Spake As a Dragon

by Larry Edward Hunt

  “Afraid of fun? Why boys after that long trip, cutting down the tree, and dragging it to the house all by YOURSELVES, you should just sit down and watch while we decorate the tree. Y’all need to rest yourselves.”

  “But Mother,” complained Tom Henry, “decorating the tree, that’s the best part.”

  “You boys never did tell me which one of you worked the hardest dragging the tree home. Was it you William?” William said ‘no’ with his head almost touching his chest. “Then it must have been you Thomas Henry?”

  Tom Henry, head bowed, thought for a second then responded, “No Mama, it wasn’t me either, I can’t lie. I took Blaze and he was the one that drug the tree home. It was me not William. William told me not to take Blaze and I took her anyway. If a whupping is comin’ give it to me not to William.”

  “Thank you son for not lying, and neither of you is getting a whipping; however, if one were needed now would be the time, but you told the truth and I will overlook your disobedience this one time.

  Boys, it’s not that I care for the use of Blaze – she is big and strong, pulling a Christmas tree will not strain her in the least. I do not want you to use the horse at night because you are working close to the bluff and in the dark, many things can frighten a horse causing her to run away. Of course, you two would chase after her and probably fall over the cliff. You see, without the horse you have less chance to get hurt. It is you two that I care about, not the horse.

  “Get over here Thomas Henry and William and help us decorate this tree, and don’t let me catch you eating all the popcorn either.”

  In a while, the tree was covered in ornaments, all homemade, but it was wonderful. “Mama, let’s sing Christmas carols.”

  Mattie Ann asks, “Mama do you suppose, Papa, Luke and Matthew will be home next Christmas to decorate the tree and sing carols?”

  Malinda did not answer.

  Moving to the piano Malinda pulls out the stool and comments, “It’s been a while since I played.” She began and the others joined in:

  “Hark

  the herald angel’s sing,

  Glory to the newborn King!

  Peace on earth and mercy mild

  God and sinners reconciled.

  Joyful, all ye nations rise

  Join the triumph of the skies

  With the angelic host proclaim:

  "Christ is born in Bethlehem."

  Hark! The herald angel’s sing

  "Glory to the newborn King!"

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  THE LETTER HOME

  December 24, 1863

  Dear Wife and Children,

  I take this Christmas Eve opportunity to inform you that, through the goodness and mercy of God, I am permitted to tell you that I am well at this time, and I hope and pray that these lines may find you and the children well and doing well. I have written about my friend Ben, he is not getting better and I fear for the worse. I can inform you that I have not received a letter from you since arriving in this despicable place. I never wanted to hear from you as much in my life. I have written dozens of letters to you since I got here. I cannot tell the reason why I don't get your letters. Surely you must have written.

  As to the times here, they are bad enough. We have the coldest weather I ever felt. It rains, sleets, and snows. We have mud in abundance. It is just like living in a hog pen. We are nearly on starvation. I draw one tin cupful of cornmeal a day. It is piled in loosely and struck off at that, and a half-pound of beef, bone and all. I don't think that we can stand it much longer. I buy one dollar’s worth of meal a day and I don't have nearly enough at that. I have to pay a dollar for a tin cupful and I am always hungry.

  Our duties are hard. I have to go on a work detail every other night. I have to stay up all night in the cold and smoke. I get so hungry that it makes me sick. I stand it much better than I thought I could, but I don't know how long I will hold out at it. The reason they don't feed us any better may be they cannot get it. I told you last letter that I thought this Confederacy was on its last legs and think that they are nearly worn out. We have but one slender railroad to bring us supplies and I fear the supplies are not in the country to be had. There is a great talk of peace now here. Peace, peace, is all the talk there is. It is said that commissioners from Richmond leave for Washington, to negotiate peace measures. I hope and pray that the Good Lord will guide and direct them by wisdom from on high so they may bring this cruel war to a close, for if ever I wanted anything in my life or prayed for anything, it is that I may be delivered from this cruel war and return home to you, so we may spend the remainder of our days in peace and happiness together in serving the Lord.

  I think that if I could get home to stay I would be the most thankful and happiest man in the world. But if our leading men do not stop this war, I think our soldiers will desert this army, that they intend to quit and go home. They will not stand it much longer.

  We all know that we are badly whipped and the matter can not be concealed any longer. Our men are deserting daily and going over to the Yankees, but I hope and pray that, by the first of March, we will have peace. I have more hope of peace now than I ever had since the war began. One thing is starvation. Our men cannot and will not stand it much longer.

  I want you to write to me soon. Write how you are getting along and making out. I have a great many more things that I would like to write you, but I have not room. I would write to all of my friends if they sent me some paper.

  I tell you this is a wretched place here. Flour is one thousand dollars a barrel. Of course, that’s in Confed money.

  Give my love to all of my friends. Tell them to write to me and I will write to them. I want them all to remember me in their prayers that I may be sustained and protected. O, may I soon get to return to you and may God in His infinite goodness and mercy bless you and the children and spare us to each other again.

  I remain your affectionate husband.

