Spake As a Dragon

by Larry Edward Hunt

  As the Colonel ordered his men across the Mill’s stonewall dam at Mink Creek, a volley of musket fire from the Patriot side cut a swath of death through the British ranks. A raging battle ensued that lasted all day and into the early hours of the eve. Although badly outmanned, the Patriots did not allow the Redcoats to cross the creek that day. Any attempt to storm the mill resulted in further loss to the King’s men. The advantage the Patriots commanded on the opposite side of Mink Creek was too great for a frontal assault by the British. Knowing this, the Redcoats had to have a better battle plan. Around midnight, Colonel Wilcox dispatched twenty-five men to ford Mink Creek a mile or so above Scarburg Mill.

  The following morning at first light cloaked in a dense fog, Wilcox’s men having crossed the swift, cold, creek attacked the flank of Captain Coker’s group of Patriots in and around the Mill. This maneuver allowed the Redcoats to attack the Patriots from both the side and front. The Patriots held their ground stubbornly until close to noon, Captain Coker, grossly outnumbered, and already suffering the loss of forty or fifty men, decided a strategic withdrawal must be ordered. The British, however did not leave the field of battle unscathed. They had roughly two hundred dead and wounded, but at the end of the day the honors of the victory would be theirs. Captain Coker gave the order for his troopers to mount their horses and flee into the nearby woods. Jacob Ingram with blood flowing from a bullet hole through the calf of his right leg, using great effort managed to swing himself into his saddle and followed the Captain into the cover of the forest. At the time, Jacob thought little of his injury, but it was serious enough that it would cause him a slight limp for the rest of his life. It also furnished him with innumerable tales of the Patriot’s heroic valor that he repeated many times, under the old oak tree, for years to come. As the years advanced Jacob’s part in the battle seemed to become more important. Some thought the limp was to embellish these war stories of which he so eloquently spoke. Whatever the reason the men relished hearing and re-hearing the exploits of the Patriot and British fight at Scarburg Mill.

  Colonel Wilcox captured the remaining Patriot combatants along with the wounded Patriots that had not withdrawn with their commander. The British were now in command of Scarburg Mill. The two wagons that had been so closely guarded since leaving Georgia were nowhere to be seen. The two teams of mules were tied to a nearby tree and some charred remnants of wood could be seen smoldering close-by. Identification of the pile of burnt wood was easy. The British could see it was the remains of wagons, since three of the wheels, which had not been totally consumed by the fire, were still ablaze. Whatever the wagons contained was nowhere to be seen.

  During the fighting of the first day and continually through the fierceness of the battle the next day, John, a non-combatant, administered first aid and comfort, without regards to his safety, to both the British and the Patriots alike. He and his family provided the wounded with water and offered comfort, throughout the heat of the battle. Sheets and pillowcases were torn into strips and used as bandages for the wounded of both sides.

  Later, witnesses would attest that John Scarburg, over the age of seventy, and afflicted with a severe debilitating case of arthritis in his knees, was constantly seen kneeling beside mortally wounded British Redcoats. His feeble, old hands gently holding on to the hands of the dying provided them comfort during their last few minutes of life. Because of John, they did not meet their maker alone. At times, he could be seen praying with a dying soldier, not worrying whether he was a Whig or a Tory, to John he simply was a frightened, dying young man.

  John Scarburg was not the only person who supplied first-aid and comfort to the soldiers who fought at the Scarburg Mill. His entire family was involved, including two of his sons, his daughters and his wife.

  The following morning, the 15th of April, Easter Sunday, the creek was again covered in a dense fog as the British drummer boy played “Assembly” to the remainder of the British soldiers. The Redcoats fell into formation and watched silently as John Scarburg along with his two oldest sons, William and Isaac, were led from the Mill. All three had their arms bound behind their backs. Neither of the three had fired a shot during the entire battle, so it was a surprise that the British had them imprisoning.

