Spake As a Dragon Page 21

  As William and Isaac leave and begin walking up the road toward home, they hear Stephen yelling as he runs down the road towards them. “Wait William, wait!”

  Breathless Stephen tells William he must see how much Doc Crawford will pay for Blaze. Both William and Isaac argue with Stephen about selling – he tells them the whole story that Malinda had told him. They must have $52.26 in ninety days or they are going to lose the farm.

  The three boys gloomily walk back to Doc Crawford’s barn. Doc is sitting on a keg of nails making an entry in his journal. “Back so soon boys? See you got Stephen with you, what else can I do for you boys?”

  “Mama sent Stephen to ask you if you are still interested in buying Blaze? Our land taxes are overdue and unless we pay within ninety days the sheriff is going to throw us out,” Matthew said.

  “Of course Matthew, I would like to buy Blaze, but these War times have been hard on everyone – I know in normal times she would be worth much more, but all I can afford to pay is $20.00 in U.S. money. I wish it were more, but I have no ready cash. Most times I get paid with a chicken, eggs and vegetables. Hard money is not very plentiful.”

  “Much obliged Doc, I’ll have to go back and give Mama your offer.”

  “No hurry boys, just keep Blaze in a dry stable and soak in the Poke water two or three times a day and she will be fit as a fiddle.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  STRATEGY AT THE FARM

  William, Isaac and Stephen find Malinda and Sary still working in the vegetable garden. Malinda sees them coming and runs to meet her three boys, “What did Doc say?”

  “Oh, he just said Blaze had canker on her feet and a dry stable and soaking in Poke root juice would cure her right up.”

  “No, not about Blaze’s hooves, what did he say about buying her?”

  William was the first to complain, “Mama, surely we can’t sell Blaze it will be like selling one of the family.”

  Malinda looks at the sad faces of her three sons, young Stephen has tears running down his face. She is as distraught as they, but she is also a realist too. “Boys go round up the other children and I will explain our situation.”

  The whole family, including Sary, sits on the front porch as Malinda begins to describe their dire situation. She tells them they are two years behind in their land taxes. The sheriff has just sent out a couple of deputies who nailed an eviction notice on the front gate. She explained they must come up with $52.26 in ninety days or the sheriff is going to foreclose of their farm. Even with the selling of Blaze they are still short $32.26, and they have no way to raise that much money.

  William, the oldest begins, “But Mama, surely we can raise the money in three months time, can’t we?”

  “Son, I have been giving this much thought, so has Sary, we probably can come up with a couple of more dollars but we just can not get all the money in time. I know, we still have the two mules, but to survive we must have them to make a crop this coming season. Without them, we will starve, no matter where we live. Besides both would fetch no more’en $10 or $12 dollars. ”

  William asks what does his mother intend to do. He again states that the family does not want to get rid of Blaze, anything but selling the mare. Malinda reminds them they cannot raise the $52.26 even after selling Blaze, and they surely cannot come up with the entire amount of money.

  Looking at William and Isaac, “You know Captain LaPree is after you two. We can’t keep you hid out forever, he is going to get you both before too long, and I agree, I don’t want to sell Blaze either. I thank Doc for his offer, but it is simply not enough money to stave off our situation.” Malinda continued to state they have two choices stay here and have their land ripped from under them or pack up their wagons and move back to Scarlett in South Carolina. She said she had bad news of Scarlett.

  “Kids I know you young ones will not know who Uncle Isaac and Aunt Linda Lou are – Isaac is your father’s brother. Your father had transferred use of Scarlett to him before we moved to Alabama.”

  Malinda continued telling about Isaac. “You all remember that man that stopped by last week? He was James Pool. James lived in Scarlettsville, but the War had ruined his farm – killed or confiscated all his livestock except the one mule he had hid out, burned his house and barn and killed his oldest son who was only fourteen when he protested joining the Army, so he was moving his family to Texas.