  To MATTIE ANN and THOMAS HENRY and all:

  Dear Children,

  Pa wants to see you the worst he ever did. I do not know what I would give to come home and live with you all again. You must be good children and help Ma do everything. You must pray every day to the Good Lord to take care of us all and keep us alive and He is able and will do it. You must remember Pa for he loves you all too good to ever forget you. You must take good care of little Elizabeth for me, bless her, Pa does want to see her so bad. I want you all to write to me. Pa can read your writing very well when you have good paper. Give my love to Sary, Jed and Jefferson. I will write to them when I get paper. Give my love to all and may God in His goodness bless you all. Write soon and often.

  Your devoted husband,

  Robert Scarburg

  Robert places the pen on the table and thinks why he hasn’t received any letters from his family. He has been at Point Lookout for months now. It seems he should have at least received some kind of correspondence. He has been worried for months – has the Yankees even notified his family that he is being held prisoner at this God forsaken place? Maybe, they think he is dead? If he could only get one letter to let him know how they are doing, he would feel so much better.

  The flap on the tent flies open and one of Robert’s friends informs him that he must come to the hospital tent at once. Ben is not doing very well. Robert grabs the shredded remains of his coat throws it over his shoulder and hurried out into the blowing snow.

  Entering Ben’s tent, a group of soldiers has gathered, but there is complete silence. Robert approaches the bedside of Ben, who is still alive. “Ben, it’s me Robert,” he says talking one of Ben’s hands in his own. He is startled how cold Ben’s hand is and one of his feet is sticking out from under the blanket – it is blue. “Hang in there Ben, you’re gettin’ better every day, why just a day or so ago I was tellin’ somebody how well you are gettin’ on. Can I get you something? Maybe a sip of water?” Grinning, “it’s good cold water!”

  Barely above a whisper, “Ro
bert you’ve been a...a good friend...pray for my soul and if you ever get home...tell...” he quietly stopped breathing with his eyes wide open. Robert reached over the bed and closed his eyes with his hand – Ben, his best friend in this world, was dead!

  Before Robert was miserable, but now he is just as miserable, but alone, “There is no hope now, we will never survive this hell hole. We will never see home again.” One of the soldiers standing nearby pats Robert on the shoulder.

  Along with the death of Ben, Robert’s will to survive is also killed. From that Christmas Eve night, Robert begins to loose all hope. Without hope, there is no will to keep on fighting. The loss of will kills the spirit, the death of the spirit kills the soul. For Robert, all is lost.

  After the death of his friend Ben, Robert’s own health begins to deteriorate. He begins to sleep more and more each day. Some days he does not even get out of his bunk. Other tent mates bring him hardtack and bits of food they slip from the mess tent, but he will not eat. Occasionally he takes a small bite of something the men have rustled up, but mostly he just lies in his bunk.

  Robert has given up! Death to him will now be a blessing.

  If something isn’t done for Robert, and done soon it is believed he has no longer than a month to live.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  DOWN THE MOUNTAIN TRAIL

  The day after Christmas arrives, up on Cumberland Mountain the snow is still coming down hard outside the cave. The fire is now smoldering embers and the cheer and companionship of the previous night have been replaced with moans, headaches and stomachs churning with the morning after sickness.

  “Oh, my,” Nate says leaning against the side of the cave heaving his innards out. “Dear Lords, jest let me live and I’s swear I’m never gonna partake of that Devils brew again. On second thought, dear Lord jest lets me die right where I stand, here and now!”

  Luke is piling up the fire with fresh wood as Old Bill and Kay begin to stir from the spot where they had passed out last night. The aroma in the cave is different, it is pleasant, it’s the smell of hot coffee. Luke has the coffee pot boiling fresh coffee, thinking plenty of it is going to be needed, and real soon.

  “All right you revelers come over here and get a fresh cup of coffee, it will make you feel better.”

  “Dadgum,” says Nate, “whose could feel any worse?”

  It did make them feel better, and a little while later they are sitting around the warm fire with most resting their heads in their hands. More than one has sworn off drinking for life. Luke looks to Kay and asks, “Kay you have just come from the far side of the mountain can you give me any advice after we get out of here what to expect?”

  Sick, but Kay answers, “Luke if you can get to the other side, about three-quarters of the way down y’all will come to a farm. The Babb family lives there. The man who owns the farm is originally from South Carolina and sides with the South – his name is Samuel Babb and he will give y’all help.”

  “Kay, how long before reaching the Babb place?”

  “In good weather, about a week or ten days. For now, we’ll just have to wait out this blizzard.”

  CAVE FEVER

  For the better part of two weeks the four men, Luke, Nate, Old Bill and the mail-rider Kay lived together in the cave almost to the top of the Cumberland Plateau, the snow finally stopped, the sun is shining and the temperature is on the rise. However, the snow outside the cave’s entrance is nearly two feet deep, much too deep to try to venture down the narrow trail. They can do nothing but wait until some of the snow melts. During their stay in the cave New Year’s Day came and went without much excitement – their frivolity on Christmas was enough to last them for a while.

