“That’s a coward’s way out, Ikey and you know it.” Johnny said. “You can come up with somethin’ better than that. You always was one of the smart fellas.”
Ike explored his other options. The ring in the wall had been anchored too well for him to pull it out. He stuck the barrel of the pistol in the ring and tried to turn it in hopes of loosening it but it would not budge.
He studied the mechanism of the lock and tried to remember how its internal members functioned. He and his brother had taken an old lock apart once and he tried to remember the shape of the tumblers. He had a vague Idea that he could bend a time of his fork and use it as a pick. This idea did not work.
As daylight faded he realized that not only did he not have matches or even a lamp. He was tired and hungry and incredibly thirsty. He ate the rest of the biscuit he had started earlier and regretted it. “There’s always the chamber pot Ikey.” Johnny giggled. “You just have to strain out the chunks.”
“Thanks Johnny, that’s just brilliant.” Ike responded internally. He took a small satisfaction from realizing that he had not spoken this response out loud.
With nothing else he could do in the darkness of the cellar Ike lay down on his bed and tried to sleep. Sometime in the early hours of the morning he woke and saw that the moon had risen and was casting a pale light down the stairway. He thought that it would give him enough illumination to see his way to the chamber pot and part with some of the last precious liquid his body retained.
As he started to get up he saw a dark shape lumbering down the steps. An opossum had picked up the scent of death and was eager to see what pickings were available. Ike picked up the pistol, sighted down the long barrel with his one eye, cocked the hammer, and squeezed the trigger. Instead of the expected violence of an explosion there was only a dull click. The hammer had been damaged when the gun hit the floor after its last performance and would not descend all the way to contact the igniter pin. Ike tried it again and again. The noise startled the opossum into stopping on the last step from the bottom. The creature froze in position, aware that there was something still alive amid the tantalizing odors of early decay that were guiding its sensitive snout to an anticipated feast.
The sight of the opossum had repulsed Ike. He cocked the pistol again, advancing the cylinder to another live round. Again the gun only clicked. In a fit of rage he drew back to throw the gun at the scavenger. “I don’t think that’s a good idea Ikey!” Johnny said as Ike flung the weapon towards the Opossum.
The pistol just missed the hissing scavenger on the step. The hammer hit the step with enough force to drop it onto the igniter pin of the cartridge and the resulting explosion sent the opossum scurrying back up the steps. The bullet shattered Ike’s drinking cup and caromed off the back wall before it buried itself in Marcus gut. The puncture opened a hole in the dead man’s intestine and released a hideous smell that made Ike gag and lose what little food was left in his stomach.
“I told you that was a bad one Ikey!” Johnny chirped.
“Shut up!” Ike said, realizing that he had spoken out loud this time.
Johnny maintained his silence for a while as Ike regained a little of his composure. The shaken man completed his trip to the chamber pot and lay back down to rest until dawn. He prayed for daylight and deliverance.
“You never did like the taste of ‘possum much anyway, Ikey” Johnny said, giggling as Ike drifted back to sleep.
Ike woke to what he thought was the sound of cannon fire, but it was only thunder accompanied by blessed rain. He stood in the stairwell and felt the refreshing drops. He opened his mouth and caught enough water to moisten his parched throat and realized he had nothing to catch water in. He went as far up the steps as his chain would allow him but he could only get his head above the rim of the opening to see a little of the muddy back yard.
Descending the steps he looked around and saw only one vessel that could possibly hold water. He grabbed the chamber pot and carried it up the steps to his limit and hurled its contents as far as he could out into the yard. By now the drizzle had turned into a steady rain that yielded him enough water to rinse the worst of the smell out of the pot. Leaving his now prized possession on the step he went down and retrieved Mrs. Pendleton’s handkerchief and used it to vigorously mop out the vessel and rinse it one more time before leaving it to collect the water that might keep him alive a few more days.
