Mud Creek

by Kelly Ferguson

  “Doc Grasson, you are the best thing that ever happened to me. I don’t know what I would be doing now if I didn’t know ‘bout the Civil War.”

  “Well, you’re smart, Jessie. I didn’t have anything to do with that. Besides, I feel lucky to have met you and have you as a buddy. Now, when we get to Brice’s Cross Roads, we got to use our heads as well as our backs if we are going to have any luck.”

  “I feel pretty lucky right now, Doc.”

  “Do you know what gravity is, Jessie?”

  “Gravity?”

  “Yea, gravity.”

  “Ain’t it the stuff that makes apples fall outta trees?”

  “Best definition I’ve ever heard.”

  Jessie grinned.

  “Now, gravity doesn’t take a day off. Not even to sleep. It’s dependable, too. Another thing about gravity: it doesn’t care whether you understand it or not. You don’t even have to know its name. I guess the one thing you could say most about gravity is that it’s steady.”

  “I fell outta the bed one time. Was that gravity’s doing?”

  “Sure was. The whole house was asleep. But, not gravity. There’s one fella that’s taught me a lot about gravity. His name is Einstein.”

  “That’s a funny name.”

  “He looks funny, too.” Jessie laughed. The Chevy pulled under a tree at Brice’s Cross Roads battlefield.

  “Now, where was I? Oh, yes, gravity. See, for the last ninety-three years, gravity hasn’t taken a day off from this battlefield. Day and night, its total occupation has been to get the stuff that’s on top of this hill down into that creek. Now, it got some of it down there on the first day of battle. Some of it, took fifty years or so. Some of it ain’t down there, yet. I know which horse I’d bet on. Gravity will have everything in that creek. Then it will spend the next ten thousand years keeping it there.”

  “Doc, I git the picture.” Jessie rolled his eyes and grinned.

  “Now, I can talk more about gravity if you think I need to.”

  “Doc, please!”

  “Rover, let me tell you about gravity.”

  Rover bolted across the pasture after a rabbit.

  “The dog won’t even listen to me.” Doc laughed.

  Doc and Jessie each retrieved a spade and shovel from the truck. Doc handed the lunch pail to Jessie and he grabbed the tea. They moved down the hill. The entire battlefield lay before them. They moved toward the creek with its hidden secrets. Jessie could feel gravity pulling him toward the creek, but he didn’t say anything for fear of getting Doc started on gravity, again. Doc felt the tug, too.

  Doc and Jessie set up a staging area under a huge bodock tree where they placed the lunch pail, tea, and their jackets. No jackets were needed after doing battle with gravity down the long grade. The creek appeared like a hundred other creeks in Mississippi: winding, serpentine affairs moving water from the hills, to the rivers, and to the sea. Relentless gravity, again, Doc thought. This creek had a canopy of cottonwood, willow, water oak, and hickory trees that created long shadows across the creek bed.

  The sound of trickling water, an occasional croak from a frog, and periodic sounds of hickory nuts falling interrupted the serene silence. What an incredible difference ninety-one years and a handful of months can make, Doc thought. Doc’s mind wondered. He imagined how the water ran with blood, bravery, and fear not so long ago. A sad feeling came over him and thought hit him: not one living soul was alive today who survived that battle. Gravity is not the only relentless thing in the universe, he mused.

  “Jessie let’s take our socks and shoes off and roll up our pants. We might as well get down in that creek and get our feet wet, so to speak.”

  “Sounds good to me. I love to git in the water, anyway.”

  “Now, we got to be careful, ‘cause there may be a water moccasin or two guarding the creek. Don’t blame them. They live here, we don’t.”

  “I’ll hit him with my shovel.” Jessie crouched.

  “No, we’ll just slide around him and be on our way.”

  Doc Grasson and Jessie crossed a barbed wire fence with their shovels and moved into the shadows and down into the creek bed. The coolness of the creek bed could be felt. Rover barked and splashed around in the water. Jessie skipped a rock across a small pool. Doc surveyed the terrain.

  “Who is Pvt. John Starke, Jessie?”

  “Never heard of him. Why?”

  “No particular reason; rumor has it he was one of Pelham’s boys.”

  “Oh, yea?”

  “Yea. Let’s poke around over there.”

