Spake As a Dragon

by Larry Edward Hunt

  “The saddles and the horses would appear like ours. That’s what they’d look like – they’d look like ours you nitwit!”

  Luke steps from the porch walks around Bert’s horse paying special attention to various features of the animal. He slid his hand over the horse’s flank, “Quarter horses you say? Fine animals, yes Sir fine animals, Nate,” Luke said gesturing toward Nate standing on the porch, “I’d wager you could plow two or three acres a day with these fine animals, what’d you thank?”

  “Yes sir, boss, we might git a good three outta ’em.”

  “Plow ’em, you idiots, these are prime Texas quarter-horses!”

  “But Sir, they appear to me to be full size,” said Luke to the leader.

  “Full size! What are you some kind of a nit-wit? Yeah! They are full size.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry, I thought you done said your friends wuz riding quarter-horses, but your quarter of a hoss is full size.”

  “It’s a breed you dirt-farmer, just a prime breed of horse from the great state of Texas. Plow ’em? Are you two stupid, these are the countries finest cattle horses, not dirt-farmer’s plow horses!”

  “I’m truly sorry,” pretended Luke to be embarrassed, “well then, there was these four riders who passed here two or three weeks ago riding, as you say, regular size horses like these of you’rn, but they headed up and over the mountain.”

  “They say anything.”

  “Yeah, they wuz talkin’ to each other, but I couldn’t hear from here to the road what they wuz a sayin’. It’s jez to fer, you see.”

  Turning to his men, “These two are too stupid to get anything out of them, water the horses at the trough and check the barn.”

  In a few minutes the men mounted their horses, one turned to Bert, “Nothing in the barn boss, ‘cept a couple of old plow nags and two burros.”

  The leader dug his silver spurs into the side of his horse and off the men galloped toward the front gate. At the gate, they turned left and continued up the mountain.

  Wildly swinging the screen door, Catherine burst onto the porch, “What are you doing Luke, you sounded like a pure hayseed!”

  “Great, then it worked! That was exactly what I wanted them to think – we didn’t want those fellers searching about, the leader said one of the outlaws we killed was his brother. I don’t think he would have taken it too kindly if he found out it was us who killed him.”

  “Good thankin’ on yer part, what now Luke,” asked Nate?

  “I suppose that bunch is going to get to the top where the snow hasn’t melted yet, they will quickly see there have been no tracks leading over the mountain. They may or may not know of Lucas’ cabin, if so they may go there next. Regardless, in a week or so they’re going to be coming back down here and they will have figured I lied to them. Do I need to tell y’all it’s going to get nasty, and we’re outnumber three or four if we count Sam to ten. Those aren’t good odds in our favor. We’ve got those Spencer and Henry carbines, but I noticed most of them had Spencers too.”

  “We’re with you Luke, what do you think we should do?” Asked Catherine.

  Luke explained winter was coming on, and Sam wasn’t totally healed from the gunshot to his leg. He suggested they get four of the horses from the back pasture, turn the rest loose on the open range; however, Nate, do not bring the pinto, he would be too easily recognized. Then we will load the two wagons and begin for Alabama as soon as possible.”

  “But Luke,” said Catherine, “are we prepared?”

  “Catherine, we are as ready as we’re ever going to be – if them fellers return before we get away we will not ever leave if you get my drift. If we get out of here in a couple of days, I believe we might have as much as a week’s head start on them – that just might be enough.”

  Hobbling on a homemade crutch Sam calls from the door, “Makes sense Luke, I’m ready, just give me one of them Spencers and a handful of bullets and I’ll handle rear guard from the back wagon.”

  “That’s the spirit Sam! Come on Catherine and Nate, we’re burning daylight. I know we wanted to go in the spring, but sometimes you just got to play the hand you’re dealt.”

  Chapter Forty-One

  WHAT A FRIEND....