  Thomas, John’s youngest son, stood crying in the doorway of the mill. He clutched his mother’s apron as she tearfully watched her husband and two sons being marched from the Mill.

  Colonel Wilcox led the three men to the huge oak tree. Usually the oak was a place of laughter and tall tales, but not today. The proceedings this day was somber. There was no amusement here.

  The assembled soldiers, who had been standing in a perfect military formation, slowly began to form a semi-circle around the men at the tree. Three ropes, tied with nooses, were thrown over the largest limb closest to the ground. John, wearing a hat with a black ostrich feather along with his two sons was ordered to step upon the bench, and their British guards placed the nooses about their necks. The three men offered no resistance.

  John directed a question to Colonel Wilcox. The assembled soldiers close to the bench heard the exchange. John requested a few words with his young son Thomas. Colonel Wilcox, an accomplished adversary, was not without compassion. He granted John’s request.

  Motioning to one of his red-coated soldiers Thomas was brought to his father.

  “My son, you have to be brave, you will now be the man of the family.” As his father talked, Thomas whimpered and sniffled trying hard not to cry. “Come close son, I have something to tell.”

  Thomas walked forward, stepped upon the bench beside his father. John bent over placing his mouth close to Thomas’ ear. He spoke softly. Young Thomas would nod his head and answer, “Yes, Pa, I hear you, but I don’t understand. Is it the big Bible?”

  “Yes, but don’t worry my son, someday it will make sense to you. Promise me you will never forget. Keep this black ostrich plume to remember me by, and someday you will find it will be most valuable.”

  For a moment, he hugged his father’s leg and refused to let go. A redcoat stepped forward and removed the small lad from the hangman’s bench.

  John watched helplessly as Thomas, head bowed walked slowly back toward the Mill to his mother. He stopped, turned and said in a voice loud enough for all to hear, “Yes, Poppa, I promise, I will remember. I won’t ever forget!”

  A wet tear slowly filled the corner of the old man’s eye, and slowly rolled down his cheek, and dripped upon the dirt where so many happy tales had been told. From this day forward, the pleasantness would forever be tarnished by the act, which is about to unfold.

  The young drummer boy, not much older than young Thomas, hesitantly but obediently, began to beat his drum slowly, ‘Rat-a-tat-tat, rat-a-tat-tat’...

  Addressing the prisoners, “Dost any request a last word?”

  John looking upward toward the heavens said, “Resurrection Sunday, how fitting!”

  The Colonel gave the signal, a couple of Redcoats kicked the bench, now the three Ingram men dangled at the end of their ropes. A number of the soldiers turned their heads as the hanged men kicked and gasped for air silently for a few moments. Soon the thrashing and struggling ceased, they were dead.

  What is the purpose of the execution of these three men? Some say, the Colonel thinks they are Patriots who have engaged in the battle. Clearly, dozens of British soldiers watching the murder of these three innocent men can offer evidence to the contrary. Others say it is simply retaliation for the ambush that has taken place. Did the Colonel want this performance to serve as a lesson to the rebellious backwoodsman? If so, it only provides the frontiersmen with fresh resolve to defeat the Redcoats; regardless of Colonel Wilcox’s intent, three good, honorable men, swinging gently in the breeze, are now dead.

  DREAM OR VISION?

  Robert lay there semi-conscious, he thinks, dreams or sees a vision: that is my family, little Thomas is my father and he stood on that wooden bench his ears receptive to the secret my
Grandfather told him, I...I... am a part of them... he resolves himself to the fact that he is dying, but life he realizes is nothing but a short journey with death as its final destination, a destination, which he is about to reach.

  Even though, Robert’s family once fought bravely for the young United States of America. Robert along with his sons Luke and Matthew are now fighting against this very flag his forefathers fought, bled and died for. How can this be? This cannot be real, he thought but quickly realizing how true it is as another Yankee bullet ricocheted off the rock he is leaning against.

  The Battle of Gettysburg is indeed very real it is not a dream.