  Doc pointed to a flat bit of land between the creek run and a small still pond. They began to move the silt, sand, and gravel with their shovels and spades. Rover, on seeing Doc and Jessie digging, began to help. He stuck his nose deep into the mire, snorting and sniffing, then preceded to dig with his front paws, throwing a shower of mud and sand between his back legs.

  “Slow down, Rover! You’re going to hit China before lunch!” Jessie shouted.

  Jessie and Doc laughed and continued to move the earth.

  “Tell you what, Jessie. Let’s git a little system going. I’ll use the big shovel and make a pile. You take the spade and see what you can find.”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  Soon, Rover exhausted himself and lay prostrate in the hole he created. Doc found the wet earth easy digging and created a huge mound for Jessie’s spade. Jessie attacked the mound of silt and mud with a vengeance. Doc encouraged him to search with care. Discipline would prevail, only to be over taken by excitement. Again, Doc’s soothing voice would act as a calming agent to slow Jessie’s actions. Jessie settled into a methodical and measured routine, which Doc Grasson praised. The two sleuths moved from site to site, employing their system with teamwork each time. After moving what seem like a ton of dirt, mud and silt, Jessie’s spade hit an object that made a clank upon his spade.

  “Doc Grasson, Doc Grasson, I think I’ve found something!”

  Doc stuck his shovel into the wet dirt and moved over to Jessie’s site. Doc pulled the spade from his back pocket and became Jessie’s assistant. They searched the mound with great care. Again, Jessie’s spade hit the object. Again, Jessie and Doc Grasson dialed in their hunt. Again, there was a clank. Jessie threw the spade down and began to work with his hands: dirt under the nails and mud between the toes. Out from the muck, Jessie pulled a small round like object.

  “What is it Doc Grasson?! What is it?!”

  Doc reached for his glasses and gave the object a thorough inspection.

  “Jessie, my boy, you have found a .58 caliber Minnie ball.

  My guess, from the musket of a Rebel.”

  “Wow! Are you serious?! Wait ‘till I tell Mom and Dad! Let’s keep looking!”

  This scene was acted out several times during the morning of exploration and search. By noon, Doc Grasson and Jessie had found four Minnie balls, a button, a fastener from a harness, and an arrowhead.

  “Let’s break for lunch, Jessie. Gravity will hold everything here till we return. What do you say?”

  “I’m starving, Doc Grasson!” “Rover, you hungry?”

  Rover’s tail said yes. The three moved down the creek bed to the spot where they entered the stream and scaled the steep grade. The lunch pail, tea, and jackets awaited their return. Doc Grasson spread the linen cloth on the ground.

  “Dalton tells me your mom and dad haven’t been getting along very well. Anything to what he’s telling me, Jessie?”

  “They’re getting along fine, Doc Grasson. Reckon we’ll find anything this afternoon?”

  “Jessie, I know things are not great between your mom and dad. If you need to talk about it, I’ll listen. Otherwise, I won’t bring it up again. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “Now, this afternoon, I thought we might move further up the creek near this bluff I know about. I’ve always had a hunch there would be some good digging around that bluff. Rover, you want a peanut b
utter and jelly sandwich?”

  Half of Doc’s right hand along with the sandwich disappeared into Rover’s mouth.

  “Sweet Jesus!” Doc jerked his hand from the starving dog. Rover wolfed down the sandwich and rolled his big brown eyes into the begging position, while waiting for another one.

  “Doc Grasson, I think he’s as hungry as me!”

  Doc regained his composure.

  “Well, he’ll have to wait until we’re finished. That dog is a bottomless pit!”

  Doc reached for a fried pie. Rover offered him his paw. Doc unwrapped his sandwich. Rover rolled over. Doc poured some tea. Rover howled. Doc surrendered and broke his sandwich in half and rewarded Rover’s performance.

  “All right, Rover. Lay down and leave Doc Grasson alone,” Jessie said.

  Rover withdrew from Doc but maintained a watchful eye while the two finished their meal.

  “Doc Grasson, Dalton asked me about John Pelham this morning. I knew a little, but not much. Who was he?”