  Malinda is driving the lead wagon and Sary is driving the second. Sary has to take William’s place. “Slapping the leather reins, “Gittaup Joe git Red,” Malinda urges the mules on. They must get away from the Tallulah River, the muddy river that took the lives of her beloved William and Lizzie. They have camped on the riverbank for over a month now hoping against hope that some news would come from someone coming up the river, news about William and Lizzie, but not a word is heard. In fact, in over a month no one has even come up the river.

  With tears in her eyes, she slapped the leather reins against the mules flanks again. She must leave this dreadful place of death! She slows momentarily to glance back, what an awful place she thinks. If I have to drive a wagon a thousand miles to go around, I’ll never cross this cursed body of water again, this I promise, thought Malinda.

  Behind the lead wagon Isaac was sitting beside Sary, for miles neither spoke. Finally, “Sary do you suppose they suffered?” Sary knew whom Isaac was referring, but she wanted to delay the answer.

  “Who boy, whose you talkin’ bout?”

  “William and Lizzie, you know Lizzie couldn’t even swim. Mama had told me and Stephen that we was goin’ to have to learn her next summer. Don’t guess we are goin’ to get the chance now. I ‘member how mad me and Stephen got when Mama told us that, boy I wish I had that to do over again.”

  “Listen boy,” said Sary, “don’t do that to yerself, there are gonna been many times in yer live that you’ll look back and wish that you’d made a different choice of thangs. God only gives you one chance and remember this effen you doesn’t ‘member nothin’ else: God knows best, and he don’t make mistakes – it ain’t made fer you or me to know the reasons, but believe in yer heart God know what he is doin’, and most times we never know the why of it all.”

  “Sary, what you say is hard! Why would God drown William and Lizzie, they ain’t never done nothing bad to nobody.”

  “Hush, child don’t thank about it anymore,” and she begins to hum and then softly sing the old spiritual ‘What a Friend we Have in Jesus’:

  ‘What a friend we have in Jesus, all our sins and griefs to bear! What a privilege to carry everything to God in prayer!

  Oh, what peace we often forfeit, Oh, what needless pain we bear, all because we do not carry everything to God in prayer!

  Have we trials and temptations? Is there trouble anywhere? We should never be discouraged - Take it to the Lord in prayer.

  Can we find a friend so faithful, who will all our sorrows share? Jesus knows our every weakness; Take it to the Lord in prayer.’

  At the second verse Isaac joined in, they did not sing loud, it was more a prayer that a song. When they finished Sary looks at Isaac, “Boy, I’m not a smart person like yore Mammy, but I know one thang, you jest remember that last verse every time you thank of William and little Lizzie, “Take it to the Lord in prayer,” and every thang will work itself out. Be strong, not for yerself but for Mizz Malinda, she’s gonna need yer help.”

  “Yes ’em”

  “In less than a weeks time, we gonna be at Scarlett, or Mizz Malinda says what’s left of it, you be the man of the family now, so be strong fer yore Mammy, help her and don’t give her yer exter burdens. And remember too, Christmas is a comin’. Remember the good, not the bad.”

  “Yes Sary, I’m sure goin’ to try.”

  Chapter Forty-Two

  PRIVATE JACK THOMASON

  The meager rations Robert has endured the past couple of months are beginning to take their toll. The Death Squad, which had twelve men when Robert was allowed to join, was now down to just five of the original bunch. For a while, Robert was able to get scraps from the cook, with whom he had developed a relationship through Sergeant Belue, but no
w Belue was gone and so was the cook. He would slip Robert a few remains of potato skins, or remnants of meat bones, but as scanty as they were at least Robert and his band of gravediggers had ‘something’ to boil over the pot in their tent occasionally. Now even this is gone.

  The weather is miserable, rain, snow, and seemingly, wet and windy all the time. Christmas is getting closer, but the enthusiasm demonstrated last year that the War would be quickly over next year was missing this year. This year famine, disease and death overshadow last year’s eagerness.

  The spirit of Christmas, if there ever was any in this place, was absent this year. No one even spoke of Christmas no hint of a tree and just an occasional talk that the War was ending. The only thing, for sure, that was ending was the lives of the prisoners, and these were plentiful these cold winter days.

