Spake As a Dragon Read online

Saturday morning a good crowd has gathered in and around the Mill. Word has spread that an auction of guns was to take place.

  Luke, Nate and Sam stood upon the back of a wagon and Luke said in a loud voice, “Welcome, one and all, for you who don’t know me I’m Luke Scarburg. Isaac that ran the Mill was my uncle. My great-granddad John Scarburg built this place and got hung right over yonder on that big old oak during the Revolution fighting the British.”

  At the mention of Isaac and John Scarburg, the crowd gave a big round of applause.

  “Thank you, thank you.” Holding his hands up to quite the crown, “Since before the current War ended and after going to Alabama and coming back here Nate and I have accumulated a stockpile of weapons – most of which someone tried to use on us.”

  This brought a chuckle to the crowd.

  “I know the Yankees and even some of the Confeds have taken most of your weapons, so today Nate, Sam and I are gonna auction off this pile of rifles, pistols, pistol belts, boots, vests, pocket watches, spurs and what have you. Now I ain’t gonna lie to you, most of this stuff you see in front of you was taken from robbers, thieves, cutthroats and highwaymen and Yankees. And I’ll be the first to admit most of ’em...”

  From Nate is heard a slight ‘Ahem.’

  “Well, what I meant to say all of them got themselves killed, and I’m sorry to say most of ’em was killed by Nate and myself. I’m not sorry to say tho’, they had it coming.”

  There was another round of applause by the crowd.

  “I told you folks that just in case you feel a little squeamish or hesitant to bid on these items I will understand. You do as your conscience dictates. For those of you that might need a little ‘courage’ you may have noticed this large 35-gallon barrel in the back of our wagon. Step up and pour yourself a cup of this Tennessee Jack Daniel’s sipping whiskey. In fact, we won’t object if you refill that cup a time or two.” Another round of applause breaks out among the attendees.

  “Now at the end of the auction of this outlaw stuff I have a real treat for the coon hunters among you, and looking around that is most of you – we’re goin’ to auction off two coonhounds, the likes of which you have never, ever seen. These two are the first of many that my brother-in-law,” turning to Sam, “hold up your hand Sam,” Sam waves, “is going to raise and sell. I know, you’ll be surprised at their looks, but you’ll be more surprised when you go hunting with them. Sam calls them Walker Coon Hounds. You two lucky fellows who wins them tell your friends they can come by Scarlett and see Sam Babb when they want to own one for themselves. Our compliments to Sam also for the barrel of whiskey he brought from Kentucky.”

  After the conclusion of the auction Luke, Nate and Sam sat around an oil lamp in the Mill with U.S. greenbacks piled high upon the table. “How much is there Luke?” Asked Sam.

  “I don’t know but it is sure enough to get us back into the milling business and enough to get the spring planting going. I believe you’re Jack Daniels probably helped get the bids up,” Luke said laughing, “but Sam the Walker money is yours, take you’re cut out for your dogs and the whiskey.”

  “Nah, Luke what’s yours is mine, and what’s mine is yours. Let’s get this Mill opened and Scarlett back on her feet, besides there is more’un half of that barrel still left.”

  The next morning the Mill is a bustle of activity. Jethro is high up on the waterwheel hammering away, he has another man on the ground cutting wooden pieces and passing them up, both grin as they see the wheel beginning to look usable again.

  Daniel and Rubin have hitched a couple of mules to the huge grinding stone lying over at the edge of the field and are dragging it back into the mill.

  Sam is up inside the works of the Mill using his hands to grease the gears that turn the stone grinding wheels.

  Luke stands at the door, arms crossed, a hay straw sticking out the corner of his mouth, smiling. ‘Yes sir, it’s all going to work,’ he thinks.

  Nate and Levi are back at Scarlett with two hired hands turning land getting ready to start planting. The women folks are busy at the house readying food for all the workers.

  It seems the War was a million years ago.

  Chapter Fifty-One

  THE OTHER PRESIDENT

  May 1865, Luke figures by autumn corn will be coming in by the wagon load to be ground into cornmeal. Farmers all around the area are beginning to plant again and if all goes well with the weather, there should be a bountiful crop. He is even thinking of building the Mill larger. His mind is on the future not the past...

