the grimy wall. Silver. Where was she and did she ever think of him? If he lived until the war ended, would she still be in Buckskin Joe? He took a deep breath and seemed to smell the wild flowers of the Colorado high country; or was it her perfume he remembered? A breeze rustled through a distant tree and he thought of her high, sweet voice and how, like quicksilver, her mood could change from gaiety to passion.
It was so hot in the narrow cell. Cherokee would have gone insane ages ago if it hadn’t been that he could escape in his mind. He closed his eyes and went back to Colorado. He stood on the narrow balcony outside Silver’s window, and in the August heat, her window was open.
He climbed through. In the flickering light of the lamp she always kept by her bed, he saw her lying on top of the covers, her blue silk nightdress unbuttoned all the way down in the heat. A light sheen of perspiration shone on her satiny skin and her pale hair spread over the pillow.
I’ve finally struck it rich, he said, looking down at her. I’ve brought you gold dust from my own mine.
Her aqua eyes flickered open, and she took a deep breath, her full breasts moving in the light. Cherokee? Oh, I’ve waited forever for you to make love to me again!
He held out the bag. I’m not poor anymore. I’ve got plenty of gold and I want you to have it.
She started to protest, but he silenced her with a gesture. Opening the bag of gold dust he poured a steady stream in the cleft between her breasts and slowly moved his hand so that he left a trail of gold down her belly that overflowed her navel. Then he moved lower still. It felt erotic to be caressing her with the costly treasure, pouring the little stream down both her naked thighs and then back up again, covering her mound with priceless gold.
He sprinkled the glittering dust back up her belly, around her nipples, and over her breasts. The sheen of perspiration made the gold dust cling to her skin so that when she breathed, it glittered in the moonlight. A golden idol, he thought, and now I’m going to worship at this shrine of love.
Very slowly, he unbuttoned his shirt, threw it to one side, reached to undo his belt, let his pants slide to the floor, and stepped out of his boots. She lay there, glistening in the moonlight, a fabulous fortune in gold reflecting light from her ripe, naked body.
My grandmother says you’re all whores, but I don’t care. I’ve paid a fortune for this privilege, he said. Now give my my money’s worth.
She held up her hands to him and he lay down on her feeling the priceless gold clinging to his hot, damp skin, too. Then he entered her and began to ride her like a stallion servicing a mare in heat. She locked her glittering legs around his hips. I’m not a whore, Cherokee. I’ve waited all this time for your return. No matter how things seem, I’m not a whore.
I don’t care what you are. I love you, Silver. I can’t help myself.
Her breasts glittered in the moonlight like two costly jewels and he put his hands on them, cupping them, pushing them up for his mouth. He could feel her muscles tightening on him, her supple body rippling under his in the rhythms of love. Even her flawless, beautiful face glittered with gold and it excited him to think he had strewn the costly powder with such abandon. This mating would cost a king’s ransom, but he would call it worth it. He dared not hope that she could love him for himself.
He slipped his hands under her small hips, tilting her up for his long, slow thrusts. Tonight, he would put his baby in her belly. When she was big with the fruit of his seed, she would have to turn her back on everything the Nugget represented and go away with him to be his mate in some cabin high in the Rockies. There would be so much gold that he would spread it for her to roll in before he coupled with her. Afterward, she would dance naked for him, clad in nothing but the glittering gold dust, the bracelet he had given her, and the sliver shoes.
Her hands were on his waist even as her long legs locked his body to hers. She arched under him, pulling him down into her, biting his nipples and digging her nails into his back in a frenzy. Deeper, she begged, deeper!
He had meant to make it last a long, long time, but her body seemed to be pulling the very juice from him, demanding that, like a virile stud, he service her need. They rolled about on the tangled covers in a frenzy of mutual passion and desire, the gold dust sparkling in the moonlight as their bodies moved. He couldn’t get any deeper into her, although he tried. His male rod felt big as a gold bar, throbbing and hot as molten metal in her depths.
And then she gasped and pushed her tongue deep in his throat, her nails digging into him even as her glittering legs held him prisoner. Give it to me, she whispered, give it to me. You know what I want!
Her nipples felt swollen under his chest as he held her very close and rammed into her one more long moment of ecstasy. Then her body began to grip his maleness, forcing it to give up what it was she wanted, squeezing the very life juice from him into her waiting womb. They thrashed wildly for a moment and then, as they reached that crest at the same heartbeat, they froze into stillness—the only sound the creak of the bed, the quivering of muscles, and the whimpers of urgency.
He was pouring himself into her, giving her everything he had to give and it still wasn’t enough. Her body locked onto his, demanding still more, and he was filling her with virile seed. Filling her . . . filling her . . .
Cherokee woke trembling and gasping. For a long moment, he was not sure where he was or what had happened to Silver. Then he realized he was still in the sweltering, cramped cell with the moonlight shining full upon him and he turned his face to the wall and banged his fist bloody against the stones in misery and despair.