  Chapter Six

  DAY THREE OF THE BATTLE

  Luke spends most of the morning of the third day in the trees on Seminary Ridge. He is going man to man up and down the line of rebel soldiers seeking information about his father and brother. These grey-clad young men digging at the earth with their bare hands were not concerned with the activities of yesterday, Thursday the 2nd of July. It is today, Friday that worries them the most. Yesterday they were alive at the setting of the sun today they figure they will not be. The awareness of Death hovers over them like an evil fog.

  The remaining members of ‘E’ Company, 48th Alabama Infantry have been moved from the vicinity of the Devil’s Den and Little Roundtop and re-assigned to Major General Joseph Pickett’s Division. General Pickett’s men are situated on a hillside known as Seminary Ridge, approximately three-fourths of a mile east of the Union lines, which are concentrated on Cemetery Ridge. The Union forces now control the high grounds. High grounds with a small stonewall fronting the Rebels. In the early days of the Civil War, it was quickly learned that any fortifications, even a small stonewall, was almost impregnable to a force of unprotected foes. So it was to be this day.

  The Rebs scratching at the earth with their hands are war-weary veterans that have ‘seen the elephant’ many times before. In their bones, they know another terrible engagement is at hand. They also know that many of them will not see another sunrise. Fearing this beautiful July Friday would be their last day on earth they are digging holes and hiding their last earthly treasures – Luke watches as one soldier slips a wedding ring from his finger, tears a scrap of cloth from his shirt, wraps it around the ring and gently cover it with dirt. Another folds a scrap of paper with a note to his wife and deposits it in his hole. He knows it will be of no use giving it to one of his friends for safekeeping, they probably will not be alive either. Another hides a tintype picture of his wife and two young children. The sadness of these feeble efforts by the men is almost unbearable.

  As Luke walks among the brave young heroes, he thinks, ‘might this be my last July morning too?’ He doesn’t spend time digging holes; he has nothing of worth to put in them. The only thing he has of value is his Grandfather Thomas’ pocket watch, but he cannot see himself burying it, regardless of what happens the watch will stay with him. His only thoughts are of his father and brother Matthew. He had found a Negro stretcher-bearer and described the boulder Robert and Matthew were hiding behind. Did the black man find them? Were they still alive? Before he has time to dwell on these questions, one hundred and sixty rebel cannons open fire toward the Union line. Their fire rises to a crescendo of noise that is deafening. The time is one p.m.

  The lines of sweaty Confederate soldiers fall face down upon the hard, cool, earth. Many pray silently, others pray out loud. Most have their hands over their ears trying to shield the thunderous roar of the cannons and the whine of the heinous balls of death that are being hurled over their heads toward the Union line. The roar of the Confederate cannons was awe-inspiring, for the gray-clad warriors believed the Yankees could not have withstood such a horrendous hail of cannonballs. Their spirits were greatly uplifted; however, little did they know that the cannoneers had elevated their shot to the point that most of the cannonballs sailed over the heads of the Yankees, safely secured behind the small stonewall, and fell harmlessly far behind the Union lines.

  With their heads pushed into the dirt and leaves, most do not see the stately gentlemen slowly approaching from their right. As the cannonade stops and the air begin to clear – Luke sees the man. He is standing so close to the gentleman and his large iron-grey horse he could reach out and touch them both if he so desired. He is within arms reach of his beloved commander – the leader of the Army of Northern Virginia, a man thought by his courageous followers to be almost Godlike.

  Luke stumbles and almost falls. He grabs the back of the General’s saddle to steady himself. Realizing what he has just done he removes his grey forage cap, bows his head and apologizes profusely for touching the General’s saddle.

  “Here son, no apology necessary,” the General says, extending his hand to help Luke.

  “Thank you...Sir...uh...uh...General.”

  “Where are you from Lad?”

  “Alabama Sir, I’m from Alabama. I belong to the 48th.”

