Chapter Thirty-Eight
BURIAL SQUAD
“Do what? You dirty turncoat, I heard you and this good-for-nothing Johnny Reb plotting behind my back. You both thought I was gone, huh? Well, I came in the rear door and heard every word this grey back said. He’s a dirty liar, we’ve done a good job running this Point Lookout Prison, if anything, we’ll probably get a medal. Let me correct myself, I’ll get one, Sergeant Belue as punishment for consorting with the enemy I am demoting you to Private and sending you to a fighting infantry outfit forthwith. Some outfit that is in the hot of it, you rebel sympathizer.”
Trying to protest, “But Colonel I... I...”
Enough of you Private Belue, as for you...you...rabble rouser, no you REBEL rouser, you’re going on that precious burial detail you are so in love with. From now until the War ends you can say good-bye to your confederate friends personally.
Private Belue you report to the Provost Marshall, I’ll deal with you later, and you,” pointing at Robert, “go find yourself a bed amongst your friends, if you still have any left.”
Leaving the Commandant’s office Robert’s moral was the lowest since joining the Army. He had it made, a good place to work, a clean bed at night and chow to eat, as much as he wanted, and he lost it all for what? Then reality hit him, he didn’t loose anything – trying to save his friends was worth it. If he could have just been able to get his plan to work, he could possibly have saved dozens of prisoners. No, he said to himself that was worth the risk.
Back at his old tent his ‘friends’ would not have anything to do with him. In fact, they threw him out. One tent after another he tried to find a place to sleep, no one would accept him. He had become one of the enemy. If only they knew how hard he had tried to help them, if only. He finally remembered his old hardtack stand he had once sold candy from and how old Jim Harper who had taken it over used to give him a dollar or two had gotten sick and died. Since then the ‘store’ had been closed.
All he carried with him from the Commandant’s place was his blanket. That first night he cowered in among his boxes and tried to sleep the best he could. His sleep wasn’t very comfortable, nor was it very long, before daybreak, the ‘new’ Commander of the Burial Detail came by and kicked the side of his box, “Up and at’em we gots burying to do!”
Out in the burial yard Robert was the first on the shovel digging the grave for someone he didn’t even know, but he was ashamed. As they placed the body in the grave, he knew those standing around could care less about the human being they were burying. So he turns and speaks, “I know you think of me as the enemy, but I am not. I was assigned a job and I did it to the best of my ability, you may not have liked what I did, but it was necessary. Today we are burying one of your friends if not one of yours, then someone loved him and he will be missed at home.” Looking skyward, Robert said, “I pray his soul be taken into your arms oh Lord, and may he finally be at rest with stomach full and body warm.”
The burial detail was impressed. “Scarburg,” one of them said, “I did not realize the strain you were under, you were always one of us. I’m sorry.”
Robert replied quietly, “I always tried to do the best for you all, but sometimes it seemed as if I was on the Yankee’s side, I was not.”
“Tonight, come down to our tent. You know we are the Burial Squad, you are welcome. We don’t last long among the living but at long as we do you will be counted as one of us.” The man offering the olive branch was Jack Thomason. Robert recognized him but never knew his name.
Winter is coming on and Robert is welcome to any invitation for shelter inside. The Death Squad or not, warmth is warmth wherever he can get it.
Day after day Robert fell out each morning and did his job on the burial detail. Each day, as the others were getting weaker and weaker since the Camp Commander had issued half rations. Full rations were only about 800 calories per day. Now they had been reduced to approximately 400 calories per day. Grown men cannot exist on 800 calories much less 400. It was just a matter of time before starvation takes it toll and the members of the Burial Squad become the ones being buried instead of the ones doing the burying.
It is late autumn, winter is coming, wind from the Chesapeake Bay is beginning to get colder and colder. It is apparent the end of the War is near. Each day prisoners are being transported from Point Lookout to other locations, just where no one knows. The inmates are being exchanged for Union prisoners, at least that is what they hope is happening.