“Well Ikey, at least you have a pot to piss in and a door to throw it out of.” Johnny cackled. Ike found his companion’s laughter infectious and before long he was laughing out loud with him.
“I’m losing my mind Johnny, but at least I’m in good company.” Ike said, laughing again. “I think I’ll go back down for breakfast.”
He went back down and finished the biscuits. The bacon was still good but he couldn’t force himself to eat the eggs so he threw them out the door. “Well, here goes Johnny.” Ike said, silently this time, and drank out of the chamber pot. As thirsty as he was, the water was delicious.
“You know Ike, we’ve drank out of worse, ain’t we?”
“Yes, Johnny, some of the creeks we’ve drawn our water from were down stream of some pretty awful things and we survived. We even drank Sarge’s coffee and lived. I’ve got water enough to drink for a while now if I don’t drown.” Ike mused as he noticed how water was pooling on the floor of the cellar. He heard the clock start to strike again and instinctively counted the chimes, each chime came slower and the sixth strike was more of a thud, the clock had run down.
With his thirst and hunger out of the way for a while Ike began to study the problem of the lock again. The big pistol looked like it might make an excellent hammer if there was an anvil available. He took the remaining cartridges out of the LeMat and laid them on the table. Working himself into an awkward but tolerable position he managed to get the lock onto the stone that supported the lowest step and banged away on it with the handle of the gun. The brass face of the lock bent inwards and the repeated blows loosened the rivets that held it on. Half an hour of hammering opened a gap into which Ike managed to insert the end of the butter knife. The rain had ceased without him noticing as he worked his fingers raw, prying and twisting on the mangled lock until at last he heard a satisfying click. The lock was open!
Ike was about to run shouting up the wet steps when he heard voices in the yard. He froze at the bottom and listened. The murmuring was getting closer. “Well Johnny, looks like I may be out of the frying pan and into the fire.” He said, this time internally.
“Cain’t be much worse than what you been in Ikey.” Johnny replied. “The rebels probably won’t shoot a man in a nightshirt.”
“I might have a hard time explaining the two dead bodies down there though.” Ike said, looking over his shoulder at what he had come to think of as a sepulcher.
Ike looked down and realized how ridiculous he would probably look to whoever it was out there. “You’re right Johnny, these might be just the right clothes to surrender in.”
“I like the sound of that. You sayin’ I’m right I mean.”
The voices were coming closer and Ike thought one of them sounded familiar. A few seconds later he shouted “Sarge, is that you?”
“Ike, where are you?” Sarge answered.
“I’m down here in the cellar, I’m coming out.”
“Lazarus, come forth!” Sarge chuckled as Ike ascended the steps into sunlight that warmed him to his innermost reaches.
Ike’s Sergeant and his companions stood with their mouths open and stared at the specter that emerged from the cellar. The sight of Ike in the damp night shirt with his eye patch and beard left the normally talkative officer speechless.
“It’s a long strange tale and I will tell it after I get some real clothes on, I know where there are some that will fit me in the house.” Ike said to his flabbergasted audience.
Sarge stepped forward and grinned at Ike “I wanted you to be able to shake my trembling old hand once m
ore before I pass on.”
Ike took his Sergeant’s hand and shook it with mock solemnity and then took his Father in a bear hug. The two men stood holding each other and shaking with emotion.
“I had given you up for dead until Emma’s folks sent me your letter. I think they were mad at first but they were glad to hear that you were alive and figured you had your reasons for sending the letter the way you did. I thought I understood what you were up to with all that rot about unpleasantness and not changing your position. The boys and I used up some of our reenlistment furlough to sneak over here and look for you.”
“Are we in Union or Rebel territory?”
“Not quite sure right now, but the Rebs are stretched pretty thin around here and we’re not far from our own camps. Why don’t you get some clothes on and let’s hear the story. Is it all right to go in the house?” Sarge asked.
“The homeowner won’t object, she’s down there in the cellar, dead.”
