Riding from Memories

by Jim Cox

  Buck dismounted inside the tree line at the wood’s edge, tied Black and Molly to a branch and walked to the open field. By this time, it was dusk, but there was still enough light to see a considerable distance. He looked intently in every direction. He saw no movement, all was clear. Buck went back into the woods, retrieved the three horses he was leaving behind, and tied them snugly to tree limbs outside the tree line. He had no doubt men in gray would find the horses come morning.

  Buck started out, riding a few feet inside the trees. When full darkness came, he went to the narrow strip of open land between the trees and the cotton fields. Even though the night was clear and the moon shone brightly, he felt confident he wouldn’t be seen riding against the dark background. Nighttime had cooled considerably, and a breeze had come up, causing Buck to feel chilled. Wish there had been a coat in one of those saddlebags, he thought.

  After a couple of miles, Black seemed to have caught on to the intended route, and the horse kept in a westerly direction between the woods and cotton fields without Buck’s guidance. Buck had done his best to stay awake during the long night, not wanting to be caught off guard.

  He had nodded a few times but had always aroused himself by humming a favorite tune or talking to the horses. Sometime after midnight, the cotton field he was riding beside gave way to a wheat field, which was in its tender green stage, so Buck stopped for the horses to eat. He also got himself one of the bacon-hardtack sandwiches he had prepared before leaving, and after eating it fetched another. A smile came with his last swallow. I’ll not only gain my weight back. I’ll get fat as a hog if I keep on eating like this.

  Buck took a long drink from one of the canteens to wash down the food as he stood looking about, letting the horses eat for another ten minutes before mounting and heading out.

  The eastern sky was turning gray when Buck started looking for a place to hole-up for the day. He hadn’t ridden far when a barn came into view nearly a half mile ahead. As he came closer, he could tell the barn stood close to the tree line, and he saw nearby charred timbers among an area of burnt debris, obviously the remains of a house. The place looked deserted, its surroundings covered with tall grass and brush.

  Buck was cautious and stayed inside the woods riding toward the barn. When he got parallel with it, he dismounted and tied the horses. Then he fished out the Army handgun from a saddlebag, loaded it, and crept within twenty yards of the barn. He stopped behind a large pine and observed his surroundings. Nobody seemed to be around. “Did someone see me coming and hide?” he mumbled. Shaking his head, he dismissed the thought and took another look around. There were no paths, no bent weeds or grass, nothing to suggest someone had been there recently. He heard no strange noise of any kind, only birds and crickets. Buck noticed the barn doors were closed. Someone could be hiding in there, he thought.

  By now it was almost full light, so Buck slipped from behind the pine tree and crept to the double doors on the north side of the barn. He stood quietly, listening for sounds—nothing. He reached for one of the door latches, raised its tongue out of the latch, and slowly pulled on the door. It screeched. Buck stopped and examined the strap hinges. Their rust covering confirmed the doors hadn’t been opened for quite some time. Feeling confident no one was inside, he pulled the door open and was about to step inside when a loud shrill sounded and something banged against the door. Buck jumped back and hurriedly raised his handgun to shoot whatever made the noise, man or beast. Instantly, a gray-mingled cat darted out the door and ran into the weeds. It took a long minute for Buck to calm himself.

  He pulled both barn doors open wide, which lit the inside of the barn, and as he was stepping inside, three red chickens came running past him to the outside. Buck grinned. I’ll be eating chicken tonight, he thought. I ain’t ate no chicken since Ma cooked it for us before the war.

  He made a fast search of the barn. Spider webs hung in the corners and a few mice ran into hiding, but otherwise, it was void of creatures—at least any he could see. He looked around for things that might be of value, and to his surprise, he found three burlap bags full of corn and a bag of oats in one of the stalls. Mice had chewed holes in the bags, allowing oats to spill out, but they hadn’t damaged the grain inside. Buck also found a small scattering of floor hay in the overhead loft, enough to feed the horses for several days.

