“You hated mo’ dan Massah Kearns in all de plantations round Huntsville.”
“I suppose so; not many got away from me. You, of course.”
“Massah Kearns hated by mo’ than the niggers on his plantation. His son, Jackson Kearns, was cruel man; we calls him Li’l Miss behind him back. When he was a chile he looked like a little girl an’ had de temper o’ one.”
Will burst into a chuckle. “Well, Li’l Miss didn’t make it out of Ohio. One less Kearns to fuss over.”
“I’se not let you take Seth.”
“And I aim to take you back; so you’d best decide if you want to die trying to escape or live. Though I’d rather you was alive when we got there.”
“Mebbe Seth radder be dead.”
“That’s up to you; I got out of Ohio and Camp Chase an’ is headed to our forces anyhow. You just along for the ride. Alabama just a detour. You choose if you want to get there riding a horse or draped over one. The bounty worth more you alive, but I get half if you dead, an’ the Kearns’s can draw the settlement on your loss.”
“You’d shoot?” Stephen asked. He’d been riding quietly along for miles now; Will had forgotten he was even there.
“One o’ these brigands probably take more pleasure killin’ you,” Will said to Seth, “an’ you worth more alive than dead. Count it dumb luck I run into you. You only get one life, nigger. Best think on how you want it to end.”
Stephen wasn’t liking the direction this was going. Seth was Will’s responsibility, not his. He knew Hunter was a hard man and intent on what he wanted. But killing Seth was something he couldn’t abide by. “Don’t think that right, sir, not leastways the way we come about him.”
Will looked at Stephen and shrugged. “He keep his place, we all get to go home, and don’t matter much how but that we got him.”
“And these people?” Stephen asked, motioning with his chin toward Perkins and Michie riding ahead of their wagon.
“They keep they distance and maybe they get to go home too.”
Seth disliked the company of whites as a whole, but only because of the overt power over him granted by force of arms and force of habit. It wasn’t any better being free in Ohio or on the paddleboats. He still preferred the company of his own. But the Perkins gang was another problem. He was safer with Hunter than with anyone else at the moment. Was it to be freedom or death?
The first trouble came when they encountered a creek cutting through one of the farms with only a footbridge to cross it. A deep gully with steep sides, easily traversed on foot but impossible for a wagon, kept them from cutting across. While a few of the men cut down either side looking for a place to ford, the column halted. In the distance Corinth could be made out.
They were far enough off of the main roads to remain unmolested by any enemy cavalry patrols or forage parties, but they were also stranded if they remained with the wagons.
The elder Perkins dismounted to speak with Will.
“Is this creek fordable anywhere safe?” Will asked.
“Don’t know, not anywhere safe near a road. We should be hitting the Mobile and Ohio railroad soon.”
“How about this farm? You know who owns this farm?”
“Yeah, a damned Unionist. The first man I’ll string up if we push the enemy out of Corinth for good.”
“So we’re not really safe here.”
“Just keep an eye out fer anyone an’ raise the alarm. We’ll take care of who we find.”
Will knew exactly what that would entail.
The parties returned with bad news.
“T’aint no good ford till the Anslem farmhouse, ‘bout near on its doorstep,” reported Michie.
“No good till back to the Purdy road an’ the bridge over Lick Creek. An’ that bridge got cavalry pickets still. We seen ‘em,” one of the Perkins sons added.
“This Anslem, he the Unionist?” Will asked.
“Ah yeah, he the damned Unionist what deserves the rope. He supplying the Federals in Corinth an’ reportin’ on his neighbors,” the elder Perkins said.
“We might as well string him up now, Pap. We going to be in control of Corinth again anyhow.”
“Tha’s right, Pap, ol’ Anslem might as well pay the piper now as later. He won’t let us cross without tellin’ someone about it.”
Will pursed his lips and pondered what it was he was about to take part in. He had no problem stringing up someone for treason if it could be proved, but it was the word of these brigands, maybe little more than rumor. He was a slave hunter, and even he had standards. But murder was murder, and these were civilians.