“Dead! Did you kill her?” Sarge asked.
“No, she had an accident after she killed her brother, he’s down there too.”
“Merciful God!” Sarge exclaimed.
“Yes indeed.” Ike responded, listening to Johnny shouting his “Amen” and laughing with joy.
As Ike was upstairs in Todd’s room changing in to his uniform, Johnny was singing a Negro Spiritual with gusto. Ike had to admit that Johnny was in fine voice. “Your singing has improved since the first time I heard it Johnny, the first song I remember you singing was something about a ‘young girl from McGrass’ and I believe you were way off key.” Ike said.
“Well, I always sing when I’m happy, Ikey, and I’m happier than I’ve ever been and I know there’s more on the way. Hey Ikey, that part in the letter about your Pa, with the tremblin’ old hands, that was my idea you know. Purty clever of me wasn’t it? I’d like to of seen the look on his face when he saw that one!” Johnny said with glee.
“I couldn’t figure out why I wrote that Johnny, I couldn’t seem to remember that my own Pa was my Sergeant, but my mind was still pretty muddled then. Thank you….for that and for so much more. You saved me from Mrs. Pendleton, and maybe from myself.”
“That’s alright Ikey, I owed you that and a whole lot more, an’ it’s what I got to stay here for anyway. I guess my work’s done ‘cause the Shepherd’s come back to get me now that you’re free and I’ll be a goin’ with him purty quick.”
“He’s here?” Ike asked with a start, looking around.
“He’s everywhere, Ikey, we just cain’t always see him, but he’s callin me to come with him now.”
“So I won’t be hearing you anymore?” Ike asked.
“Not ‘til you cross that creek, Ikey. You gonna’ miss me?”
“In some way I guess I will. You know I haven’t really managed to completely mourn your death since you took up residence in my head. Yes Johnny, I’m going to miss you. But I’m sure now that I will hear and see you again.”
“We’ll have lots to chew on when that happens ol’ pard.” Johnny said. “But for now, I gotta’ get goin’ and so do you. Drink lotsa’ water before you start tellin’ yer’ story to Sarge. You’ll get dry fer sure.”
“I sure won’t be drinking out of that chamber pot any more. Goodbye Johnny. Give my regards to the rest of the fellows….and Mrs. Pendleton and Marcus…..and Emma.”
“I’ll do that Ikey.” Johnny said. “Well, I better go see my Granny, now that I’m outta’ ‘perkytory’, and you need to go see your Pa.”
Ike felt relief with a trace of melancholy that he wouldn’t hear Johnny again in his earthly life. He smiled as he went downstairs to join his comrades.
His Father was admiring a painting of Mrs. Pendleton in the study as the younger men were rummaging through the kitchen looking for food. They had found stale biscuits and muscadine jam and were having a fine time gorging themselves.
Sarge jumped as if he had been stung by a bee. He looked around him and saw Ike entering the room. He resumed his study of the painting as if nothing had happened. “She was an attractive lady wasn’t she, Ike?” He said.
“Yes, she was at that.” Ike said, studying his father. Something about the way he had jumped and then returned his gaze to the painting seemed odd to Ike, but he was too happy just to have him here and be free from his imprisonment to take much note of this peculiar incident.
“What was her name?”
“Micheline Pendleton.” Ike answered and began to recount the happenings of the last few months.
Sarge sat down on one of the comfortable chairs in the study and listened to his Son’s story. He tried to concentrate on Ike’s narrative, but he was distracted by the feeling that someone had pinched him on his backside just as Ike had entered the room. More disturbing than the pinch was the sound of laughter that had filled his head afterwards. The voice sounded familiar…….
Table of Contents
Chapter 1 – The Sins of the Father
Chapter 2 – The Babylonian Captivity
Chapter 3 – The Epistle
Chapter 4 – Deuteronomy
Chapter 5 – Exodus
The Cellar Page 12