by Jim Murphy
May 9
Yes, it is another day. Sunrise to be exact, and I have just opened my eyes from a sweet, long sleep. I intend to write a little and then be on my way. About last night — I put away the journal and began inching toward the shack, every step slow and deliberate, my heart thumping nervously.
At the edge of the clearing I paused to look and listen carefully. I’d made some sort of mistake with that white woman — a noise, a movement — and it nearly cost me my life. I didn’t want to do the same here. The woods was empty and quiet and so was the clearing. No one was moving around in the dark.
I found a small pebble and tossed it at the door. It struck with a soft crack. Since I had heard it, someone inside should have, too, only there was no answer. I threw another pebble, this time a little harder.
The woman replied in a language I didn’t understand — other than it was a question of some sort. Not angry, tho. More like a cautious, “Who’s there?” “A friend,” I answered in a whisper. “Come out, please.”
The door creaked open a bit and the woman peered out. I had moved out of the woods and closer to the door so she could see me full. “I’ll not harm you,” I said, taking a step toward her. “I need help.” The door opened more — enough that I could see her face — hard and questioning — and her eyes — dark and suspicious. I could also see a small knife clutched in her hand, ready to go to work on me if I turned out to be unfriendly.
“I am unarmed,” I said, and raised my hands so there was no mistake about this and even turned around once. “Food. All I need is some food. A little. Any you can spare.”
She looked me up and down several times and I guess I must have presented a pathetic sight when I think on it — blown up in a bloody battle, dirt and powder burns on my face and clothes, two days strolling thru the woods, hiding in dirty holes, no food and only a little restless sleep. She shook her head several times and said something to me, tho what it was I do not know. She spoke French with a heavy Southern accent and seasoned with only a bit of American. When I asked her to repeat what she said, she waved her hands toward the woods as if to tell me to go away. If I had any doubts about what she meant, she made herself clear when she closed the door firmly.
I should have left her alone — I had no right to put her in danger. But I had no choice either, so I said, “Food is all I need. I’ll lick the pot if that is all you have.” And I would have, happily, I was so hungry and desperate. When she did not reappear, I said a little more loudly, “Please, I won’t stay long.”
That door stayed shut, and I did consider leaving. But when I looked around, the woods was so dark and deep that I went straight to the door and knocked several times. “Please, open up. I have some coins — not much, but they are silver.” I fished in my pockets for the coins, but couldn’t find them. I was getting impatient and maybe a little louder than I should have been, considering. I know I wished Osgood Tracy was there to use some of that French he knows to get me in. “They are here . . . somewhere. If I can’t find them, maybe buttons from my uniform —”
Suddenly the door opened again and the woman stuck her head out, shushing me to be quiet and not looking happy at all. After glancing around, I think she said, “Step up, step up. Hurry!” But for some reason I hesitated, so she backed into the shack and waved with her hand that I should come in.
I went inside and was happy to see no one else in there. A tiny fire burning on the dirt floor in one corner gave off some welcome warmth and a layer of thin smoke — tho no worse than the smoke in one of our stockade tents. I hardly noticed the smoke smell to be honest. I was taking in another smell — food!
The woman rummaged thru a burlap sack and came out with a stump of a candle that she lit and stuck into a potato on a tiny table. She spoke to me — again, I had no idea what she was trying to say — but then she patted a little bed next to the table and gestured that I should sit. When I had settled onto the bed — and, oh, didn’t it feel comfortable! — she handed me a ladle of water, which was room warm, but tasted fine. Then she deposited a small kettle on the table and handed me a wooden spoon.
I had no idea what was in that kettle — maybe hen or rabbit or even squirrel — and I didn’t care. I ate it and made as much noise as any table of ten soldiers gobbling down a home-cooked meal.
The candle didn’t throw much light, but enough that I saw into every corner of the room and its contents, which was not much. This rickety bed I was on, the table and a wooden chair — which the woman was sitting in — plus a few small sacks and barrels scattered around the dirt floor. While I ate and studied the room, the woman talked on and on.