  While Buck was heading back to the barn after fetching the horses, he noticed black clouds coming his way. “There’s a storm coming, and it looks like it could be a bad one. I hope the barn ain’t a leaker,” he mumbled.

  A fast survey of the four barn stalls showed a feeding trough, a rack for hay, and one-half of a sawed-off thirty-gallon whiskey barrel that served as a watering tank. All the floors were clean except for a few piles of dried, moldy manure. After putting Black in the largest stall and Molly in the one beside him, he removed the horses’ gear, including their bridles, and laid it in the barn’s alleyway. Then he went to the stall with the sacks of grain, gathered up five ears of corn and a quart of oats for each horse, and took it to them. Afterward, he climbed the loft ladder and threw down a couple handfuls of hay into their hay racks.

  Retrieving a bucket he’d seen in one of the stalls, he headed outside to find water. As he was ambling toward the charred logs, he noticed a circle of stones about three feet high that he assumed was a well. It’s a well all right…but does it have any water in it? He picked up a small rock, dropped it into the well, and heard a splash. He was hesitant to tie the rotten-looking rope lying beside the well to his bucket, but after giving the rope a couple strong jerks, Buck felt he could risk it. He carefully drew up each bucket of water, made two trips to each stall, and then he got a bucket for his own use. As he returned with the last bucket, he noticed the wind had picked up substantially, and a few drops of rain were falling.

  It wasn’t long after he’d entered the barn when the storm hit. Thunder roared, lightning flashed, and the rain pounded, but with the exception of a few minor leaks, the barn was dry.

  Buck had not slept for several hours, and the steady pounding of the rain against the barn made his eyelids grow heavy. “The chicken will have to wait ’til this afternoon when I wake up. I can’t have a fire inside the barn, and it looks like the storm is gonna last for a while. Besides, it’s time for bed. I’m sleepy.” Buck went to the barn doors, closed them, and swung the inside latch tongue in place, then went to the stall where he’d stowed his bedroll.

  As he lay down with heavy eyes, his thoughts went to his tomorrows. What will they be like? What is to become of me? He turned to his side and slept.

  Chapter Three

  Buck woke in the late afternoon to the sound of cackling. Turning over, he saw a hen in the stall across the aisle fluffing her feathers. “How did you get in here?” he mumbled. “There must be a hole someplace. I locked the doors before I laid down.” Then a thought came. Hens normally cackle after they lay an egg. Wonder if she laid one. It would be mighty tasty for breakfast.

  Buck crawled out of his bedroll, put on his shirt and pants, and hurried across the aisle. He grinned as he spotted two eggs in a nest, one was still moist. As he bent down to pick up the eggs, he saw another hen on her nest in the back corner of the stall. She’ll most likely lay an egg and be off of her nest by the time I get the horses fed and a fire going, he thought. I’ll check on it then.

  Both horses were standing with their heads stretched over their stall doors and their ears forward when Buck came with their afternoon feed. He removed the corncobs left from the morning feeding and after pushing the hungry horses away, dumped the oats and new ears of corn in the troughs. A little later, while Buck was returning to the stalls with fresh hay, he heard a hen cackle. “I’ve got another egg,” he said with a wide grin. “There might even be one or two more in the nest from previous days.”

  Buck placed the five eggs he had gathered in his coffee pot, filled it with water, and then, after getting a bacon slab, headed for the woods. He figured so
meone might see the rising smoke if he built a fire in the open by the barn, so he played it safe and built one under a tree in the woods where the leaves would filter and disperse the smoke.

  After his fire was ablaze under a big oak, Buck set the pot of water containing the eggs on a flat rock in the flames alongside four slices of bacon hanging from a forked branch. He had rigged-up two good-size rocks to hold the bacon branch in place while he went back to the barn after the horses.

  Buck wanted to be prepared in case an enemy came his way, so he busied himself getting ready to leave. After rolling up his bedroll and gathering all his possessions, he saddled Black and reloaded his belongings onto Molly. He returned to the fire, leading the horses and carrying a full water bucket. The bacon was turning a golden brown, and the water in the pot was boiling. He drained the water, put the five hot eggs on a tin plate along with the bacon, and refilled the pot with water for coffee from the bucket.