  “That’s funny, because he asked me the same question. As I told Dalton, Pelham was a young artillery officer who embodied the best of what the South offered up during the Civil War. He was brave, fearless, and deadly with his battery. He gained the distinction of being referred to as ‘the Gallant Pelham.’ J.E.B. Stewart coined the phrase in one of his glowing reports, and I guess it stuck. He was very young at the time and was referred to also as ‘the boy soldier.’ He was about your dad’s age during the war, maybe a little younger. He was the only soldier below the grade of general whom Robert E. Lee referred to in his memoirs. His ability first came to light at First Manassas, and later he distinguished himself at Groverton, Sharpsburg, and Second Manassas. For all his bravery and courage, he presented as a very shy and modest individual. He was forever ribbed by his peers and took it with good nature. Shy as he was, he was quite the ladies’ man. He had tremendous leadership skills and motivated his men. Some of his artillery crew were boys themselves, but they fought with a tenacity that was unequaled during the war. Heck, ole Stonewall Jackson, who was about as stingy with praise as they come, even praised the ‘gallant Pelham.’ Jackson was reported to have told J.E.B. Stewart that if he had a Pelham on each flank, he believed he could whip the world.”

  “Did he get killed?” Jessie questioned.

  “Yeah, he was killed at a place called Kelly’s Ford, in Virginia at the age of twenty-four.”

  “That’s sad.”

  “Yeah, reports were that Gen. J.E.B. Stewart cried like a baby; said the loss of John Pelham was irreparable.”

  “Ya moving like an old man, Bully. Did Miss Alice Fae beat ya with an ugly stick last night?” Curtis questioned, while pouring corn into a trough and yelling over the den of squealing hogs.

  “That’s closer to the truth than you think, Curtis!” Bully shouted. He carrying two five gallon buckets of shelled corn to a group of ravenous hogs. His body ached, and his head hurt from being knocked cold and beaten by Alice Fae. While pouring the corn into the trough, the glint of a shiny object protruding from the mouth of a hog caught his eye. Bully didn’t think much of the sight, but he became more interested when the hog passed up eating to hang onto the prize. After dumping his bucket of corn, Bully returned to find the two hundred pound red and white hog staring him in the eyes with the shiny object continuing to be visible. Bully moved closer. A devastating feeling came over Bully.

  “WILLARD’S RING! THAT GODDAMN HOG HAS WILLARD’S RING! THE ONE HIS DADDY GAVE HIM!”

  Bully threw the buckets down and jumped the fence and landed in the sea of hogs. The hunger of the hogs made them unrufflable. Bully made his way over to the hog, who tried to escape. The hog found the going slow due to the congestion of its comrades, and Bully overcame the distance. He ran his hand into the hog’s mouth and gained partial custody of the ring. The hog and Bully held on for dear life when Curtis eyed the commotion and approached the fence.

  “Bully, that hog don’t look like your type!” Curtis shouted with his chisel tooth grin.

  “Shut the hell up, Curtis, and help me get this ring outta this hog’s mouth!”

  “Bully, you don’t know her well enough to give her a ring. You just met!”

  “Curtis, you’re a dead man if you don’t stop running your mouth and help me! ”

  “Put your fingers over her nose and she’ll let go!”

  “Yea, and Ms. Lillian will invite us over for supper, tonight! ” Bully replied.

  “Trust me, Bully!”

  Bully placed two fingers over the hog’s nostrils and within twenty seconds, the hog relinquished the ring for lack of adequate oxygen.

  “Damn, Curtis, I’m impressed.”

  Bully climbed out of the pen with the ring, limped over to a horse trough and washed it off. When the cold water washed away the grit and mud, Willard’s beautiful turquoise and silver ring shined.

  “Curtis, this doesn’t make sense. Why would a hog have Willard’s ring? He loves this ring and would never let it out of his sight. Something is not adding up. Where did these hogs come from?”

  “That pen down by the road.”

  “Come on, there’s enough corn to hold these critters for a while. Let’s go down there and look around.”

  “The sheriff got Willard’s truck outta the pond this morning. They still hadn’t seen hide nor hair of him.” Curtis said.

  “Well, I don’t like how this smell, and I’m not talking ‘bout hogs, either.”

  Bully and Curtis made their way down to the pen, where they found three truant hogs, who missed their feeding.