  He told me Uncle Isaac and Aunt Linda Lou had also been killed by a bunch of thieving Union deserters who rode onto Scarlett seeking any valuables they could find. Cousin Linda Lou and the rest of the women folk hid in the root cellar as the men of the plantation fought off the plundering malcontents. A couple of the plantation’s men were wounded and Isaac and Linda Lou were both killed at the foot of the front steps trying to prevent them from entering the big house. In addition, one field hand was also killed. The men succeeded in running the scavengers away, but not before they burned the big house.

  Mr. Pool said the overseer Levi and Ora Lee are alone living in the guesthouse, and have no idea how to run a plantation. He states they have no help, what so ever, all the men are away in the Army and after the fight all the workers on the plantation ran off too.

  Levi is at his wit’s end. Planting season is upon them and he is asking if we could come for a visit and straighten things out, Levi sent word by Mr. Pool that the Union forces have left that part of South Carolina, so we don’t have to worry about Yankees. And to make matters worse after Uncle Isaac was killed no one was able to run Scarburg Mill and it is now closed!

  Before this situation with the sheriff, I was considering a trip to Scarlettsville to see if we might be of some help. Now I see this as an opportunity to permanently move back to Scarlett. I know now we cannot win the fight here with Captain LaPree. If only Robert were here to tell us what to do.

  We are a family and I realize you are just children, but it is your future we are deciding, we are going to vote, everyone will have a vote, from the youngest to the oldest. Here is what I purpose we vote on: first, do we stay here and get our land taken, if so, where do we live? Second, do we go back to South Carolina and try to do something with Scarlett?

  I’m going to give you a twig and a stone William will pass his hat around. If you want to stay, drop in the twig, if you want us to go back to Scarlettsville drop in the stone. The majority of twigs or stones will decide.

  There will be a total of seven votes, six for you children and one for Sary – I will not vote, I will abide by your decision.”

  The hat passes around the circle and Sary cast the last vote. “All right, the decision has been made I will count the votes.” She takes the hat and begins to remove the ‘votes’... a stone... a stone... the last object removed was a stone – seven stones and no twigs. “Scarlettsville here we come!” Malinda announces as a cheer goes up around the group.

  “Stephen, go back to Doc Crawford’s place and thank him for the offer, but tell him just as soon as Blaze is well we are leaving for South Carolina and will need Blaze. Wait a minute,” she said running into the house and within a couple of minutes returns carrying a piece of paper. “This is a Quit Claim Deed that I have just written out giving our farm to the Doc. Tell him it is his if he can pay the $52.26 before the end of June.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  COLONEL ADAMS

  Robert seems to withdraw from reality after the death of his friend Ben. For months on end he lies in his bunk, eats very little, talks even less. However, the winter is passing and spring is coming – one can smell it in the air. The freshening breeze off Chesapeake Bay is beginning to feel a bit warmer and blows the stench of the prison away on some days, giving the prisoners a break, if only for a little while.

  Robert gave his small shop on Pennsylvania Avenue to one of his friends who gives him an occasional dollar or two. This small sum is enough too barely keep Robert alive.

  His memory had totally returned months earlier. The only indication of the bullet woun
d to his head was a bad scar on his forehead close to the hairline. The bayonet wound to his chest left only a small scar in front and a smaller one on his back. Lying on his bed staring at the top of his tent, he thinks of his farm in Alabama, especially his wife Malinda and his children. Also, he cannot help but remember Luke and Matthew. The last he saw of them was at Gettysburg. He wonders if they live or are they buried along with thousands of others in un-marked graves all over the battlefield.

  The entrance into his tent by a Union sergeant breaks his reverie. The sergeant walks up to Robert’s bed and asks, “You be Sergeant Robert Scarburg?”

  Startled, Robert turns to face his questioner, it has been a long time since anyone has addressed him by his military rank and full name, “Yes, I am Sergeant Robert Scarburg.”

  “The Commandant of Lookout Point is of the understanding that you can read and write a fair hand. Is he correct in his assumption?”

  “Well, uh...uh... yes of course I can read and write. Why would he ask?”