  Luke has heard of ‘cabin fever,’ but he has never heard tell of ‘cave fever.’ He may not have heard the name, but he sure enough recognizes the feeling, so did all the others. They have to get outside. Being shut-up in this hole is about to drive them crazy. It is nearing the end of week three when Luke announces he is leaving. He is going to the other side of the mountain!

  Old Bill protests saying it is too dangerous to try that trail with wet, melting snow. Luke argues he doesn’t care he is going, and if they want they can come along. If not, stay in the cave, he does not care.

  “I’m with Luke,” responds Kay. “The mail must go through. Oh, by the way Luke, I’ll take care of that letter of yours and make sure it gets posted once I get to Lexington, don’t you worry.”

  Luke begins saddling his horse. He is about to throw the saddle over its back when Nate stands up and says, “Oh what the blazes...we’s all got to die sometime or nuther. Might as well be fallin’ off a cliff in someplace I ain’t never heared of I suppose.”

  “Well, I’ll be dogged!” Answers Old Bill, “you fellers ain’t leaving me behind, no sir’ree.”

  Standing just inside the caves entrance Kay Mann says good-bye to his recently acquired friends. All mount their horses and Kay turns Nellie to the left on the snow-covered trail and heads down the western side of Cumberland Mountain. The other three head uphill toward the eastern side. The snow is still deep and the footing for the burro and horses is uncertain. It is the middle of January 1864, a new year. Luke thinks as they prod along the narrow trail – what will this New Year bring? Will Nate and I ever get home? A more pressing question – will we survive this mountain?

  VOICES!

  They have spent almost a week reaching the summit and are beginning the winding path down the far side when they hear voices. It is men talking, and the muffled sounds seem to be coming from below. Dismounting they slip close to the edge of the cliff they happen to be traveling alongside. Luke can see the trail ahead makes a large left-hand horseshoe curve going down – these men are directly in their path and directly below them. Whispering, “I count six men, how many do y’all see?”

  “Luke, I counts six of’um too. Do you suppose they be Yankees? They’s jest sitting around that campfire having themselves a good ole time.”

  Before Luke can reply Old Bill answers, “Naw, them’s bandits. I didn’t want to let on before, but I have been ridin’ with them cutthroats fer the last few months. They’re aiming to take yer belongings, horses and money and then they are gonna murder y’all.”

  “See, I told you Nate, I told you he wasn’t a prospector! He’s one of them good-for-nothin’ outlaws!”

  “Naw! Naw you got it all wrong. You see I am a prospector, leastways I wuz, but like I said I’ve been working these mountains fer ages and never found as much as a smidgen of gold, except one day I wuz working this here creek bottom and I picked up the purteyest hunk of yeller gold that I ever have seed.

  “I had found the mother lode, but jest as I was fixin’ to start digging out more up rides them there outlaws below. Their leader is Jesse something or other, I jest ferget, tells me he’s gonna give me a choice: work for them or die right where I stood. Well, now see here, where I were standin’ was my mother lode, and no sir’ree, I wasn’t fixin’ to die right there smack-dab in the middle of my fortune. Them outlaws had no idee what was in that creek, and I knowed I could find it agin, so here we is – my job is to lead travelers, such as yerselfs, to them so as they can bushwack you.”

  “Old Bill, why are you telling us this now?”

  “Fellers, since I met up with you and Nate and that mail-rider I’ve done come to realize I is wrong, gold or nought. Y’all have become my friends, I ain’t never had no friends, and I ain’t gonna let them murder you.”

  The bandits are camped at the bottom of the horseshoe curve in a small canyon. The bluff Luke, Nate and Old Bill are currently sitting on is on one side and the snow-covered mountain is to the outlaws back on the other side. Luke questions Old Bill if there might be another way around the outlaws. He shakes his head, “The onlyest way down this here mountain is right down this trail if’en yer want to save yer skins. You can cut across that yonder ridge and come upon Cumberland Gap, but hit’s full of more cutthroats and Yank
ees. Luke I got y’all into this fix and I’m aimin’ to git y’all out.”

  DYNAMITE

  He had noticed earlier that Nate had a couple sticks of dynamite in his saddlebag. Old Bill says he believes he can ride into their camp, get to taking and when they aren’t watching toss the stick of dynamite into the fire. He believes he will have enough time to get away from the ensuing horrendous blast.

  Luke tries to talk Old Bill out of such a crazy scheme, telling him he is going to get himself killed. “Once you throw that stick of dynamite into the fire it might explode immediately Old Bill. You probably will not get two steps before it goes off. I can’t let you do such a foolish thing.”

  “I can’t say yer arguments er wrong – do you still have any of that mail-rider’s paper left?”

  “Yeah, and his ink and pen too. I forgot to give them back to him – you remember we were having a pretty big party that night! What do you want the paper for Bill.”

  Old Bill explains Luke is probably right and he in all likelihood will not survive the explosion so he wants to draw a map to his mother lode. He says if he gets blowed to pieces the gold strike belongs to Luke. He draws the map and hands it to Luke. “I want you to have this too, just to prove my gold strike exists.” He hands Luke a gold nugget that must weigh at least two or three ounces.