A little I figured out, most I did not, so I just nodded and smiled — that is, between bites of food. At one point I thought, what a crazy loon she is for talking away when she knows I don’t understand her. Then I remembered the many voices I’d had in my head and decided that if she was crazy, then I certainly was, too, and probably more so.
I finished up what was in the kettle and then my manners began to return. “Thank you,” I said. “That was good. Thank you.” She had never taken her dark eyes off me while I was eating — and her eyes were curious and nervous mixed. I knew she was scared. Not of me, but of being found hiding and feeding me, the enemy.
I stood up, prepared to leave. “I have to go now,” I said. I pointed to the door. “Go. I have to go to my people. Can you point me to the Rapidan —” and then I must have wobbled some because she came over and made me sit again and even indicated that I should lay down and sleep. It would be all-right.
I did not fight her. I could not. I lay back and put my head on a thin pillow that smelled of body oil and wild herbs and leaves and felt as heavenly as any hotel pillow could. She sat down again and blew out the candle.
“My name is James,” I said. “James Edmond Pease. Tomorrow I have to get back to my company.” She said something but I had to ask her to repeat it. She said firmly, “Sally, boy. Coll me Sally.”
“Good night, Sally,” I said. She didn’t answer. Instead, she leaned back in the chair, staring at the fire that was more glowing embers than flame now. She was deep in thought. A few minutes later a faint smile creased her lips and she nodded several times and mumbled. “Yes, yes, yes.” At least I think she said that, tho why I don’t know. Then she began singing very softly. The words was foreign to me — French, I guess — but they was soothing and gentle and made me feel safe. I wanted to say something, ask her some questions — like, if she was a slave, why was it she lived out here by herself? — but I didn’t. I didn’t want to interrupt her. It was the first time I remember ever being sung to sleep.
Tobacca shacks — Sally’s is the one closest. No matter how much I tried, I could not make them look as worn out as they really are.
Later
When I finished writing last time, I sat back — I was outside leaning against the shack. Just then, there was the rumble of horses moving fast and coming closer. A Reb patrol? I wondered. I stood up, not sure what to do. I could scamper into the woods, but how far could I hope to get?
It was Sally who grabbed me by the arm and pulled me back inside the shack, where she motioned that I should stay in the corner behind the door. She made it clear that I was to sit there and be quiet. Then she started fussing over the kettle of corn mush she had sitting in the fire.
I had no choice but to obey, so I sat with my knees drawn up and my arms wrapped around them, making myself as small as possible. When the horsemen rode up just a few seconds later, Sally went to the door to talk to them.
There was six or eight of them I guessed and they was so close to the door that they nearly blocked out the light. The one I took to be the group’s leader said, “Benjamin, you check that other shack there for signs of the Yank while I talk to Sally here.” “Yes, Grandpa,” the one named Benjamin answered in a squeaky, little-boy voice. This was no Reb cavalry unit. The old man said good morning to Sally in French, his voice a little breathless, but pleasant e
nough other-wise.
He and Sally started chatting away, him asking her questions and her answering. I had some notion about what was being said because the man used the word “Yankee” several times. At one point the leader’s horse poked its nose in the door and nudged Sally, and I tensed up, expecting the animal to betray me somehow. Sally just patted the animal casually and spoke to it in a friendly manner.
I could hear the other horses snorting and tapping restlessly at the ground with their hooves, hear the squeak of the saddles, hear the riders talking. Most of the voices sounded young, like schoolboys out playing. “Nothing there, Grandpa,” Benjamin said at last. “What’s she saying, Bill?” another one of the group — an adult this time — asked after a while, obviously impatient with the conversation. “She says she ain’t seen the Yank or heard any strange noises.” “Do you trust her?” the man asked. “As much as you can trust any of ’m,” Grandpa replied, and the group of riders all laughed. “Anything else? That was a lot of talking for so little information, Bill.” “Well,” Grandpa said, “she did wonder if we’d like to take breakfast with her. Corn mush.” “Breakfast!” the man said with obvious disgust. “Let’s get out of here. This place stinks God-awful.” Stinks? I inhaled — quietly — but all I smelled was smoke and corn mush.