  Eating his meal, Buck sat against a tree by the fire and studied the regional map he’d found. He had originally estimated the trip from Andersonville to his home would take eleven to twelve days, and if he understood the map correctly and his travel went without setbacks, he could be home in five days—maybe six. His family wouldn’t be there, but he was still anxious to get home. The early evening passed slowly. Black clouds were starting to gather again in the west.

  Nighttime started earlier than normal due to the cloudy western sky. Buck was anxious, he had spent enough time in one place and was ready to leave even though it was still light. Buck let the horses take a swallow or two from the water bucket, poured the remainder on the fire, and rode back to the barn holding Molly’s tie rope. He found a sack without holes lying a few feet from the grain bags and filled it two-thirds full with oats. Fetching a short rope hanging on the wall, he tied the sack’s top and made a loop in the rope so it could hang from Molly’s saddle. Leading the horses outside, he latched the double doors, stepped into the stirrup, and started on another night of travel. Little did he know the next three days would be miserable.

  Two hours after they left the barn, it started to sprinkle. The sky was pitch black—no moon, no stars. An occasional lightning bolt flashed in the far west, followed by thunder. Another storm is gonna be here before you know it. I might as well dig out one of the groundcovers from behind the saddle right now. It’ll help keep me dry. If the storm gets too bad, I’ll have to find someplace to hole up, he thought. But he had no idea where it might be.

  Buck was pulling the ground cover over his head and around his body, tucking its tail between his legs and the saddle, when high winds and heavy rain came. He saw no place to go for protection, so he rode on.

  He stayed close to the cotton fields and away from the trees as far as possible, not wanting to chance being struck by lightning, which was now flashing every few seconds, lighting the sky in an array of fireworks. The rain was coming down in sheets, drenching the horses and everything on Buck that wasn’t tightly protected by the ground cloth. Even with that, his clothes were soon soaked.

  The area he was riding through turned hock deep with clay-filled, red mud that clung to the horses’ hooves in globs, but somehow Black kept his course with Molly following.

  An hour later, they were traveling in inky blackness. The thunderstorm had passed, but a heavy rain continued with gusting winds. It seemed to Buck the temperature had dropped twenty degrees or more since the rain had started. He was wet and cold, chilled to the bone. Buck thought about his possessions. His bedroll and the rifles were without a doubt soaked, and the bag of oats would be wet through and through. The items in the food bag would be wet also, but they wouldn’t be harmed except for the hardtack. The contents in the saddlebags were in question. He hoped the extra clothing was staying dry, but he also knew the wind-driven rain could penetrate most anything.

  Both Buck and his horses’ heads were drooping, but they sloshed onward through the night. Time passed slowly—what seemed like endless hours in the cold rain was in reality only a few.

  He longed to stop out of the rain where he could dry off and rest for a spell, but no place presented itself, so they plodded on, with a constant flow of raindrops trickling down Buck’s back adding misery to his chilled, hungry body. But shelter and food would have to wait. The eastern sky was showing a glimmer of gray when the flat cotton fields ended, and a rolling, tree-covered terrain began. As they rode on, a faint outline of a high hill came into view miles ahead, which Buck decided to use as a marker for his travel. If I can find a dry spot near that hill, that’s where I’ll bed down for the day, he thought.

  The farther they traveled, the steeper the terrain became, causing more frequent rest stops. A tall limestone cliff with a wide brushless shelf with large protruding boulders ran parallel to their path. Every so often, they crossed a rain-filled, swift stream where the horses drank in the belly deep water. The windy, cold rain never let up. Buck was freezing.

  It was still raining hours later when Buck arrived at his landmark, but things were brightening up. To his surprise, the landmark hill was an extension of the limestone cliff he’d been riding alongside. Looking around for a suitable stopping place, he saw a wide overhang jetting out from the cliff nearly fifteen feet and high enough for him and the horses to get under. In spite of being cold, wet, and exhausted, Buck’s face took on a wide grin.

