Spake As a Dragon Page 33
“Yer darn tooting, my saddles sores done got saddle sores!”
The following day around mid-morning Nate turns to Luke, “Yer smell that?”
“Yeah, we’ve smelled that many times before, right Nate?”
“We shore have! Dead folks! And from the smell there’s plenty of ‘em.”
Luke and Nate are a couple of miles south of Petersburg, Virginia Luke is going to skirt around the east side and travel on to Richmond. Neither Luke nor Nate knew General Ulysses S. Grant had pinned down General Robert E. Lee for over a year at Petersburg. When the fighting was over more than 11,000 men both Union and Confederates lay dead and dying in the trenches that the Rebels had dug around the entire city. Lee slipped out of the siege and retreated westward toward a small settlement known forever in the pages of history as the meeting place where General Lee surrendered to General Grant – Appomattox Courthouse.
As Luke and Nate slowly walk their horses through the seemingly never ending battlefield both grimace as they approach a hand sticking out of the dirt, almost as if it is pointing a gnarled finger at them. Here and there lay the busted skulls of the fallen and a little farther on they see whole remains of skeletons that weren’t even given the decency of simple graves. The stench is almost unbearable, even to seasoned veterans such as Luke and Nate. Both wrap wet neckerchiefs about their faces in a feeble attempt to better endure the ghastly smell of rotten flesh. Neither speaks the remainder of the day as they make their way around the outside edge of the city of Petersburg. It is almost nightfall when the two riders finally find themselves traveling away from the field of battle. Thankfully, a fresh wind from the north is blowing the stench away from them.
“Nate, pick us a spot and we’ll make camp for the night.”
“If it’s all right with you Luke, I just soon we keep on riding fer another few miles or so. I don’t believe I could get much sleep this near that field of death. Lord have mercy, I knows I can’t eat a bite of supper!”
Luke did not look at Nate, “Amen to that!”
GOLD HUNTIN’
“Okay, sleepy head,” Sam says punching William. “Get yer rump outta that bed! Today we’re goin’ gold huntin’. Up and at ’em William.”
Within the hour, the boys begin walking up the mountain into the Cumberlands. Sam knows in a few miles they will reach the snow line and the snowshoes slung over their shoulders will become a necessity.
A few hours later Sam’s prediction came true. Emerging from a grove of pines they began to walk in ankle deep snow. An hour later Sam stops, “It’s time William.”
“Time for what Sam?”
“Them thangs hangin’ off your back - time to put’em on.”
Sitting on a fallen tree log Sam quickly laces his snowshoes to his boots, but William, that is another story. He turns them one-way, then another, “Shucks Sam, how does a feller put these galldurn things on?”
Just as Sam had laughed the first time he watched Luke trying to walk in the contraptions tied to his feet, so it is now with William. William would take a step, or rather, try to take a step and both his feet would become entangled and he would fall face down into the snow.
“No William, I’m telling you walk like you got a potato stuck up your rump, keep your feet apart. Forget about normal walking, this is a whole new game for you. This is snow-walking, come on try again.”
It took William a while, but he finally got the hang of the things. In fact, Sam was impressed that he caught on so quickly.
“All right now Sam,” said William proudly marching around and around Sam, “which way to the gold?”
Sam pulled the map from his pocket and studied it again closely. He explained to William Old Bill wasn’t much of a mapmaker, but he believed he knew about where the creek was that contained the gold. William stopped his walking practice and turned to Sam, “What! You know ‘about’ where the creek is! ‘About!’ Sam there are hundreds and hundreds of square miles and dozens and dozens of creeks up here, you told me I would only have to walk in these darn thingamajigs for a few miles. Now you saying we might have to hike over these mountains for God only knows how far?”
“Hold on William, it ain’t quite that bad. See here,” Sam said pointing to a place on the map, “this here is what is called Twin Peaks, I think, and this thing here has got to be Chimney Rock the creek is just on the other side. William I know exactly where them peaks and that rock are.”