  “The Colonel’s orderly, a Sergeant Owens comedown with a sudden sickness and died. The Army won’t send the Commandant a replacement. The Colonel needs someone to send and receive his correspondence and answer it if necessary, and he needs someone now! He figures that someone is you. Now git yerself up and follow me to see the Man.”

  Walking into the building, the Commandant uses as his office Robert waits in the outer room until the Union guard opens the door, motioning to Robert, “The Colonel will see you now.”

  Robert removes his forage cap, which now is but a few rags held together by just enough thread to keep it from totally falling apart, walks into the office. Sitting at a large oak desk is a stoutly built man wearing a Union officer’s double-breasted bluejacket with two double rows of nine gold buttons. On his shoulders are shoulder boards with an eagle signifying the rank of full colonel, a bird colonel as the enlisted men refer to such officers. The shoulder insignias are trimmed in blue. A couple of strange ideas come to Robert as he salutes the Colonel. The jacket the colonel wears is a U.S. Army general’s coat. The shoulder boards trimmed in blue signified he was an infantry officer. An infantry general, now a prisoner-of-war camp commandant colonel, albeit a bird colonel, something isn’t adding up.

  Holding his salute he addresses the Colonel, “Sergeant Robert Scarburg, reporting to the Commandant, as ordered Sir!”

  The Colonel appeared busy writing and did not lookup. Gesturing a faint salute he orders Robert too, “Stand at ease.”

  The sad shape Robert is in, health wise, whether at ‘attention’ or ‘at ease’ if the Colonel had been looking he would not have been able to tell the difference. The sentry stands at the door at attention. The Colonel places the pen in the ink well, motions to the sentry, “Wait outside,” then turns his attention to Robert. “I have been told you have had some formal education and are able to read and write, is this correct?”

  “Yes sir, that is correct,” Robert responds.

  Getting up from his desk he walks around and sits on its corner, “And, I understand you surrendered at Gettysburg?”

  “Yes sir, I mean, no sir I was captured all right, but only after I was wounded, I did not voluntarily surrender, Sir.”

  “Yes, yes, I understand, very commendable, I was at Gettysburg too. I commanded a division of the XI Corps north of town on the first day; Jubal Early’s division of the South’s II Corps overran us. I could have succeeded in my advance if General Howard had re-enforced my division,” Robert could see in his eyes the Colonel remembered every moment of that first day at Gettysburg. “You in Early’s division?”

  “Uh, no Sir, we briefly got into the fight that first day but didn’t get into the hard fightin’ until the 2nd day. I was in Longstreet’s Corp, under General Hood, the 48th Alabama. We did our fighting at Little Round Top and Devil’s Den, a way south of town. That’s where I was wounded and captured.”

  “Well, I did the best I could with the quantity of men I had, but they blamed the defeat north of town on me and reduced me from a Brigadier General to this sorry colonel’s rank. You know,” the Colonel said speaking as though he were talking to one of his officer peers, “They don’t seem to realize once General Early forced the Army to retreat below town to Cemetery Ridge, we gained the whole advantage of the battle, we held the high ground!”

  Robert had heard reports of the Battle of Gettysburg many times by various participants there with him in prison and the Colonel was correct, General Meade’s defense of Cemetery Ridge won the battle for the North. The position made a formidable defense against Pickett’s fatal charge on the 3rd day of battle.

  “Oh, I can still hear General Meade reading those orders ‘for dereliction of duty by advancing his Division to an indefensible position which was overrun by General Jubal Early’s Corps resulting in the capture, wounding or death of his entire Division. Brigadier General Francis C. Adams is hereby reduced from the rank of Brigadier General to the rank of Colonel and is hereby re-assigned.’ Re-assigned hell, they might as well have thrown me out of the Army as to send me here. I suppose they would have thrown me out had it not been that I am the grandson of President John Quincy Adams and the great –grandson of John Adams. Let me tell you Sergeant having famous relatives can be a blessing, but sometimes it is a curse. This is one of those cursed times.”

  “I’m sorry sir, but I don’t have any famous relatives, oh, my Grandpappy was hung by the British – does that count?”