Each day at morning formation names are called for the prisoners to be exchanged, each day Robert’s name is not called. How much longer can he survive? He resolves to take it one day at a time.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
CROSS OVER THE RIVER
Malinda had camped at Anna Ruby falls in northern Georgia for the past couple of months. Malinda had stayed as long as she thought it prudent, they must get back on the trail. Fall was coming on fast and she knew she had to get to South Carolina before winter set in. She knew if they got caught in a snowstorm in these mountains it will be disastrous, but Captain Marion had told her he would let her know when the Yankees pulled out. She had not seen him in over a month, and Yankees or not they have to get going.
Leaving their farm in April, Malinda had told Sary the trip to Scarlettsville should take about two months – sometime during the month of June they should have been pulling into Scarlett, or what was left of it. Now it is August and she is still at least a month away from their destination.
“Everyone set,” Malinda said, “South Carolina here we come!”
“Afore you say it Mizz Malinda, I done checked, we’s got Mister Robert’s big ole Bible on the wagon! Now let’s make tracks.”
The trail through the mountains of northern Georgia was tough going, but women or not they met every obstacle that confronted them and overcame it with fortitude and determination.
They were a week or so away from the falls, Malinda remembered the Tallulah, it had to be crossed pretty soon. The Tallulah was right on the border between Georgia and South Carolina, she had remembered Robert had bargained with a large raft that carried them across the last time. Maybe, she thought, someone had established a permanent ferry crossing. She also thought if a ferry was in business that was probably where the Yankees were camped.
At last on the morning of the second week as they topped the hill on what was known as Fry Gap road they could see the wide expanse of river down below. Another days ride and they would be on its western bank.
Winding their way down the narrow mountain road they see another wagon approaching. Malinda finds a wide enough place to pull her wagons over to allow the folks coming up the hill to pass. Once the uphill travelers are beside Malinda the driver stops, “You folks gonna try fer the South Caroline side? Sorry to tell you this, but theys been having the most God-awful rain in these parts for the past weeks or so. The ferry is there all right, but the ferryman he done got swept away and they figure he’s drowned. Where’s you folks headed?”
“We’re trying to get to Scarlettsville, but you have dampened our hopes with your sad news.”
“Well now,” says he, “Scarlettsville huh? About two miles farther down this trail y’all will come to a fork in the road, the left’en carries you to the ferry, don’t go that away, but the right’en will take you about ten miles down the river where’s there’s a place you can ford over to the other side. The waters are not more’en three or four feet deep and when y’all comes out on yonder side you’ll be no more that a week’s travel into Scarlettsville. Jest be careful of deserters, and Yankees, they’ll take all your vittles and sech. Jest, watch out and good luck to y’all.” He slapped his reins against his mule’s flanks, “Gitta up there”, and he was gone.
“Law a mighty, Mizz Malinda do you reckon he’s tellin’ us the truth?”
“Well, I don’t know Sary, but why would someone just tell us a big fat lie for no reason. No, I think that the man was honest – we’re goi
ng down that right-hand fork when we get there.”
A few hours later they had reached the fork in the road. Malinda did not hesitate; she drove her wagon onto the fork headed to the right. William in the cart behind followed her closely. “Sary pick us out a place to camp and we will make that river sometime tomorrow afternoon. We’ll camp out on this side and at first light we will drive these wagons across that river like ‘Moses to the Promised Land’.”
They camped the night in a grove of trees with a spring nearby, but at first light they were once again driving down the road to, hopefully a place to ford the river. The road was flat, muddy but wide enough to allow passage in a favorable manner by mid-afternoon they had reached the river; however, the rains of the past few days had swollen the river to almost flood stage. No way, thought Malinda, is this river only three or four foot deep.
“Sary, old friend, I don’t think God ever intended us to get to South Carolina. We’re just going to camp here for a few days until the flood water subsides so we can ford over to the other side.”