  “Curtis, that’s strange. Why would those hogs turn down feed to stay in that pen?”

  “Maybe they’re courtin’.”

  “Maybe something else.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t know, let’s just go see.”

  When Bully and Curtis climbed into the pen, the hogs came toward them. When Bully and Curtis’s feet hit the ground, a very social white pig met them. It had a patch of blue plaid cloth in his mouth.

  “That’s part of Willard’s shirt he wore the last time I saw him!”

  “Bully, I’m not so sure I want to go over there.”

  “Curtis don’t git froggy on me, now. Come on!”

  The two men moved over to the spot where the hogs rooted around in the mud. A big black hog turned and a human hand protruding from his mouth.

  “Jesus Christ! Oh, no. Not Willard, too!”

  The hogs spooked and ran toward the barn with Willard’s remains. Bully wrenched, gagged, and vomited in the mud. He clutched his stomach. Curtis provided what comfort he could, but he didn’t feel too well, himself. Curtis moved Bully toward the fence and out of the pen. He returned to the spot where the hogs were occupied only to find a tremendous dark spot and remnants of much activity. Curtis knew that two hundred hogs with time could dismantle an anvil, not to mention a body.

  “That goddamn Carl Butcher killed Willard! I know it!”

  Bully spoke through snot, vomit, and tears.

  “Then him and his asshole boys dumped Willard into this pen of hogs to git rid of the body. Carl knows a hog will eat anything!”

  “We better git up to Miss Lillian’s and have her call Sheriff Bigelow, Bully.”

  “To hell with Sheriff Bigelow! He’s afraid of his shadow, not to mention Carl Butcher. I’ve got a shotgun and a slug with Carl Butcher’s name on it!”

  Bully turned toward the barn when Curtis tackled Bully and rode him to the ground.

  “Curtis, what are you doing?!”

  Bully came up fighting.

  “Bully, Carl Butcher will kill you, Miss Alice Fae, and ‘lil Jessie. He’ll burn this place to the ground and pour salt on it if you try to mess with him!”

  Curtis held Bully around his waist in a huge bear hug. Bully was no match for Curtis’ strength. They lay on the ground until Bully exhausted himself under the pressure of Curtis’s rock-hard arms.

  “Curtis, let me up!
”

  “Not ‘till you promise not to go after Mr. Carl!”

  “Alright, Curtis, you win. But Carl Butcher needs a bullet between the eyes, and you know it!”

  “Maybe he does, but that’s not your job, Bully. Someday, Mr. Carl will get his.”

  “Now, let me up!”

  Curtis’s grip cut Bully’s ability to breathe by the moment.

  “You haven’t promised, yet.”

  “I did!” Bully screamed.

  “No, you didn’t. You said alright!”

  “Okay I PROMISE! NOW LET ME UP!”

  Curtis released Bully and reminded him of his promise many times. Bully raked a large clump of mud off and hobbled toward the barn. Curtis followed.

  “I still like hogs even if they ate Mr.Willard,” Curtis muttered.

  Johnny Comes Home

  After lunch Doc Grasson and Jessie took a stroll around the suggested site of the now famous bridge, which became the bottleneck for the Federal retreat. Doc Grasson encouraged Jessie to see the battlefield from the perspective of the Yankee teamsters who were overrun by hordes of screaming Rebel cavalry: the desperation of being cut off from an avenue of retreat; the dilemma of whether to abandon their wagon and try to save their hide; or whether to be heroic and try to save both their hide and their wagon. Many wagons were abandoned based on the outcome of that very decision. After the promenade around the battlefield, Doc Grasson and Jessie returned to their last site, gathered up their tools and moved further upstream toward the bluff. When the two explorers and Rover rounded a curve in the creek, their eyes gazed upon a twelve to fifteen-foot reddish bluff jutting out on the east side of the creek. Below the bluff, huge clusters of blackberry vines and sage grass covered most of the terrain down to the water’s edge. Doc Grasson did not remember the quantity of vegetation being so great. The thicket was old and well established.

  “I should have brought an axe to negotiate this obstacle, Jessie. We’ve got our work cut out for us if we’re going to have a chance for Lady Luck to smile.”

  “Yea, look at all the stickers!”

  “Let me get in there with the shovel and see if I can clear us a little working space.”