Sally and Grandpa talked some more briefly — all very pleasant and matter-of-fact — and then I heard the riders turn and hurry off. They had not even bothered to check inside her shack — maybe because the door was wide open and she had been so calm and casual. I let out a sigh, while Sally went back to the kettle of corn mush.
“Thank you. For what you told those men,” I said, but Sally shook her head as if to say it was nothing unusual and handed me a bowl of mush and pan bread with honey. We did not talk much while we ate, but when I finished I said, “Well, I should go now.” I tucked this journal inside my shirt. “Is there a safe place in the woods where I can wait for dark?” — and after listening and checking carefully, I went outside and reckoned which way was north by the position of the sun. “If I go that way, will I come to the Rapidan?”
Sally stared at me a second — she seemed almost frozen — so I thanked her again and took a step away from her shack. That set her moving, because she flew out of that shack and was on me in a second, talking fast and shaking her head no and holding tight to my arm. I shook her off — I had never been held by a Negro before and I think it scared me some — but she latched on again and seemed even more upset. And this time I didn’t shake her off.
I tried to ask her a question or two — what was the matter? Why couldn’t I go? “Is it that old man?” I asked. “Those fellows on the horses?” I pointed to the hoof marks in the dirt around us. That gave me a pause, remembering all of the alarm fire that trailed me from that woman’s home. Sally shook her head no and started talking again, all the while gesturing with her hands.
Of course, I didn’t understand her, which made her impatient, but that was okay because I was impatient, too. I tried to leave again, but Sally held tight. Then she stopped talking and I could see her puzzling out how to tell me what she wanted to say. I knew she’d hit on something when her face lit up with a smile and she went and broke off a small, dead branch from a nearby tree.
The next thing I knew, she was drawing a big rectangle in the dirt and filling it in with the stars and bars. It wasn’t the prettiest drawing I ever saw, but I could tell it was the Reb flag. “Rebs? Reb soldiers? Is that what you mean? There are soldiers around. Where?” She waved her hand in a wide arc that said they was every-where and then drew a map of the area.
The Lt. was right. She knew the surrounding land pretty well and even put in the location of big and small farms and buildings. At first I thought she was going to show me a trail out of there, and I was excited at the notion of getting back to the boys. But then she pointed to the Reb flag and started making Xs in various places. One. Two. Three. Four, et cetera, et cetera.
If I felt the alarm shots had nearly surrounded me, those Xs told me something even worse. Except for a few isolated fields like this one, Rebs was camped all around us. And there would be patrols and messengers and such traveling all over the place, too. I’d been lucky yesterday — very lucky! — to stumble thru and find Sally’s. I wasn’t sure I had enough luck in me to slip back thru again, especially during the daylight.
Sally must have seen how upset I was, because she began talking in an animated way — something about night and someone called Davie. “Who is this Davie?” I asked. “Will you take me to him?” It took some time to make myself understood, and some more time for me to understand that no, I wasn’t going to Davie, he was coming to me. And that was all Sally would say.
After we scuffed out the drawings of the map and flag — and I have to say I liked kicking at that flag — Sally led me deep into the woods and pointed to a spot that would be my “home” for the day. She had put together a little sack of food — cheese, a good hunk of pan bread, a small cask of water, several turnips, and her knife. Then she left to work on the farm of the people who owned her. She made me to understand this with another map and by making believe she was scrubbing down a floor.
With Sally gone and us not trying to “talk,” it is suddenly very quiet and still. So here I am, back in the woods and alone. Waiting.