  “Luke! Luke! I see riders comin’ from the east!” Said Jethro being high upon the waterwheel could see for a mile or two down the main road.

  “Who are they Jethro?”

  “Don’t know Luke, looks like two or three carriages and a number of army fellows mounted on hosses. If I didn’t know better, I’d say them fellers on those hosses were Confed’s. They’s all decked out in gray.”

  “The War’s over, what would they still be doing in uniform?”

  Everyone at the mill stopped working and congregated in the courtyard in front awaiting the arrival of the caravan of people.

  They did not have to wait long. Within minutes, six mounted cavalrymen galloped across the Mink Creek Bridge followed by a number of carriages. Behind them were more mounted cavalrymen, a train of horses, mules, wagons and ambulances.

  The convoy of carriage stops, Luke walks to the door of the first one to greet whoever is inside. An officer of the mounted guard moves his horse and blocks Luke. The cavalryman is a Confederate colonel. “Sir,” said Luke, “the War is over, move your horse out of my way!”

  “My apologies Sir, I am only doing my duty protecting the President.”

  Out of the carriage steps a rather tall gentlemen, dressed in a superbly, tailored grey suit; however, he has a woman’s woolen shawl draped across his shoulders and head, “Forgive Colonel Forley, he is only following orders – he has followed orders from the beginning... the Colonel at the very start of the War was Lt. Henry S. Forley. Then Lt. Forley fired the first mortar round at Fort Sumter at 4:30 am on the 12th of April, 1861. His shot began our War for Southern Independence. Forgive me, my good man,” he said sticking out his hand, “I am, well was, President Jefferson Davis.” Turning to his carriage, “May I introduce you to my wife Varina and my children, this is Maggie, Jeff and Willie. My wife has our young daughter Winnie in her arms.”

  Luke is stunned; he bows and touches the brim of his hat. He can think of nothing to say other than ‘Madam’.

  “Sir,” said Mr. Davis, “we stopped perchance we could water our animals? And if not too inconvenient rest a spell with you.”

  “Sir,” responded Luke pointing toward the watering trough, “the water over there is for your animals. I’m sorry the only place we have for you to rest is here in our Mill, the rest of the town has been destroyed by the Yankees. I have no refreshments to serve, for that I am truly sorry.”

  “No need, we have an ample supply, would you good folks be so kind as to join us in our respite?”

  “Uh, thank you Sir, it would be a privilege.”

  “Sir, you have not introduced yourself nor informed us of our current location.”

  “Oh, how terribly rude of me Sir, I am Luke Scarburg. You are in the vicinity of Scarlettsville, South Carolina at the Scarburg Mill.”

  “This seems a quiet, peaceful area, my, what a wonderful wooden bench under that magnificent old oak. Would you mind if we sat underneath it and partake of our fare? Such a place that is so tranquil and devoid of the ravages of war.”

  “It would be an honor Mr. Davis, but Sir you are standing in the midst of a long ago battlefield, you see, a pitched battle occurred here and afterwards my great-grandfather was hanged underneath this very tree.”

  “I say,” said President Davis, “those Yankee rascals hung your great-grandfather during our recent unpleasantries?”

  “No Sir, defending liberty during the Revelountar
y War.”

  “So,” said Mr. Davis, sitting down upon the bench, “I favor you are against war?’

  “Yes sir, but being against it doesn’t mean you can avoid it.”

  “Did you serve, Sir?” President Davis said cutting into a big, red apple with his pocketknife.

  “Yes sir, 48th Alabama Infantry, got captured during Pickett’s Charge at Gettysburg.”

  “Oh, I see, that was a bad one, and your family?” He said, taking a bite of an apple slice.

  “My father Robert Scarburg and my brother Matthew were with me at Gettysburg, both were wounded, but since then we have not heard a word from them. My mother is still alive and wants to journey to Gettysburg, maybe she thinks it will satisfy her mind just to see the place where they were hurt.”