The next day, he was again thrown in with the general prison population and discovered there were new captives being admitted. And among them was his old friend, the redheaded blacksmith, William Dowdy.
Bill! By damn! You’re a sight for sore eyes! How’s Shawn? How’s the war going?”
The young man’s mouth dropped open in amazement. Cherokee? We thought you was dead!”
If I have to stay in this hellhole another six months, I very well may be! Tell me the news!”
Petty made it back, said you and Wilson was both killed.”
Cherokee cursed, and ran his hand through his hair. That damned Petty deserted me! Wilson was killed all right and I’ve been a prisoner ever since that night. Do you have any tobacco?”
The big blacksmith shook his head. Yanks took it off me first thing. I reckon they ain’t seen any the whole war, just like we ain’t seen
much real coffee. Will a fella even be able to get a drink here once in a while, Cherokee?”
I don’t know. When I gave it up, I gave it up for good. But I have to admit that once in a while, I think about how Irish whiskey used to taste.” He led Dowdy over to a corner of the prison yard and they sat down in the shade of the big broad wall that surrounded the desolate, treeless sandbar. We don’t even know much about what’s going on out there.”
Well, we’re losing and losing bad; looks like it’s only a matter of time,” the boy sighed.
We did hear that. The captain all right?”
He’s Colonel O‘Bannion now,” Dowdy drawled. I reckon he’s fine. We got separated in the fightin’ right after the Fort Pillow thing.”
Fort Pillow?”
Ain’t you heard?”
Cherokee leaned back against the wall and shook his head. No, tell me.”
Forrester’s Tennessee troops captured the Yankee fort. When our boys found out it was manned by former slaves, they went crazy. Petty was one of those who started it, although O’Bannion tried to stop it. Turned into a massacre, it did. Our troops even burned and buried some of those black soldiers alive!”
Good God! War makes men do crazy things, doesn’t it?”
Dowdy nodded and looked around at the handsome arrogant Rand Erikson, who had just crossed the prison yard. Who’s the fella who struts like a rooster?”
Cherokee frowned and looked at the tall blond aristocrat the blacksmith pointed to. Oh, him? A real Southern gentleman—rich and spoiled. He only joined up so he could wear a pretty gray uniform to all the cotillions and thrill the plantation belles. Then he got captured and even his daddy’s money hasn’t managed to get him released. He’s a pain in the—”
What’s the prison camp itself like?”
Point Lookout?” Cherokee asked. compared to what? Hell? Some days I’m not sure I’m not there already. Some die every day from bad food or disease. There’s no trees, just sand and wind. It’s cold in the winter and sweltering in the summer.”
Can we escape?”
Cherokee shook his head. But I’m getting desperate enough to do anything to get out of here. We’ve heard gossip about the Union enlisting prisoners to join up and go west to fight Indians. They call them Galvanized Yankees.”
You gonna join if you get the chance?”
Cherokee scratched the world Silver” in the sand thoughtfully. I don’t know. My own tribe is fighting on both sides of this war. The South has promised the Indians their own separate nation if the Confederacy wins, so you can see why the Plains tribes are trying to help the South. A man will do a lot of things to live and I’m not sure I can survive another six months in this place.”
Whatever you do, I’m gonna do,” young Dowdy said. At least we will be outa this place and we won’t have to fight against our own people!”
And so it was that a few days later, the two, along with a thousand other former Confederates, including Rand Erikson, found themselves in the new First Volunteer Infantry. They boarded the big transport ship, the Continental, in a Virginia harbor, and were on their way to New York City. The group was divided there, and Cherokee and Dowdy were among the six hundred loaded onto trains and sent to St. Louis.
The first week of September, Cherokee and William Dowdy, wearing Union blue, were now at the Missouri River boarding a big stern-wheeler named the Effie Deans to go up river. Final destination: Fort Rice, Dakota Territory, where the First Volunteer Infantry was needed to fight the Sioux.
The two settled themselves on the deck along with hundreds of others and watched the young colonel bark last-minute orders to the ship captain before the crew cast off and the ship started upstream.
Dowdy shook his head. He don’t look like much, do he?”
Cherokee scowled. Young and green and scared,” was his verdict, and maybe Dimon’s got a right to be.”
What do you mean?”
Cherokee looked at the overloaded deck, a sea of blue uniforms. Do you realize that except for the boat crew, a twenty-three-year-old colonel, and a handful of his own men, what we’re got here are six hundred former Southern troops? And it’s a long, lonely trip up the river.”
That’s right, ain’t it?” the blacksmith drawled. It wouldn’t be all that hard to overpower him and his officers, take over this boat, and head South to rejoin our own side.”
Watch it!” Cherokee cautioned him. Keep your voice low! What you’re talking is treason and Dimon’s bound to have spies mixed in with these troops.”