“If we go an’ string this man up, we will surely be announcing we’ve been this way anyhow,” Will spoke up.
“It don’t matter if they know’d at that point; they won’t know’d for some time as dead men can’t tell no tales. By then we be in contact with our army an’ well on our way.”
“Be a mite easier if they weren’t no trail left behind,” Will said.
“Yeah, an’ if we just try to cross, he goin’ to know somethin’ is up an’ go tell the provost in Corinth we was there,” one of the Perkins boys retorted.
“Boy, you don’t want to go down this road an’ murder someone just because,” Will snapped back.
Stephen looked at Will with concern and shook his head. Will replied with a slow, methodical negative. Stephen got the gist: Will didn’t want to take part in this but might not be able to avoid it.
“Who the hell is you? I ain’t gonna let some treasonous dog get away with aiding the enemy no longer! When we found you, you was hidin’ behind some uniform an’ runnin’ fer yer life. You lucky I didn’t shoot you when we caught you!” Patrick Michie added.
“You wouldn’t have had opportunity, boy!” Will spat.
“Shut up, Robert, and Patrick too!” the elder Perkins shouted. “We gonna go down to the farm an’ cross there. We won’t kill him ‘less we has to; got that? Now mount up an’ head to the house. We just a lost supply column lookin’ to cross the creek.”
Will looked over at Seth, then quickly away. It would be an easy choice left on his own. Just go and cross anywhere. But this little fool’s errand with the wagons was something else. If things got out of hand, he’d grab Seth and the horses trailing their wagon and ride. Those fools could exact their retribution to their own detriment. Will guessed Stephen was also prepared to bolt.
The ride took another hour over a bumpy track that jarred their bones with every divot and dip. Seth was looking nervously to and fro, and Will was ready himself to just jump up and run. Stephen was keeping an eye on those hiding in the other wagons and looking to Will every few minutes.
With military efficiency, the group entered the farm proper of Anselem, and the outbuildings and barns became evident. A few workmen stopped what they were doing to take note. The creek became a little wider and more shallow as the farmhouse was neared, the creek cutting a swath and barrier between the fields and the living quarters and other buildings. Leveling off at the point of the well-worn ford, the advance riders crossed their horses easily and took up positions just ahead. Each was dressed in Federal garb and sporting carbines. Will was impressed with the display even if they meant evil intent.
By this time several of the hired hands were leaving their chores and walking toward the ford, while a few others took off toward the house. The first wagon was that driven by Robert Perkins with his father next to him, and they urged the team and wagon to cross. The creek was shallow at this point, and a well-worn groove in the creek bed allowed the wagon wheels to easily traverse the water, up a shallow incline and then up through a worn track to the other side.
Will’s wagon was bringing up the rear, along with two other faux Federal escorts. Will’s carbine was at his feet and pistol on his belt. Despite the uniforms, to the practiced eye, this was clearly no Federal column. Will hoped the workmen were not that practiced.
Will lost sight of the elder Perkins. His wagon attemp
ted to pull up the gentle incline but was stopped by several workmen who ran up and grabbed the halters of the lead horses on his team.
Let us pass, Will thought. It would be so easy to just let the wagons pass.
“We wish to cross yore land,” the elder Perkins called. The two workman holding his team steady turned to look for a sign from Anslem.
“You can turn about, Perkins. I’ll not have you crossin’ here,” Anslem called from across the yard. He was portly and seemed to move about as if every muscle in his body was extremely sore. He had a double chin that was wagging as he shook his head.
“We know’d you hep the Yankees; let us by or we’ll string you up,” shouted the youngest Perkins. Seated next to his father, a rifle leveled at one of the workman, the boy was cocking the hammer back when his father silenced him with a shove.
“We don’t want no trouble, Anslem. Just let us pass. We not going to turn about,” the elder Perkins said calmly.
Will looked over at Seth and bent down slightly to raise the barrel of his carbine, then to Stephen with a nod. Stephen, wide-eyed, nervously lifted the heavy leather flap on his holster. “Fools,” Will said quietly.