“Mizz Malinda, you be wrong that ole Devil has done throwed everthang in our way but don’t you never don’t believe it was God that has got us through each and ever time, and He’s gonna help us again. Don’t give up now girl, we’s will jest keeps on prayin’, you’ll see it’ll work out.”
After supper Stephen went to the edge of the water and poked a straight stick about eight feet long down into the water.
“What’s you doin’ Stephen are you crazy?” One of them asked.
“Nah, this is my measuring stick – you see each day we can see how much the water in the river has dropped, once it gets down to the three or four foot mark we can move on across. I took some axle grease and marked the four foot line.”
“Thank you Stephen, that was really smart for you to think of the stick,” Malinda said patting Robert on the back.
The first day the water dropped almost one whole foot, a foot dropped the second day. “At this rate,” Malinda said, we may get to move out of here in a couple of more days.”
It is the afternoon of the fourth day, “Mama! Mama!” Hollered Stephen.
From the campfire Malinda yells, “Lands sake what is the matter with you child?”
“The stick, I can see the grease at the four foot mark!”
They all run to see Stephen’s stick for themselves.
“Sary, you and the kids pack up the wagons tonight, tomorrow we’re going tocross this river! In a week, we’ll be home at Scarlett.”
The next morning they awake to a slight frost, “Sary, we didn’t get out of those mountains a day too soon.”
Malinda moves out into the water first, at four feet deep the water would come about half way between the wheel hub and the top rim. She checks her wheel, half way it is. William follows in the second wagon, it is a bit smaller and the water is almost to the top of the wagon wheel rim.
About half way across Malinda checks her wheel again, the water is at the top of the rim. William is ever worse; his wheels are below the top of the water. His wagon is about to start floating. Any deeper and he is going to lose control of his wagon. Malinda is really worried, what if the water gets deeper?
To keep Blaze close to the front wagon little Lizzie is in the back of the wagon feeding grass with one hand to Blaze with the other she held the wooden box containing the big old family Bible. William and Isaac are in the wagon seat-urging Blaze onward. “Oh no!” Yells William looking to his left. A large tree branch broken off by the floodwaters is floating swiftly toward them. “Hang on everyone, a tree is about to strike us!”
It was too late the tree rammed into Malinda’s wagon with a sharp “thud.” William had stopped Blaze to let the limb past between the two wagons, but the impact knocks Lizzie from her perch in the rear of the wagon into the cold water. William yells, “Grab the wagon Lizzie!” But it is too late she is being carried down the raging, rain-swollen river. Handing the reins to Isaac, William without hesitation jumps into the swirling, ice cold, waters and swims as hard as he can toward Lizzie. Malinda and Sary can hear her calling for help. They are helpless. Both sit and watch as the muddy floodwaters carry Lizzie and William out of sight and out of hearing. “Do something,” yells Malinda at Sary, “Do something!” There is nothing they can do – Malinda’s two children have disappeared into the murky waters!
Both wagons forge on and reach the far bank, they are now in South Carolina, but no one cares – Malinda has just lost her oldest son and youngest daughter to a river whose name she can hardly pronounce.
Malinda sits in the wagon seat head buried in her hands crying. Crying as only a mother who has just witnessed the loss of two children can cry. Finally, she pulls herself together and steps down from the wagon, walks over to the riverbank and collapses into the mud.
Sary sets up camp with the hope William and Lizzie might, by chance, come walking back in. In her heart, she knows it is hopeless. No one could survive in the muddy, cold, rain-swollen river, no one, not even William as big and strong as he is.
They sit around the campfire, but no one speaks. The silence is deafening. No one knows what to say. Finally, it is Mattie Ann who asks, “Mama, what are we going to do?”
Just the sound of one of her children speaking brought Malinda back to reality – she has four other children that are still alive and must be seen after. She remembers the verse from Matthew, ‘But Jesus said unto him, Follow me; and let the dead bury their dead.’
