The Freedom Star Part 28

Chapter Thirty-eight.

August 1862 "Get on there," Isaac said, flicking the reins. The mare kicked, then settled to the task of pulling the wagon down the dusty post road toward South Boston. "So, tell me again how we's going find that regiment of yours?" Isaac said. "I hear Richmond's a big town."

"Not that many places to hide an army," Henry replied. He sat ramrod straight on the wagon seat with his kepi squared on his head and newly sewn sergeant's chevrons adorning the sleeves of his gray tunic.

If finding Ma.s.sa Lee's army was so durned easy, how come those Yankees had such a time of it? Isaac bit his tongue, then pointed to the horse. "When we gets to South Boston, what are we doing with this here rig?"

"Mr. Throckmorton at the livery will watch over it until Banjo can come and claim them." Henry rested his elbows on his knees. "How's that sister of yours doing?"

"Mama says she'll be birthing real soon." Isaac shook his head. "It don't seem right, a child like that having babies."

"I know what you mean," Henry said. "It's hard to believe she and Polly are the same age. Who's the daddy?"

"Tempie ain't talking, except to say it ain't Cato." Isaac gazed at the cobalt sky and sighed. "She's holding in a mighty sadness."

Henry seemed to consider his next words. "It's been hard on you and yours this past year. I can't say I blame you for getting angry the other day."

Isaac shuffled in his seat. "I ain't worrying none about what's past, we has a war waiting for us up yonder." Isaac pointed ahead. "We'd best consider that some."

Henry nodded.

The sun rose above the trees, warming the tobacco fields and burning off the morning mist. Isaac smiled to himself. He wouldn't be working those fields again. A pair of turkey buzzards circled high above. They knew about being free. When the time was right, he'd slip behind those Yankee lines and he'd know freedom too.

Isaac wiped his brow. The fields s.h.i.+mmered in the August heat as they rode on in silence past mile after endless mile of corn, cotton, and tobacco. Finally, almost as a mirage, buildings hazily came into view along the horizon. Isaac snapped the reins. The horse picked up her gait. Soon, they rolled into South Boston, along streets lined with one and two-story clapboard storefronts dwarfed by large brick tobacco warehouses.

Henry pointed. "Over yonder."

Isaac turned up a broad street filled with wagons, horses, and people going about their daily errands.

A man stepped from the covered porch of a small tavern and waved. "Henry, Henry McConnell. Can that be ye?"

Isaac reined the horse as the man stepped into the sunlight.

"Sean? I'll be d.a.m.ned." Henry slapped his knee. "Sean O'Farrell. What mischief are you up to?"

"Ain't had the money for much mischief since that brother of yours terminated my employment."

"Sorry about that, Sean." Henry shrugged. "Weren't none of my doing, you know that, and he was a fool for doing it."

"Aye, on that we agree. Where ye be off to, Henry?"

"Me and Isaac's heading up to Richmond to find the Fourteenth Virginia. General Lee believes our war of Southern independence once again requires my presence. How about you?"

Sean shrugged. "There's not a soul here about that's hiring, and me beer money is growing mighty scarce. I've not a decent plan stewing in this lovely head of mine, beyond drinking up my last two dollars."

"How about throwing in with us?" Henry said. "The army will pay you eleven dollars a month, plus all the moldy cornmeal you can eat. You'll walk twenty miles a day, get shot at more than you'll like, and sleep under the stars-or the rain-whichever the good Lord provides, but you'll have fine company."

Sean laughed. "Sure and it sounds lovely. Truth be told, I've been thinking on your grand war of southern independence." He placed his hands on his hips and leaned back. "Me own dear father, G.o.d rest his soul, filled me with tales of the uprising of '98, he being an unfortunate patriot of that glorious cause. Now, *tis not that I have such an abiding love for your fair state mind you-your fine tobacco, aye, but I'll not be missing your stinking summers-still, I can't be thinking of a reason not to take up me sword against them that would be setting the boot of tyranny on you freedom-loving Virginians."

"Well then, climb aboard." Henry waved.

Sean glanced around, then lowered his voice. "It appears your Yankees would be having a wee bit in common with that bonnie Prince of Wales, G.o.d d.a.m.n his royal a.r.s.e. Besides, eleven dollars a month buys more beer than Sean O'Farrell is buying on his present wages."

"So you'll join us?"

"Isaac, you'll be holding that animal still whilst old Sean O'Farrell comes aboard." He stepped onto the wheel hub and dropped hard onto the bed of the wagon. "Me bones are a wee bit old for such nonsense, so I'm certain I'll be regretting this decision, should I ever again be cursed with clear-headed sobriety."

_____.

"You, back there with the horses." The station agent pointed Isaac toward the open door of a boxcar.

"We'll see you in Richmond." Henry waved, then he and Sean climbed the steps of the pa.s.senger car.

Isaac scrambled into the boxcar. Two horses were tethered in the front of the car. An old slave in a dusty bowler sat in a corner chewing a piece of straw.

"Morning, pilgrim." The man touched two fingers to the brim of his hat.

"Morning," Isaac replied, pulling a pile of straw under him as he sat.