“I don’t got to let you do nothin’. You on my land; I own this crossin’, an’ you ain’t gonna cross. You turn about or we’ll turn you about,” Anslem replied as he stiffly moved toward them leaning on a stick. He was the only one unarmed that Will could see.
“Duck,” Will whispered to Seth.
“Boys, turn them teams about,” Anslem said as he waved the workmen forward and stood defiantly in front of the lead wagon.
It was the last thing he ever did.
In a flash the elder Perkins tumbled off the wagon and leveled a pistol at the man nearest the team and fired. Soon the wagons emptied of those hiding, and a general melee ensued. Will jumped down and started picking off men as the marauders knelt or lay prone against the bank of the creek. Of the ten men who’d shown themselves in the yard, all were soon dropped by the practiced aim of the deserters, the Perkins boys acting as cool as soldiers themselves. Scrambling out of the creek, the ragged skirmish line advanced on the house, and soon the whole family was rousted out of the cellar, the elder Anslem one of the corpses bleeding in the grass. Two of the man’s three sons were also lying dead, the youngest, not out of his child’s smock, caught in the cross fire. The house was soon ransacked and looted of anything the men thought of value.
Will was in no position to deter anyone and was only thinking of finishing this errand and leaving these men far behind. Heart thumping, he realized how much he’d missed the excitement of the threat of death. If the army was nearby, would it be better to just leave these people behind and fall in? Seth, still hiding down in the barrels of gunpowder and boxes of cartridges, peeked up and crawled back to the front bench, his legs still tied at the ankles. Stephen had stayed with the wagon, refusing to take part in the slaughter. Will felt nothing for the men laid low by the firefight. There was revenge to be had, and Perkins had meant to have it. He would not stand in the way.
The wagons were soon loaded with more loot, and the column pushed on and down the short road leading to the Gravel Hill road, where they expected to find their own army somewhere to the east.
“Why you shoot dem men?” Seth asked after the house was passed by.
“They were certainly not aiming to miss me.”
“You din’t has to.”
Stephen looked at Will, adding his own silent question and waiting the answer.
“No, but neither did Anslem have to stop us.”
“Dem boys is evil.”
“Necessary evil.”
Will discarded his Federal cavalry uniform and donned his dirty Confederate tunic and headgear. He wasn’t going to be handled roughly by his own side. As far as Perkins’s plan to sell the supplies to their army, Will had his doubts that the army wouldn’t just take what it needed, with these men lucky to get away without irons. They were fighting a different war. The army would be justified in stringing them all up for the trouble. If they were truly headed in the direction their army was expected to be, they were all going to be shot as spies by someone.
An hour later the sounds of skirmishing were growing loud, nothing continuous like a battle, but the incessant popping of carbines and muskets as small groups of soldiers opposed one another in skirmish formations.
Perkins halted the group, and the wagons filed off the road and into a field.
“We leave the wagons here with a guard; you’ll come with us,” Perkins said, jabbing a finger at Will.
“All right.”
“Just me an’ my boys’ll go an’ you. The rest stay behind. They likely to put the others in irons as deserters than anything.”
“You know fer sure they going to pay you?” Will asked.
“No, but we don’t show ‘em the haul till we get a note. They be needin’ the powder sure.”
“Seth and Stephen comes with me; I aim to strike out from here,” Will said.
“Fair enough; could use yer rifle, though, an’ you git a percentage of whatever we haul,” the elder Perkins said.
“No, only interested in getting Seth to his owner an’ rejoining the 1st Alabama. Stephen’s home is south of here.”
Will gathered his traps from the wagon and loaded their horses. Seth was going to be a problem if he bolted. They were bound to run into some cavalry vedette from either side; this folly was going to be dangerous either way.
Sounds of skirmishing were coming from the direction of the Chewallah road, and the group kept to the fields and away from any road that might run them into the wrong side. Clouds of dust hung low over the treetops from the northwest. By Will’s reckoning that must be the approach of their army, putting the enemy somewhere in their front. Cutting through depressions and creeks, they guessed as to which way was going to put them out of harm’s way, but the lack of seeing either army made it all a gamble.