“I’ll tell you what we are going to do – we are staying here a couple of more weeks in case we hear from William and Lizzie, then we are leaving this...this...place and going to our old home with our family cemetery. The cemetery where Little Paul, Cecelia June, Lester, Grandfather and Grandmother Scarburg, and Robert’s uncles William and Isaac are buried; Robert’s father and his mother, my mother and father, oh Sary I cannot forget about your little girl Sarah, and Uncle Willie and his wife are all there too. We are going to add two new graves to our family cemetery at Scarlett. We may not ever see William and Lizzie’s earthly bodies again, but we are going to have a funeral, and there will be a place for them where we can always go talk to them when the need arises. Now let’s all get some rest, we have a long day ahead of us tomorrow.”
Chapter Forty
QUARTER HORSES
Luke and Nate buried the four gunslingers in the horse trot that led from the barn to the pasture. Luke figured the graves will be trampled down by the horses and the burros, so anyone coming looking for them will never find their graves.
After returning to the house, they take inventory of the items retrieved from the men at the cabin and now those from the gunfighters that were just buried. Laid out on the sitting room floor is an assortment of pistols, rifles and knives.
From the men at the cabin are a collection of three Colt handguns, two Henry carbines and two six-inch and one eight-inch skinning knife. From the gunfighters add five more Colt .44s, two additional Spencers, two Henry’s, two more six-inch skinning knives and enough ammunition to supply an army. “At least,” said Luke, “we will have enough firepower on our trip to Alabama; however, one of the gunfighters recognized the Henry with the initials “B.T.” carved on the stock, he said it belonged to a Buck Thomson. Now I don’t know who this Buck Thomson is, but he might have more friends that could recognize his old Henry. As bad as I hate to Nate take it to the fireplace and burn that rifle. We can’t have anyone poking around and seeing that old Buck is no longer among the living.”
“Luke, I love me them Henrys. What about if I just take the stock off the main part and jest burn the wood part. Won’t that work? Maybe later I might find me a nuther stock and fix’er backup.”
“Sure Nate, that will work, just get it done. And throw all their saddle gear in the loft above the barn, cover it with hay so no one can see what is hidden. And Nate, while you’re at the barn take all their saddle horses over to the back pasture and turn them loose and let them graze, there is p
lenty of grass and water. We do not want them around if someone comes prying.
A couple of weeks later Nate enters the house. Luke is changing the bandage on Sam’s leg. “Looks good, it is healing nicely, you need to get out of this room and begin to move around soon.” The bedroom door opens, “Yes, Nate was there something you need?”
“No sir Luke, I mean yes sir Luke, there’s riders coming to the house. Appears to be ‘bout ten, as fer as I can see.”
Luke arrives on the front porch as the riders approach. “Gentlemen,” said Luke, “get down from your mounts and rest yourself, I’ll have the missus bring out some cool water. Speaking of water that’s a trough over next to the barn let your animals refresh themselves also.”
Nate, standing back near the door, couldn’t understand what Luke was up too, but he didn’t speak.
“You men been long on the road? If you’ll allow, I’ll get my missus and my man here to get you some vittles.”
Catherine, standing just inside the door, thinks to herself, “My Missus? My man? What is he doing?”
“Uh, thanks, but we’re in a hurry,” spoke the group’s apparent leader. “My name is Burt Black, I need to ask you some questions?”
“Questions sir? Are you gentlemen law officers?”
“No, not exactly, we are just looking for a few of our friends. One of them is my brother.”
“Well, of course, but won’t you dismount and we can talk cordially here on the porch in the shade.”
“No, we must be on our way – my brother and the other three were riding western style riding gear. They were all mounted on Texas quarter-horses.”
“Huh? Western style riding gear? Texas quarter-horses? Sir we are just simple farmers working the land with a couple of old plow horses, I don’t know if I’ve ever seen western gear or a quarter-horse, I don’t believe I would have known what they look like,” Luke answered.
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