  “As you probably can guess I do not have much influence left but,” calling Colonel Forley, “write out a pass for Luke Scarburg for safe passage.” Turning back to Luke, “If you take your mother to Pennsylvania, many of our young men do not take our surrender to heart and still wish to fight on. If, perchance, you run afoul of them maybe this pass will help.”

  For another hour or so Luke sits casually talking with the past President of Confederate States of America. Mr. Davis explained his role in the War and the causes and effects that it created. Luke tells him the horrors of the battlefield and what the cruel consequences it had on families.

  “Mr. President! Mr. President! We must go, riders are coming...they are about a mile back,” yells the Colonel.

  Within seconds, rifle fire is heard coming from the advancing riders. Luke yells to all his men, “Into the Mill! Get inside behind the stone foundation, it will be safer.”

  Colonel Forley removes his pistol from his holster and fires one shot into the air. “Now Sir, let it be said I fired the first shot and I fired the last shot of this War of Southern Independence.”

  The group of Confederate soldiers guarding President Davis offered no further resistance and are quickly surrounded by a unit of the 4th Michigan cavalry.

  As he begins to step back into his carriage President Davis, removes his hat, looks at Luke and remarks, “Son, I thank you and your family for their service, not only to the Confederacy but earlier to their sacrifice to the United States. The Confederate States of America are no more – we are all now just Americans. Good luck to you and your family.

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  THE PROMISE

  The mill is back in partial operation, Sam is doing a fine job managing the Mill, Jethro, Rubin and Daniel have done a splendid job refurbishing the machinery and they seem to grind from sunup to sundown. Some days they even run well past dark. The Mill is beginning to become a thriving enterprise.

  Back at Scarlett the women folk have been busy too. With most of the men working at the Mill they have in all respects, become the foremen of the workers in the fields.

  Since spring a large garden of vegetables has been planted, the orchard has been pruned and fertilized with manure from the stables; fruit is hanging on the limbs in abundance.

  Bolls of white cotton and leaves of green tobacco are maturing in the hot summer sun. Another large field of corn gives every indication it can be harvested any day now. Malinda stands on the porch of the guesthouse and surveys all they have accomplished since arriving in the spring. Wiping her brow with her apron, she wonders how much longer it will be before all the fruits of their labor are harvested. She wants, no she needs, to get moving toward that little town in Pennsylvania – Gettysburg. Luke has promised he will take me, she thinks, and I am going to hold him to it.

  She has been studying the map; the distance to Gettysburg is a little over five hundred miles, which will take at least a month to get there. She figured once she arrives it will take a couple of weeks to research on and about the battlefield, and another month to return - the trip will take the better part of three months. She further thinks to avoid getting caught in the snows of winter they should leave Scarlett no later than the first of September. They should be home sometime in November. This year most of her family is going to be together and she wants a real Christmas; although, she knows Robert and Matthew will probably never return. Then her mind returns to Gettysburg, maybe she can find some clue as to their final resting place.

  Sary walks out on the porch and takes Malinda’s hand in hers. “What ’ya thinkin’ ‘bout Missy? Your man Mister Robert and your boy Matthew?” Malinda nods, tears beginning to form. “That’s what I figured. Listen when you and Luke go up there to that Gettysburg place there ain’t no tellin’ what y’all might find. Now Missy you done keep yer hopes up till you done seed their graves, yer hear?”

  Supper was finishing as Luke said to Sary, “Would you mind putting Sam and Nate a plate in the oven – they’ll be home soon as they finish up with that last load of corn. It seems like everyone in the valley has corn to grind.”

  “Are you complaining,” grinned Malinda.

  “Shucks no! The Mill is doing fine Mother. We couldn’t have hoped for better.”

  “Bring your cup of coffee out on the porch, we need to talk.”

  Sitting down, Luke asks, “What’s on your mind Mother?”

  “Gettysburg! It’s August already and the harvesting has already started. I would like for you and me to be on the road to Gettysburg no later than the last of next month. It that possible?”