“All right! Let’s get going, I guess you know what you are doin’, at least I hope you do.”
“Right William, but you know I have noticed something strange since we arrived at the snow line.”
This caught William’s attention. He wanted to know what Sam saw that was so peculiar. Sam reached down and scooped up a handful of snow and shaped it into a snowball.
“See that,” said Sam?”
“Yeah, a snowball, so?”
Sam explained too much water squeezed out as he made the snowball. It is too warm for this time of the year. The snow is melting! He said he had even noticed Kentucky Lead’s feet, which normally walked on the frozen top of the snow, were now beginning to sink into the snow as he ran across the snowfields.
“Okay, Sam so the snow is melting. That’s good right?”
“No, the snow pack farther up in the mountains where we are headed may be melting too.”
“You mean, it’s gonna make walking in these snow things worse?”
“No, but William if the pack is melting early the creeks will be full of running water, maybe even overflowing their banks. I am hoping the ice in the creeks will slow the water so we can dig up enough gold for Matthew.”
“Come on then, there ain’t but one way to find out,” William said as he maneuvered his feet one feeble step at a time up the side of the mountain. “Let’s go Sam, we’re burning daylight, and Sam do you really know where we’re goin’?
“William, I reason the creek on this map of Old Bills is Indian Creek. This creek runs into the Cumberland River. I’ve only been there once with Pa, he used to trap beaver up that way.”
“How far you reckon Sam?”
“Day after tomorrow we should be close, right now it’s getting’ nigh on sundown. William we must find us a place to hole up ‘till mornin’ and I know just the place.”
Two hours later Sam is leading William down a narrow path to a bluff shelter on the side of the mountain. “Them Cherokee has been using this rock overhang for hundreds of years William. Look at the ceiling.”
Looking up to the top of the semi-cave all William could see was blackened, soot covered rocks with soot that had accumulated, as Sam said, for hundreds of years. In a short while they had a nice warm fire burning and a pot of hot coffee brewing. Leaning back against the back wall Luke asks, “Sam, what are you gonna do with all the money this gold will bring when we find it?”
Sam sat there for a minute, pondering the question without saying a word; he pitched a small stone or two into the fire and watched the sparks drift toward the ceiling. “You know Sam, there ain’t nothing I want for myself, but I sure would like to help your family down in Carolina and of course, we need to keep Matthew and Mark working on them artificial legs for the soldiers, then...”
“Then? Come on Sam what else?”
“I would like to help folks with my money. I think if this gold strike amounts to anything I want to take a journey to that Dr. Mayo’s home in Minnesota, you know the one that helped your Pa in the prisoner camp, and maybe help him start a hospital or maybe even a clinic up there. In that letter, he sent to your Mama he sounded like a decent feller. For some reason I just figure he’s gonna do something great with his life, and I want to be a part of it.”
“Well said Sam, can I just say here and now, sitting in this hole in the side of the mountain, Sam Barr it is a pleasure to be your friend.”
“Ah, hush up! Let’s get some sleep we have a busy day ahead tomorrow, ‘nite William.”
“Good night Sam.”
/> THE HOSPITAL
Much farther to the east of the Cumberland Mountains and Kentucky, Luke and Nate are walking their horses down Main Street of City Point, Virginia. The day was sunny and cool, not cold for this time of year.
Luke watches the folks walking the plank sidewalks and if not for the blue Yankee uniforms of most of the men he would never have believed a dreadful war had just ended. The ladies stroll with their frilly parasols and large hoop skirts; some holding their dainty lace handkerchiefs to their lips as though stifling a laugh at some humorous remark their escorts must have made. The stores up and down the broad way were open and customer traffic appeared unusually heavy for a weekday. It was easy for Luke to see the difference between this northern city just south of Washington, D.C. and the devastated remains of the Capitol of the South - Richmond, Virginia that he and Nate passed a few days earlier.