"What's your business in Richmond town?" The man asked.

"Me and Henry, I mean my ma.s.sa, we be soldiering. We's gonna catch up with Ma.s.sa Lee's army. How about you?"

"My ma.s.sa, Doctor Pritchard, he owns these here nags." The stranger pointed to the horses. "I's taking them to his brother in Ashland to be sold to that same army. You seen much fighting?"

Isaac shook his head. "Been down on the farm. I's just now going off to find the war."

"Well, you be careful, boy. I hear tell them Yankees is a mean lot. Ma.s.sa Pritchard says if they catches a n.i.g.g.e.r, they cooks *em up and feeds *em to their dogs." The old man winked.

Isaac looked away and smiled, then lowered his voice. "You going back after you delivers them horses?"

The man took the straw out of his mouth and squinted. "What's you talking about?"

Isaac s.h.i.+fted his seat in the straw. "Richmond's a big town. A nigra could get lost, might not find his way home . . ."

The old man turned his head, pointing to a notch cut deeply into his right ear. "You see that? I got the mark of the whips too. Ol' Jeremiah's run too many times, been caught every one. I *spect a man needs to know when he ain't cut out for running."

Isaac put a hand to his own ear and nodded.

"You?" The old man raised his eyebrows.

"Reckon the army will be finding them Yankees soon enough," Isaac said. "When they does, I's looking to get to the other side, then make for the north."

"Whu-e-e-e!" The old man slapped his knee. "That Confederate Army be taking the nigra all the way to the Freedom land." He chuckled, then pulled his hat down over his eyes and lay back on the straw. "I sure enough likes that."

The whistle sounded a long blast, followed by a rumble that grew louder as it rolled from the front of the train. Isaac's car jerked forward with the clanging of couplings then, as quickly, the clatter of iron against iron faded down the track. The train began to roll. Brick tobacco warehouses pa.s.sed in front of the open doorway. Isaac closed his eyes and pictured Raleigh standing by the fireplace in her pale blue dress, a steaming cup of tea in her hand.

_____.

"Sergeant McConnell," the lieutenant said, "I know you boys is tired and all, but we need pickets out in them woods yonder, across the river."

"Yes sir." Henry saluted and turned away. The company bivouacked in a wheat field south of the Rappahannock River. Discarded muskets and sc.r.a.ps of equipment littered the ground below Waterloo Bridge where Brigadier General Jones's division had skirmished Union forces the day before. Somewhere across the river, maybe up near Warrenton, General Pope and the entire Yankee army were said to be waiting.

"Henry, will we be moving out?" Sean asked. "We've only just arrived." He was accompanied by two younger soldiers, their bare feet and torn britches a testament to their length of service in the Fourteenth Virginia.

"No, we ain't moving. We're setting up yonder." Henry pointed.

"But Longstreet's moving, why ain't we?" One of the privates asked, pointing to the formation plodding along the distant road.

"Our orders are to hold the Rappahannock line," Henry said. "I don't know what Longstreet's up to, but we're staying put. I need you three to get on across that river and set up with the picket line in the woods." He pointed to the two young veterans. "You fellas show O'Farrell here what to do."

"Aye, that we'll do, Henry. You can count on us. " Sean and his young comrades gathered their muskets and took off for the river.

Henry wandered toward the company area. Soldiers gathered in small groups, some busily setting up lean-tos, others cooking or working on gear. Three men sat in the shade of a sycamore tree joking and playing cards. They looked up and waved as Henry pa.s.sed. A circle of slaves gathered behind the wagons, laughing and talking amongst themselves as they cleaned equipment and mended uniforms.

"How do, Ma.s.sa McConnell." One of the slaves tipped his hat and smiled as Henry walked past. Isaac looked up from his work and simply nodded. Henry continued on until he reached a gathering of soldiers huddled over maps laid on a table under a white canvas tarp.

Henry saluted, then pointed to the trees beyond the Waterloo Bridge. "Sir, I placed pickets in the woods watching that road up to Warrenton. Is there anything more you need, Lieutenant?"

"Not at the moment, McConnell." The lieutenant rubbed the back of his neck as he gazed at the troops moving up the road. "I wish to h.e.l.l they'd let us go with Longstreet. Word is, he's swinging around to catch up with Jackson, and they'll be giving the Yankees what for while we set here on our a.s.ses guarding this d.a.m.ned river."

"I know what you mean," Henry said. "It appears the generals keep pus.h.i.+ng us to the back of the line. Do you suppose they're still fussing over that little skedaddle back at Seven Pines?"

"It's hard to say, but it ain't like we haven't made up for that one ten times over. h.e.l.l, we lost a pa.s.sel of good men back there on Malvern Hill, including Captain Bruce. You remember that, Henry?"

Henry bit off a chaw of tobacco. "I missed that one. I was in Richmond tending to my wounds from Seven Pines."

Lieutenant Sternberger nodded. "The Fourteenth fights as good as any regiment, and Armistead's brigade is as good as any in Lee's army. Our time will come." The lieutenant pointed across the river. "That Irishman, is he going to work out? He looks a might used up."