  Chapter Four

  Buck led Black and Molly to the rear of the shelter and then started a fire a few feet back of the overhang’s entrance, using firewood apparently left behind by a considerate traveler. After the logs had caught, he dragged in a good size tree limb with several branches protruding upward and placed it close to the fire. Minutes later, his bedroll and ground cloth were hanging over its branches. Buck then stripped Black’s saddle and saddlebags and removed Molly’s load. He adjusted their bridles, so their bits hung on the outside and then carried Black’s wet saddle blanket to the back of the shelter and poured a hefty portion of oats on each end of the blanket. The horses dug in.

  To Buck’s amazement, the clothes and other articles in the two saddlebags were dry. Smiling, he quickly stripped off his wet shirt, pants, and underdrawers, hung them on branches by the fire, and dressed in dry clothes.

  The hardtack was a bit soggy, but he ate two bacon sandwiches washed down with steaming coffee, before laying his tired, chilled body close to the fire. By now both horses were lying on folded legs.

  Buck woke with a start around noon and quickly sat up. Something woke me, he thought. Wonder what it was. Seconds later he had his answer. Even though the overhang muffled sounds, Buck could hear cannons firing. He rose and went to the entrance in his underdrawers to listen. Boom after boom sounded. Buck estimated the fighting to be within a mile north of him, maybe even less. “I need to get away from here as soon as possible,” he mumbled. His eyes went to the outside. The rain had lessened a bit, but it was still coming down fairly hard.

  Fifteen minutes later, Buck was nearly a mile west of his destination hill. He had fed the fire all night, rousing himself from sleep to maintain a sizeable flame. Consequently, everything was dry when he packed to leave. However, the rain had again found its way inside the ground cloth, soaking his clothing as he traveled. The hilly terrain was about the same as the previous night, so Buck kept to low areas and behind hills to prevent silhouetting himself.

  He estimated the time to be close to four o’clock when both horses suddenly raised their drooped heads with pointed ears. Buck immediately pulled Black to a stop. “You’ve heard something, haven’t you, boy? What is it?” Buck remained still for a long minute, trying to figure out what had gotten the horses’ attention. All of a sudden, both horses jerked their heads northward, and Buck followed their action, listening carefully for sounds in that direction. He heard the noise. It sounded like a herd of cattle slopping through mud, but Buck knew it wasn’t cows. It was marching soldiers—soldiers wearing gray uniforms, most likely. If his horses knew soldiers were on the
move, the military mounts the officers rode could also sense someone else was close by, and would possibly give an alert. Buck turned south.

  He rode for several minutes. When all sound had vanished, and there was no indication he was being pursued, he turned back to his normal westerly route. He was tired and knew the horses were, too. They’d only gotten a few hours of sleep before the cannons woke them. Buck thought about looking for a dry place to hole up and sleep until dark, but he decided to continue riding throughout the afternoon and night. He had no doubt this amount of travel without sleep was grueling on the animals, but he needed to get far away from this area filled with blue and gray soldiers. We’ll stop every little bit to eat and rest up, Buck thought. Black and Molly can eat oats, and I’ll have a sandwich. Onward they went. The rain hadn’t let up a bit. Buck was soaked to the bone.

  The afternoon was long. On two occasions the base of the vertical cliff he’d been riding beside gave a few feet of protection from the rain. Once, he took advantage of the cliff’s shelter and built a fire to heat water for coffee and to warm. While Buck sat cross-legged, close to the fire with coffee and a sandwich in hand, the horses were eating oats.

  It felt good sitting by the warm fire, so he lingered longer than he had intended. After eating two sandwiches and gulping down his third cup of coffee, he saw the oats were gone, and he rose to leave. Buck frowned. The thought of going back out into the drenching rain with cold water drops rolling down his back, made him shiver. He shook off these depressing thoughts and started packing his belongings. Then he stepped into the stirrup and headed out.