“Sir,” Luke says to the first Union officer he approaches, “We seek the hospital. Would it be presumptuous of me to think you might know its location?”
“Wh..y, wh..y,” the officer says stuttering, “you’re a Johnny Reb! Why should I provide you with any information?”
“You are partially correct Captain, I was a member of the 48th Alabama Infantry in the recent un-pleasantries between the states, but the reason I was presumptuous I figured being a blue-belly you wasn’t smart enough to know where the hospital was!”
“Why, why, the Captain says again, “dismount and I will give you a thrashing that you will not soon forget.”
Luke could spot a combat veteran a mile away – he said they all had a look – something he called the thousand-yard stare. This officer did not have the look. Glaring at the Captain from his horse, “A beating like we gave you at the 1st and 2nd Battle of Bull Run, the Battle of Chancellorsville, the Battle of Chickamauga, the Battle of Fredericksburg, the Battle of...of...oh that’s enough Captain. I suppose you ‘saw the elephant’ in a number of our engagements, huh?”
Half apologizing for his service, “I wanted to serve in the infantry, but at my enlistment upon graduation from Dartmouth University I was assigned to the Commissary Department. You as a foot soldier surely know the importance of supplies. My job was providing these essentials to our Union men. As you know, our Army is said to travel on its stomach.”
“That may have been true in your Union Army Captain, but if the South had depended on its stomach, the War would not have lasted the first year. We brethren of the South traveled and fought simply on bravery, our heart, the man standing next to us, loyalty to our state and most of the time our fighting was barefoot and no, not slavery as you think. Most of us never owned slaves,” turning to Nate, “this man here is free and has been free for a long time before Abraham Lincoln issued his proclamation of freedom, he is not my slave, he is my friend.” Reining his horse to turn Luke touched the brim of his hat, “Good day to you Sir.”
“Wait,” said the Captain, “go down two streets and turn right, the hospital is at the end of the street. Good day to you also Sir.”
The sign on the corner of Main Street reads Hospital Way, Luke and Nate turn right and head down the street. A few hundred yards ahead is a large, white, three-story building. As they ride closer, they can see the flag of the United States on the right of the door and a large flag with the word ‘Hospital’ lettered on the left.
Hitching their mounts Luke walks inside to find a Union Sergeant sitting at a desk in the narrow hallway. Approaching Luke asks, “Sergeant, we have come from South Carolina seeking information on my father. We were told it was possible he was here sometime in the spring of last year, maybe March or April. We are merely trying to find out what happened to him.”
The Sergeant replaces the pen in the inkwell, folds the paper he is working on, opens a drawer and files away the slip of paper. “He a Reb or Union? From your looks and accent, I’d say Reb.”
“Yes Sergeant, he was a Confederate. He had been a prisoner at Point Lookout. We are merely trying to find out what happened to him. Does that make a difference to you.”
“Naw son, jest makes a difference in which ledger I look in. What was your Pa’s name?”
“Sergeant Robert Steven Scarburg, of the 48th Alabama Infantry.”
“P,’ ‘Q,’ ‘R,’ oh yes, here we are the ‘S’s”, he uses his index finger and goes down the list turning pages as he searches. Luke is beginning to think this trip has all been in vain. He looks at Nate, rolls his eyes as though his father’s name is not going to be found.
“Ah, yeah, here he is: ‘Scarburg, R. S., Sergeant, 48th Alabama. Stayed with us up ‘till the fall or ’65, then he took the Oath of Allegiance to the Union and was released to go home.”
“Does that book say when Sergeant?”
“Sure does, he left here on the 7th day of September 1865. That’s all I got boys.”
“Where did he go Sergeant?”
“Don’t know men, home I suppose, but once their butts pass that door, we ain’t got no more responsibility for them.”
Standing outside next to the hitching rails, “Nate, I noticed a saloon on Main Street before we came down here. How about we go up there and getting us something to drink and eat? I think we could use a good hot meal for a change. We might even get a shave and a bath. Then maybe we can figure out what our next move will be.”