  The Colonel walks back around his desk, opens a drawer and takes out a half empty bottle of Old Crow, a Kentucky straight bourbon whiskey. “I guess if it is good enough for old General Grant,” holding the bottle up for Robert to see, “it’ll be good enough for you and me.”

  He pulls out the cork, finds two glasses, and pours his almost to the rim and about two fingers full in the other for Robert. Touching glasses, the Colonel says, “To the end of the War.” Turning his glass up he downs the contents before stopping, and turns to Robert, “Now get the hell out!”

  That was the first whiskey Robert had tasted in such a very long time. Upon downing his portion it almost took his breath, and he thought his throat was on fire. He wanted to cough, but resisted the temptation until he was out of the Colonel’s office.

  Rubbing the remains of the alcohol from his mustache and beard Robert returns to the outer waiting room and addresses the Sergeant sitting at a small table, “Sir, what am I supposed to do?”

  “Do? Do? Sit at that other table and you do what I tell you to do? Get it?”

  “Yes Sergeant I got it.”

  Robert walks over to the bare table, pulls out the chair and sits with his hands, fingers interlaced, on the table, the Sergeant turns toward Robert. Robert drops his hands down to his sides, ‘was I not supposed to touch the table,’ he thinks. “Bob, yeah that’s good, I’m gonna call you Bob... Bob run over to the mess house and tell the cook that Sergeant Samuel O. Belue”, (he pronounces his name as ‘Blue’), “wants a slice of ham and some bread.”

  Robert jumps up, “Yes sir Sergeant,” and hurries to the door.

  “Oh, while you’re at it tell him to fix one fer yerself, ‘cause now you is my assistant. Drop by the quartermaster’s place and tell him Blue said to fix you up with some better clothing. It just ain’t right to have a sorry soul as you work for me and the Commandant and look the way you do, and git a bath too, they got hot water out behind the officer’s laundry. Jest tell’em Blue sent you. When you git done go up to the post office and git the Commandant’s mail, and be quick about it, yer hear? And, by the way, don’t call me Sir, I work fer a livin’.”

  It must be around midnight as Robert lay in his bunk thinking if the day had been real or was that bullet to the head causing him to imagine things. If it were real, he knew one thing – the name ‘Blue’ was like saying God had sent him, ‘cause it sure parted the seas and opened the doors.

  He had run errands all afternoon for Blue and wrote a couple of letters for the Com
mandant, nothing important, one to Headquarters asking for a re-assignment and another to his wife. He wonders, who would want someone else writing to their wife. Odd, he thinks.

  The flap of the tent flies up and a soldier with a lantern enters, “Bob? Bob? Where the heck you at?” The soldier with the light asks.

  “You looking for Robert Scarburg?”

  “Yeah, it that you Bob? What the dickens are you doin’ back down here?”

  “This is where I live, whose askin’?”

  “It’s me Bob, Blue, git yer belongings yer supposed to live in that side room with me at the Commandant’s office.”

  ‘This can’t be,’ thought Robert, ‘this has got to be that bullet to my head.’

  The next morning Blue asks, “Are you a religious man Bob?”

  “Are you asking if I believe in God if so, the answer is yes, but do I sit and read my Bible daily, the answer is no. If you...”

  “Enough Bob, enough! I don’t want to hear yer entire religion background I just wanted to know if you knew this Sunday was Easter. My father was a Presbyterian minister and we celebrated Good Friday and Easter. Today is Good Friday, Easter will be the 27th of March.”

  “Blue, yes we did celebrate the Resurrection we did not use the name Easter, our family celebrated Resurrection Sunday. Why I’m not quite sure, had to do with something about my grandfather I think. But thanks, I knew Resurrection Sunday was sometime in March or April but I was not sure of its exact date.”

  “Yeah, Sunday will be the 27th of March, 1864. This will be the fourth year I have spent Easter in the Union Army, what about you Bob?”

  “Uh, I joined in the spring of ’62, so I suppose this will be my third Resurrection Sunday in the CSA. I surely hope and pray I will not be in this place for a fourth, in 1865.