  “Ah, good state Alabama, fine fighting men,” he speaks but his thoughts are elsewhere. Reaching out again, the General shook Luke’s hand, tips his hat and began to ride away on his splendid grey horse. Looking back over his shoulder he speaks to Luke, “Good luck son, may God be with you this day.”

  ROBERT E. LEE

  The man in the saddle is the general in charge of the Army of Northern Virginia – Robert E. Lee, or Bobby Lee as his men affectionately call him. Mounted on Traveller his grey stallion.

  Today General Lee is meeting with one of his commanders Lieutenant General James Longstreet. He is giving Longstreet his order to attack. In an earlier staff meeting, Longstreet had arduously objected to the plan to attack the center of General Meade’s line.

  From the woods of Seminary Ridge, where the rebel forces would assemble and begin their charge, all the way to the defenders on the opposing Cemetery Ridge is an open expanse of field covered in nothing but grass for three-quarters of a mile. The Emmitsburg Road bisects this long stretch of openness. To make matters worse, this road is bordered on both sides with a well made, split rail fence. General Longstreet knows a charge of one-forth of a mile to a well-entrenched enemy is murderous, but to go another extra half mile will be a disaster. He politely, and in proper military fashion requests his commander, General Lee, to reconsider. Lee will not. Bobby Lee does not believe his boys can be defeated. They never have been previously. He knows the open field is risky, but not suicidal. He feels his men can and will do the impossible.

  From his vantage point high upon Cemetery Ridge, Major General George Meade addresses his orderly, “My glass, please.” The captain quickly opens the telescope pouch and hands the spyglass to General Meade. It is three o’clock; the cannonade had ceased from the rebel forces.

  General Meade is mounted on his white-faced horse Old Baldy. Soldiers are not the only ones that can be war heroes Old Baldy qualifies too. From the height of Old Baldy’s back General Meade, peering through the lenses of his field telescope could see clearly General Lee and Traveller. As General Meade watches the head of the Southern army ride across the front of his army, an army all primed and ready for a fight, he thinks he has never seen such a magnificent sight. Up and down the length of the rebel forces dozens upon dozens of the Star and Bars battle flags flutter in the breeze. A shiver goes up General Meade’s spine – the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He recalls a Bible verse:

  And I looked, and behold a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him. (Rev 6:8)

  Chapter Seven

  ATTACK!

  General Lee, unaware he is being so closely watched, continues down the line of soldiers until he reaches General Longstreet.

  Luke, who is following the General, hears every word spoken.

  “Sir,” says General Lee returning the salute of General Longstreet. The Commander of the Army of Northern Virginia, without waiting, issues his order, “Attack General, attack!”

  General Longstreet still does not believe a
n attack on the center of the firmly entrenched Union Army can be successful. Reluctantly, without speaking, salutes, turns his horse and slowly rides away from General Lee.

  Luke turned quickly and began running through the line of rebel soldiers, “We’re attacking! We’re attacking!” He yells as he runs. The announcement comes as no surprise; most of the men simply take another chew of tobacco or fire up their pipes and await the inevitable. General Longstreet, as does his men, know attacking the Union defenses across that mile of open space is going to be hopeless. The veterans have enough battle experience to have come to this conclusion also. They are not blind, but they will attack – they know of no other way to fight than to follow orders.

  Running from one confederate company to another, Luke inquiries about his father and brother Matthew. No one has seen either of them since the battle of yesterday.

  “Luke! Luke!” A voice rings out from the rear of one of the Companies of men. Luke turns to the sound. Peering through the throng of soldiers, he spies an old friend from back home, Private Carl Saint. Carl, Robert, Luke and Matthew, all enlisted at the same time in 1862. Once they arrived in Nashville, Robert and Luke remained with ‘E’ Company; however, Carl went to the 49th Alabama. At this time, Matthew was pulled from the Infantry and assigned to the staff of General “Stonewall’ Jackson.