‘REBEL’S ROOST’
Once back on Main Street Luke can see he missed a few saloons, in fact, it seems there are as many drinking establishments as there are other stores. Then it hit him City Point is a military town. Military towns have soldiers, and soldiers have money, and they like to spend this money on drinking, gambling and wild women. Most military towns aim to please and this one is no different. Obviously this street is ‘
Luke notices one saloon with the name ‘Rebel’s Roost.’ “That might be the place for old Confed’s to hang out, let’s try it,” Luke says to Nate.
Pushing open the two doors that keep the wind out, Luke and Nate walk through a pair of swinging doors into a large dimly lit room. The room was dark owing to the paint on the front windows, the one on the left was painted green with the word “Saloon” and the one on the right reads “Free Lunch.” A big, black, pot-bellied stove stands in the far right corner of the room. A candle lit chandelier, in the shape of a large, wagon wheel, hangs from the center of the ceiling. A handsome, shiny, mahogany bar occupies the back wall. The remainder of the room is filled with green, felt covered, gambling tables. The air in the room has a stifling aroma of tobacco and cigar smoke, stale beer and a couple of other smells Luke really doesn’t what to find out what they are.
Luke and Nate slowly walk toward the bar. The silver spurs that Luke had taken off the outlaw a long time ago jingles as he walks. He places his boot on the brass rail running the bars entire length. The spur glistens like a new silver dollar. He reaches for two glasses. The barkeep that had been watching their every move since arriving is wiping down a glass with the end of his apron, an apron that appears to need a good cleaning itself. Holding the shot glass up to the light from the chandelier as tho’ he were inspecting it for its cleanliness asks, “What’ll you have?”
“Well, we’d like you to fill these two glasses with a couple shots of that Red Eye, then baths, shaves and a couple of thick steaks. Cook ’em just enough that we can still hear the bull’s bellow.”
“I can fix you up with all these things mister, but we ain’t gonna serve the likes of him,” referring to Nate. “We don’t coddle to no darkies in here.”
“What you talking about friend, this man ain’t no darkie he’s an Indian. Granted a dark Indian, but an Indian no less, do you coddle to Indians?”
“Well yeah... Indians are okay I reckon... if they can pay, but...”
“No buts about it, get my Indian friend and me those things I asked for,” Luke said pitching a gold piece on the bar.
The metal clink of the gold coin is still ringing when the barkeep asks, “You been a fighting man Mister?”
“Shore enough, fought with General Bobby Lee. Got myself captured during Pickett’s Charge at Gettysburg, was on the way to Point Lookout, Maryland and I escaped. Hooked up with General John Hunt Morgan until his whole outfit was captured then I ran off again. By then the War was about over.”
“Say you’s wuz at Gettysburg huh? Can you prove it? What’s yer name and what wuz your unit?”
“Nah, the only thing I got is this scar on my forehead where a Minnie-ball bounced off a rock at the Hornet’s Nest and sliced me up pretty good. My name is Luke Scarburg; I fought with the 48th Alabama Infantry. They captured me standing on that rock wall on top of Cemetery Ridge.”
“That ain’t no proof, yer old woman could of hit you with a frying pan!”
“Yeah, you’re right barkeep, but I was there, done that, seen enough men, good men, mangled and dead - don’t have to prove it to you or nobody, understand,” Luke said bumping the shiny mahogany bar with the butt of his .44. “Take my word or you can kiss my a....”
“Let ’em be Bull,” a man sitting at one of the tables in a location too dark to see the man’s face. “This here is the one and only Luke Scarburg, and sure enough he was with us at Gettysburg.”
The fellow stands up from the table and begins to walk toward Luke.
“Do I know you Mister? Luke asks. “What’s your name? I can’t see you very well.”
“That’s okay Luke, I know all about you. Actually I served at Gettysburg with your father Sergeant Robert Scarburg. I heered him talk about you and that brother of yours...what’s his name...?”
“Matthew?”