Later, around 12 noon
Dozed off several times today with all sorts of people and thoughts and worries swimming around in my head. Woke when horses came thundering by on what I guess is a nearby road. I made myself as small as possible, expecting those riders to come charging into the clearing again.
When I heard the distinct sound of shouted orders, I knew it was soldiers. My first thought was, If I don’t run and make them angry, they won’t shoot me outright. But when they came into the clearing and approached the tobacca shacks, my second thought was, Stay calm, Pease. They don’t know you’re here, so don’t do anything foolish. I pressed myself as flat as I could to that damp ground.
Sally had chosen this spot well. She had planted me some 400 feet from the clearing, in a section filled with rocks, fallen, rotting trees, nasty sticker bushes, and underbrush, plus a healthy stand of young and old trees. And everything was leafing out. Unless someone stumbled over me, I might be taken for a rock if I just held still.
It didn’t take long for the patrol to reach the shacks. They was far away and the leaves made seeing difficult, but that was fine with me. I did hear the officer in charge say “Search ’m,” tho his voice was very faint and had no urgency to it. I decided then that I was being too curious, so I put my head down among the carpet of leaves, closed my eyes, and listened as each door was thrown open and the soldiers reported.
“Empty, sir,” the first shouted, “a few barrels and such. Big hole in the roof, too.” Another voice said, “Someone’s livin’ in here, Lt. A nigger by the looks of it. No sign of the Yank, tho.”
Knowing that they was searching for me made the hairs on the back of my head tingle and I wanted very much to open my eyes just then — to see if they had any notion where I was. But I pressed my eyes closed even harder and told myself to lie as still as a stump. It was quiet again and I had the feeling that there was a lot of Reb eyes scanning the woods for me. Don’t move, I told myself. Don’t even breathe hard. Then, after what seemed like a long time, I heard that Lt. say, “They said she was crazy scared. Bet she just saw one of the field hands wandering past and thought she’d seen the whole Federal Army.”
The men all laughed at that and a little while later they withdrew and I opened my eyes. The last thing I heard one of them say was, “They oughta burn those shacks down.”
Later
Dark clouds have moved in and the air feels heavy. Rain is on the way. At least my achy head and sore body think so. An hour or so ago a pair of riders entered the clearing and slowly rode up to the shacks. Both boys carrying very tall muskets. Was one of them Benjamin? I stayed low again, but watched as they circled the buildings, ob
viously looking for something. Me? At each door one dismounted and checked inside. Then they left.
Have eaten all of the food Sally provided. She has been as generous as she could be with the little she has, but my stomach still complains. Read my letters several times, listened to riders moving along the road and fretted. Set to dozing and had a remarkable dream. I pictured myself on leave going to visit Sarah and her family and heard myself asking her to marry me!!! That “little” idea startled me awake. I wondered what right had I to think Sarah would want to marry someone like me and, if she did, how I could provide for her and children. I wanted a number of children because being an only one can be a very lonesome thing. Suddenly I had a lot of mouths to feed and no land or skill to do it with — which was even more worrisome. Then I thought, Well, James, you have survived a number of fights and even been made a sgt. over others, so maybe you are ready to be wed. Many older men have done a lot less with their lives and it didn’t stop them.
Still later
The sky is darkening and a cold mist is falling. Where is Sally? Will she be back soon with Davie? Will she be back at all? Should I think about striking out on my own? A wet night would be good cover for my journey, but it is bad for my spirits. Uncertainty, doubt, fear, hope, impatience, and misgivings are my companions now.
Night
Sally came home at last! — and with her she brought more rain. She did not come out to me right away, and I did not approach the shack — even tho I was soaked thru and shivering. She left the door open, so I could see her light the fire and begin putting together a meal as if I did not even exist. I could not help but think about that last day at Uncle and Aunt’s farm and feel very blue. Then I told myself what I already suspected — she is just waiting to see if anyone has followed her before bringing me in. Besides no one who sings you to sleep would just forget about you.