Henry laughed. "Sean? He'll do just fine. He ain't ornery, but when the time comes, he'll stand and fight."

_____.

Isaac fell in step with the rest of the slaves plodding along at the end of the long column. A cloud of fine yellow dust stirred by artillery caissons, supply wagons, and thousands of marching feet hovered over the lumbering army. Somewhere ahead, Henry marched too.

"You reckon we'll find them Yankees today?" Jebediah asked. The short, rotund slave sweated profusely as he struggled to keep pace with Isaac. "I ought to be riding in that there cook wagon." He pointed and wiped his brow.

Isaac scowled at the pudgy man. "So why ain't you? I ain't never seen you down here with us common nigras."

"Ma.s.sa said I burnt his coffee. He said Jebediah has to walk today for his punishment. That coffee weren't burnt, it just tasted bad. Tarnation, we ain't had real coffee in better'n a year. How's he know burnt coffee from chicory?"

"We been walking for three days." Isaac spit. Dust lingered on his dry lips. "I expect them Yankees is lost. I heard two officers talking last night and they said we's pus.h.i.+ng to catch up with General Longstreet, but n.o.body knows where he is." Isaac held out his canteen. Jebediah took a long drink.

Exhausted soldiers dotted the sides of the road. A skinny young man with sandy hair and reddened cheeks staggered between the columns. He gazed vacantly at Isaac, then stumbled to the ground. Isaac wiped his brow and marched on. If he thought that was hot, he should spend a day in the tobacco fields.

The column halted late in the afternoon. Soldiers quickly staked their claims to what little shade they could find while slaves built fires and began cooking the evening meal. Isaac rummaged through his haversack, retrieving a slab of salted pork wrapped in cheesecloth. He started a fire and heated two slices, then searched for Henry. He found him near the company headquarters.

"d.a.m.nation, McConnell, where's your nigra finding that pork?" The Lieutenant pointed at Isaac. "where'd you get fresh bread?"

"I've been home, Lieutenant, remember?" Henry said. "We brung all we could carry. Bread won't keep, but the pork'll be good for a month or so. You care for a taste?" Henry offered a slice of sourdough and a piece of pork to the officer, who accepted it gratefully. "You should see what Isaac does with venison."

"Will that be all, Ma.s.sa?" Isaac waited for Henry's nod, then returned to the back of the column. Henry was sure quick to give away Isaac's share, and there wasn't time to cook any more. His meal would have to be cold.

"Column of fours, on the road," one of the officers shouted. Isaac stumbled to his feet. "We's moving out again, Jebediah, you able to walk?" Isaac tugged on the heavy man's arm.

Jebediah refused to budge. "I's plumb wore out. This here nigra's waiting on the wagons."

"For sure? What if they pa.s.s you by?"

"Then I sleeps by the roadside and you can fetch me after the war's done. These old bones ain't moving no more tonight." Jebediah rested his head on a clump of gra.s.s and pulled his hat over his eyes. "No sir, can't move no more . . ."

Isaac joined the others, falling into the mechanical shuffle of a tired army on the move.

Darkness enveloped the column. One foot in front of the other, eat dust, hurry up, stop for no apparent reason, then hurry again. Isaac gazed at the heavens. There was the drinking gourd, and yonder, the Freedom Star. They were headed north by east. Would Pa be looking on those same stars tonight? Would he be thinking that now was his time for running? Isaac stumbled over a fallen soldier and caught himself.

Chatter died with the darkness, leaving the rattling of equipment against exhausted bodies and the shuffling of feet through the dry Virginia dust the only sounds of the night. Isaac fought to stay awake. On either side, men appeared to be sleeping as they walked. Did they even know they were walking?

The column halted. An officer hurried down the line, hus.h.i.+ng the regiment. "We're lost, boys. Some jacka.s.s took us plum past Groveton and we're behind the Yankee lines. Now, y'all stay real quiet like and turn yourselves around." He spoke with a frustrated urgency. "We're going back the way we come."

The sleeping, walking ghosts awoke, intent on escaping a possible enemy trap. Other than an occasional whispered curse, the column moved silently. The march took on a sense of urgency. Soldiers continually glanced over their shoulders. Would the enemy close in and make them pay for violating the northern lines? Yankee campfires flickered in the woods beyond the road.

After what seemed like an hour, the column halted again.

"Local pickets only," the lieutenant called. "We're in reserve. Bivouac north of the road over there, the Warrenton Turnpike." His voice didn't hold a fear of detection.

Isaac glanced at the stars. It had to be two, three in the morning. He was ready for some sleep. He moved off the road and rolled out his blanket close to Henry's. "You expect we'll be fighting tomorrow?"

"I can't say," Henry replied, "but if we do, you come along with me and see it for yourself. Once you've faced the elephant-been through a battle-nothing else will ever seem near as frightening again."

"I expect you's right, Ma.s.sa Henry, but Isaac don't need no fighting."

"You won't have a choice. Once the shooting starts, you'll be drawn to it, just like a honeybee to clover."

Chapter Thirty-nine.

August 1862 Isaac bolted upright as the distant pop of musketry shattered the early morning calm.