Old earthworks came into view, yards and yards of entrenchments and gun positions, long abandoned, scarring the fields—the outer works of the Corinth defenses formerly occupied by their army. Movement in the distance along the works showed the location of one of the armies. Will’s instinct was to pass over and through them and keep making for the west, but Perkins, anxious to get this over with, was inclined to make contact with what he considered friendly forces. Acquiescing, Will hung back as they moved parallel with the earthworks. The sounds of fighting were still off further to the west, but the men occupying the works were busily engaged in fortifying them.
They weren’t friends.
The sounds of a host of horsemen stopped the group when a troop of Federal cavalry topped a slight rise at a full gallop. The Perkins family, perhaps possessing more courage than wisdom, quickly dismounted and opened fire. Will turned his horse and came parallel with Seth’s, cutting his hands free, then turned to Stephen.
“Hold on!” Will shouted. “We going to make a run for it!”
Will quickly cut Seth loose from his ankle bonds and dragged him onto the back of his own horse, then turned to ride over the abandoned works. The entrenchments were built to oppose a force coming from the direction of the northwest and had high walls with fire steps and abatises facing the enemy, along with a deep ditch. The whole work was fifteen feet across, so that a jump would have to clear the high fire steps and plunge down into the abatis and then the ditch. There was not a sally port in sight—an opening in the wall that would allow a defending force to march a regiment or more outside the walls.
The whiz of fire by his head told him they were the focus of the oncoming enemy cavalry, and Will spurred forward. If they couldn’t jump the chasm they would scramble over the wall, as the enemy wouldn’t be able to follow so easily either.
With Seth hanging on for dear life, Will brought the horse up to what turned out to be a redoubt, a position for artillery with four walls and embrasures for artillery pieces, and guided the horse to one of the empty embrasure
s. With Stephen nosing his own horse down the embankment, Will’s horse leapt through the narrow opening and plunged down the steep wall and into the abatis with enough force to shatter one of the emplacements, scattering the sharpened logs but nearly throwing both Will and Seth over its head.
Stephen’s horse plunged down a second later and butted into Will’s. Their forward
momentum carried them down into the ditch—where they were suddenly stuck. The horse balked at trying to climb up the opposite side. The only choice was going to be to ride down the length of the entrenched line and find another place to climb out.
The plunk of rounds hitting nearby decided the course of action, and Will spurred forward.
“Anyone following?” Will shouted.
“Yes!” was Stephen’s reply.
The ditch ran parallel to the wall until it curved to the right and around another battery position, another three-sided wall with embrasures. The line of abatises whizzed by perilously close as the two horses sped along. The ditch had to end or they would be forced to go on foot to get out as they drove closer to the section of the works occupied by enemy infantry.
Will reined to a stop, and his mount nervously stomped and bobbed its head up and down, snorting in protest. Another abandoned battery was above them, and the ditch curved around, following its contours. Erosion had made a ramp of sorts of washed dirt that was gentle enough to walk the horses up.
“Dismount and grab the halter; lead him up that way,” Will commanded.
Seth, still bewildered at the chase and the suddenness of the halt, sat dumb and still.
Stephen brought his own mount to a halt and turned in the saddle. Riders were barreling down the ditch toward them, and others could be seen riding along the top of the parapets. “We got company!”
“Damnit, get down and lead the horse up!” Will shouted.
Complying, Seth grabbed hold and struggled to find footing himself to lead the horse. Shouts and shots behind them revealed some of the cavalry had made it out of the obstacles.
“C’mon, go!” Will said with a kick of his heels into the horse’s side. The ground was loose still despite the weeds and grass growing in places, and it was more slipping back down for Seth and the horse than progress up. More shouts, from the right and the left, told how close the enemy cavalry was closing in. The ditch was dug so that it dropped down eight or nine feet in front of the parapet walls, with a steep incline going up and further obstructed by the abatis. Where they were struggling to get out was five feet below the ground level.
The Shiloh Series: Books 1-3 Page 78