  Robert sat in his tent, not only decimated in body but also dejected in spirit. It seemed all hope was lost. “Mind if I sit?” Looked around he recognized Private Jack Thomason, the man who first had offered him a bed in the Burial Squad tent.

  “Sure Jack, please,” Robert said moving over to give Jack a place to sit on his bunk.

  “Robert, you look down and out. Let’s not give up. I know its rough, but we can take it.”

  “Jack, every since you and I met, you seem like a person hiding something, am I wrong?”

  “Robert, you and I have become friends since you arrived in this tent, and I guess I am not what I seem.” Looking around to see if anyone was close enough to hear, “My name is not Jack Thomason I am actually William Mayo, Captain William Mayo of the Union Army’s Surgeon General’s Medical Staff. Yes, that’s right I am not a prisoner, I was sent here to investigate Commandant Colonel Francis C. Adams and his reported abuse of prisoners of war and the conditions at this facility. I am, in fact, a medical doctor. You Sergeant Scarburg I commend for your humanity and love of your fellow man, be they Confederate or Union.”

  “What! You are a Union Captain and a doctor? Well, I never, I hope your report will show how badly these men have been treated. And you have seen how they have been dying faster than we can dig holes and bury them.”

  “Sergeant Scarburg, what I am about to tell you is in the strictest of secrecy. The War is about over – it cannot last more than a few more months. At the present time, General Grant has General Lee surrounded at a place called Petersburg, Virginia. General Lee cannot hold out much longer, the siege has been going on for over a year now. I am telling you this Robert since I know you have given up hope of ever going home, please Robert, I beg you, do all you can to hold on. Hold on, and you will get home and see your family.”

  “Thank you Captain for telling me this – I feel better already.”

  “Robert that is the last time to refer to me as Captain remember I am Private Jack Thomason. Robert, in one of my last dispatches I recommended your name be submitted for exchange. Even if the War does not end soon, maybe you will be exchanged and sent back South. And do not worry, Commandant Adams will eventually be court-martialed for his crimes against humanity here at Point Lookout.”

  “Thank you Sir, thanks, and may I ask if you get out of this place you might someday post a note to my family and tell them of my circumstances. Send it to Scarlettsville, South Carolina, surely someone there will get the letter to them if any of my family are still alive.”

  “Hand me your coffee cup Robert,” as Robert complied the Captain pulled a metal flask from his jacket pocket and poured Robert a drink of bourbon. The Captain bumped his flask against Robert’s cup, “Sir, if it is within my ability to do so you’re request will be carried out. Merry Christmas Robert, may this be the last one you will ever have to spend in prison.”

  Chapter Forty-Three

  FIRST ALABAMA CALVARY

  Luke was driving the lead wagon, Nate driving the rear. The two extra horses were tied to the back of Nate’s tailgate. Sam was riding in the back, just like he said with a big old Spencer cradled in his arm. Kentucky Lead and four of his offspring rode in the wagon with Sam. As they went out the gate, they turned right to head down the mountain Luke pulled on his horse’s reins and yelled, Whoa!” Catherine was riding in the seat next to him. He wanted to give her one last look at her home before leaving. Old Kentuck stood in the rear of Nate’s wagon, head sticking out looking forlornly at the home he had known all his life.

  “Let’s go,” Catherine said turning back to face the road ahead, “home is in Alabama now.”

  In one of the outlaw’s pocket, Luke found a set of discharge papers showing Buck Thornhill had been a Private in the Union Army and recently discharged. Before leaving the farm Luke found his old blue Union shirt and blue pants. He tucked Buck’s papers into his pocket. Luke knew east Tennessee, the direction in which they would be traveling was heavily pro-Union, so posing as Buck, a discharged Union soldier, might get them through to Knoxville and then later down to Alabama. East Tennessee was mountainous land, very little cotton farming was done in those hills. Moonshine and white lightening yes, but slaves no, not in this economy; therefore, they did not believe in fighting for, what they called, the rich man’s war.