I don’t give a damn,” Dowdy said, pulling off his blue cap and running his hand through the bright red hair. I’d shore do it if I get the chance. Would you, Cherokee?”
Cherokee thought a moment, then shook his head. I swore an oath and gave my word. I’m not a man to go back on my word.”
But if it was given to a damned Yankee—”
It’s still my word,” Cherokee said, and I just can’t break it, even to a Yankee. Call it foolish, call it old-fashioned, it doesn’t matter. Like I said, Dowdy, be careful. As big as you are and with that shock of red hair, you stand out in a crowd. You don’t want to say things that would attract our young colonel’s attention. I think he’s just itching to make an example of someone.”
They found out just how scared the green officer was the next day as the boat inched its way upstream. He called an assembly of the whole six hundred troops and announced that it had been reported that Willian Dowdy was urging treason. There would be a hearing, the officer announced, but he intended to make it clear that he would tolerate no treason or talk of uprisings among the former Confederates.
The hearing as such was a joke. In vain, the big, clumsy boy pleaded his innocence. In vain, Cherokee appeared before the hearing, speaking in the blacksmith’s defense and protesting Dowdy’s arrest while the boat chugged up the muddy Missouri.
The verdict was a forgone conclusion. Cherokee had already sensed that from the hostile faces of the officers hearing the case. Still he was shocked when Colonel Dimon announced that William Dowdy had been found guilty, and would be taken ashore the next day and executed.
There was a collective gasp from the assembled men when the verdict was announced.
Cherokee asked to see the colonel in his cabin and protested that even in war, no soldier could be executed for any reason without a chance to appeal. Anyway, the President himself had to sign the documents in a case like this and Lincoln was well known for his kind heart, and more likely than not, would commute the sentence.
Sir, you just can’t do it,” Cherokee said. You are overstepping your authority.”
The youthful officer stood up and paced the small cabin. My authority is what’s on the line here, Evans. You think I don’t know it hasn’t crossed everyone’s mind how easy it would be to mutiny, take over the Effie Deans, and float her back down the river to rejoin Southern guerilla fighters?”
I tell you Dowdy is innocent!” Cherokee said. He’s not smart enough to plan something like you suggest. It was just loose talk.”
What’s loose around here is discipline, Evans,” The slightly built officer eyed him coldly. An example has to be made so these men will know I mean business and will deal with troublemakers like yourself and the private without hesitation.”
Are you threatening me, sir?”
The young officer glared at him and Cherokee saw nervous sweat on the other’s almost beardless face. Let’s just say I will command, I will control this bunch of Rebels, no matter what I have to do!”
It’s on your conscience then.” Cherokee turned to go.
Aren’t you forgetting something, Evans?”
Very slowly, Cherokee turned around and gave him a deliberately insulting salute.
He went up on deck where Dowdy sat in chains.
The blacksmith raised his head. Well?”
Cherokee shook his head. I still think he’s bluffing. I think at the last minute tomorrow, he’ll commute your sentence. I just can’t be
lieve he’d overstep himself to the point that he’d execute a U.S. soldier without going through proper channels, which takes months.”
From the other end of the ship, they heard the sound of hammering.
Dowdy looked scared. Cherokee, you’d better tell the colonel that if he’s bluffing, he’s wasting a lot of time and good lumber havin’ the boys build me a coffin.”
I reckon I got you into this, and I’m sorry. We’d both been better off to have stayed in the Yankee prison.”
Now, Cherokee, you couldn’t know this would happen. If I was you, I’d watch my step. I hear rumors you’re next on his list because you’re my friend and someone the men would follow.”
Cherokee spat contemptously. That wet behind the ears pup wouldn’t dare execute two men on this trip. I don’t even think he’ll execute one.”
Cherokee, he’s running scared—afraid of an uprising out here in the wilderness. A scared man’ll do just about anything.”
Reckon so,” Cherokee said. Can I get you anything, boy?”
Dowdy’s hands trembled. I’d like to have a glass of cold buttermilk and a hunk of hot cornbread dripping with melted butter from one of my mama’s Jersey cows. I been waking up nights dreaming about that ever since I was captured. You ever dream over and over about something you love and know you most likely will never have again?”
Cherokee thought of Silver and nodded. I’m sorry I can’t get you any buttermilk, son. And I don’t imagine these Yankees know anything about cornbread. Us Cherokees like to fry it in deep fat along with fresh-caught catfish.”
And a mess of greens,” Dowdy said wistfully. ”Poke, picked early in the spring when it’s tender and fresh; with a hunk of salt pork to flavor it. And fried green tomatoes. Law, I’d give anything for a plate of fried green tomatoes.”
In the background, the hammering pounded rhythmically and the Effie Deans churned her way through the muddy water.
He had to keep the boy’s mind off what those carpenters were building. Cherokee put his hand on Dowdy’s broad shoulder. If we had that dinner, would you rather have fried chicken or ham?”
Quicksilver Passion Page 21