  “Mother, you’re still not thinking about going to Gettysburg, are you? I just believe it will be a long, wasted trip for no reason. Mother we are not going to find out anything about Father or Matthew.”

  “You may be right son, but I know I’ll never know sitting here at Scarlett. At least I can see for myself at Gettysburg, and remember you did promise.”

  “You’re right Mother. I did promise, and I will never break a promise to you. I’ll begin to get the Mill and farm ready and then you and me, God willing, will start for Gettysburg. I figure I can have everything ready by the middle of September, how’s that?”

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  SWAMP FEVER

  The remainder of August and the first two weeks of September passes quickly. Walking into the house one afternoon Luke says to his mother, “I’m getting the wagon ready, pack whatever you think we will need and I believe we can get started early Monday morning. Is that all right with you?”

  “No, it not Luke.”

  “What? I thought you were anxious to get started?”

  “I am, but we’re not going in the wagon, it’s too slow and cumbersome, we’ll just take Blaze your Big Red, a pack mule and a couple of extra horses.”

  “But Mother, the wagon will be much more comfortable for you.”

  “Luke Scarburg I can sit a horse as good as any man, better than most, so we will ride, we’ll make better time. I’ll load up the saddlebags and pack what we need on the mule and we’ll be set.” Luke had learned long ago not to argue with his mother. First, she didn’t allow it, and second he would never win.

  Early Monday morning the dew was still on the grass, the whip-o-wills were beginning to echo their names as Luke walked Blaze and Old Red from the barn to the house. Malinda walked out, Luke had to do a double take, was that his mother? Malinda was dressed for riding, she had a black Stetson tied underneath her chin, a leather vest, a six-gun strapped to her waist and a full-length skirt that reached all the way to the black pair of high-heel cowboy boots with jangling silver spurs. She carried a riding crop in her hand and with the other hand straightens the bandana around her neck as she approached the horse she was to ride.

  “Say there hombre, what’d you do with my mother?” Luke said laughing.

  “Oh hush! And get on Old Red, we’ve got a long way to go.”

  The entire family was gathered in the yard wishing them a safe trip as Luke and Malinda rode out of sight down the road and once again away from Scarlett. Catherine had been convinced that she would be of more service staying at Scarlett, besides she did not believe she could endure the long ride to Ge
ttysburg on horseback.

  Riding up next to Luke Malinda asked how many miles could they make in a day. Luke responds that he and Nate made between ten to fifteen miles, but they had to be careful of enemy soldiers and outlaws. He figures they will not have any trouble getting fifteen. “I think we can go through North Carolina into the western end of Virginia, go up the Shenandoah Valley to Maryland, then Pennsylvania and Gettysburg will be just a hop-skip-and-jump away.”

  For the first couple of weeks, the days and nights passed un-eventful. It is the morning of the 17th day on the road after just passing Roanoke, Virginia a day or so earlier. All day yesterday and most of the present day Malinda and Luke have trudged through low, swampland. The footing is terrible and once or twice their horses stumbled and dumped them into the slimy, muddy water. To make matters even worse are the bugs and mosquitoes even at this late time of the year. At times, they are so thick they appear as smoke. “Luke, how much farther do you suppose we have to travel in this swamp?”

  “I’m not sure Mother, but I believe in a couple more miles we should be back on dry land.”

  “Luke!” cried Malinda, “Luke!”

  “I’m sorry Mother, but that is about the best I can do.”

  “No, Luke! Look ahead, up there on the left. Isn’t that a young woman?”

  Luke turns to Malinda and asks her to remain where she is. He will ride ahead and check out the situation. “This is a ploy highwaymen sometimes use to draw unsuspecting wayfarers into a trap.” Luke rides ahead dismounts and begins to talk to the young woman.

  He motions Malinda to join them. The girl is hysterical and makes no sense with her screaming and incoherent talk. Malinda speaks to her softly, “Slow down young lady. We can’t understand what you are saying, slow down now and tell us what is happening.”

  They finally discover the girl is trying to get help for her mother, father and brother. They are back at their cabin sick. She says she is afraid they are dying. “Take us to your cabin,” says Luke.