  Luke, yelling back to Nate, “Nate, tell Sam to stay sharp. Bert and his outlaws will be coming it’s just a matter of time. I just hope we can stay ahead of them.

  A week passed un-eventful. As they neared the outskirts of Knoxville, Luke said to Catherine, “Keep a good look-out, somewhere along this road we are apt to run into a detachment of Union soldiers. The Yankees took Knoxville about a year ago; we just have to pray we can fool them into thinking I am the Yankee Private Buck Thornhill.”

  The two wagons travel down the dirt road another couple of miles. Up ahead they see a juncture of three roads. One road turns left or to the north the other turns right to the south, and the third continues straight ahead due east to Knoxville. “Those Texas fellers are following somewhere behind, when they get to this crossroads Buck will have to decide whether to go straight or turn, since he doesn’t know we are headed south, he has two out of three changes to make the wrong choice. Luke states, “Luckily, no sentries are posted to tell him south is the way we are traveling.”

  About a mile farther south on the road that skirted around the western side of Knoxville their luck did run out – standing in the middle of the road are two Yankees with Springfield .58 caliber muzzle loading muskets held at port arms, ordering the wagons to halt.

  The first soldier, who doesn’t appear to be much older than Sam approaches Luke, “You there soldier, what’s your business?”

  “Uh, I was with the 1st Alabama Cavalry and got discharged and heading home.”

  “What you mean 1st Alabama! They’s Confeds!”

  “Where you been boy? The 1st has been in action with the Union forces since you were jest a pup, we’ve fought in most all the major battles for the North. How many have you been in you young whippersnapper?”

  Embarrassed the kid answered the question with another question, “Who’s the 1st been attached to?”

  “We wuz with the 16th Corps of the Union Army of Tennessee,” Luke said just making up some unit. He knew the discharge papers had blood covering Buck Thornhill’s unit designation. “We wuz commanded by Major General John Logan.” Luke had heard that name before but did not have an iota of information where or who the general commanded. He was just taking a chance the young soldier did not know either.

  “Let me see yer papers,” said the Union soldier.

  As he was reading the discharge the other soldier yells, “Hey, Tom thar’s another one in this here wagon with this blackie.”

  Both soldiers stood at the rear tailgate and looked at Sam. Sam stared back. “What’s this uns story?” Soldier number one said to Luke.

  “Listen fellers, I know y’all ain’t been in the Army very long. So what I’m fixin’ to say you might not understand. That’en is my brother Sam, he’s seen more fightin’ that you two will see together, he got wounded at the Battle of Fallen Timbers (ag
ain Luke was making up fictitious names), they wuz gonna cut his leg off. I wuz done discharged so I figured he being only sixteen years old would need that leg and I also figured they wouldn’t miss him anyway. I slipped him outta the hospital tent and I’m carrying him to my cousin’s house,” turning to Catherine, “uh, this here is Catherine, my cousin...”

  “Ma’am,” said the Union soldiers touching their hats.

  “We’ve been doctoring him and his leg is about well, but we figured we’d git him back to north Alabama. The War’s ‘bout over, who’s gonna miss another sixteen year old kid.”

  “Uh, mister...”

  “Sorry, my name is Private Buck Thornhill.”

  “You know we, that’s me...uh, Private Tom Samuels, and this here is Private Ewell Smith, we both are jest sixteen ourselves and we wouldn’t be here neither if they hadn’t made us jine up. Get your kin out of here and get him home. I hope yer right about this War not lasting much longer. Good luck to you all.”

  “Good luck to you too Tom and Ewell. Oh, Tom one favor if you can... there is a band of Conscription soldiers on our trail, dressed up in civilian clothes riding western style horses with western saddles, the officer in charge goes by the name Bert Black I’d appreciate it very much if you wouldn’t mention we’d come through here.”

  “I hate them Conscription cusses too, don’t you worry we’ll send’em packing in the wrong direction.”

  “Thanks, Private Samuels. Git up there hosses,” Luke said slapping the horses with the reins.