by S A Ison
“My boys have been telling me that both the Yanks and the Confederates are raiding farms and homesteads, stealing or confiscating food, money, along with women and men. It doesn’t matter who is doing it, it’s wrong. Winter is hard upon us and if anyone comes, they will take what we have here and leave us, black and white, with nothing. You’re my responsibility and if in the end, I must set you free, then I will. But for now, until this war is over, we must take care of each other. Tall Tom will pick several of the strongest among you and you will dig a large vault in the kitchen. I want extra food and valuables, as well as anything you wish to save from the soldier’s thievery, put down into the vault. If we don’t have the supplies, we will starve and your children will die. I also want you men to keep guard for any of these scoundrels.” He said, the wind whipping his thinning hair around his face.
“Gabe will make several bells and place them about the property. If any of you see strangers approaching, ring one of the bells. You women come straight to the main house, Dark Henry and Gabe, along with several other men will stay up here and guard us. Each of you will carry a pitchfork or hoe or club to defend the women. I have several rifles and I’ll teach you how to use them.” It was unheard of, arming slaves, but John knew if he didn’t, his home would be ransacked. Todd had given a grim accounting of countless incidents. John was no fool, war was just an excuse for some men to revel in their own evil.
“You boys take the horses and cows out to the forest. Build several sheds to hold them. I want those sheds separated. Gabe, make sure there’s a bell at each shed. I don’t want animals near the house. The same with the pigs as well.” Gabe grunted acknowledgment and Tall Tom nodded. They were to hide the chickens and goats as well, hiding the animals around the large property. The large group scattered, to begin preparations for the coming hordes.
Many of the slaves dug holes and buried their most prized possessions, whether it was a bolt of fine material, musical instrument or crockery. They would not be separated from their possessions. Within days, each of the cabins were nearly empty of prized possessions. Food stores were hidden as well. Shallow trenches had been dug and food wrapped in cloth or wooden boxes were buried for quick access. Tall Tom had made sure that the farm animals were well hidden and scattered about the farm. He sent most of the young boys to watch over the animals.
Winter was always hard, but their food was plenty and John aimed to keep it that way. John sent several of the young men out to hunt for game. They brought back wild turkey, pheasant, deer, raccoon, opossum, and squirrel. Earlier the previous fall, the women had set out to gather nuts that had fallen off the pecan and walnut trees. Now, those had been hidden away, with only the bare minimum left out for ready access, giving the outside world the impression of poverty and starvation.
It was early spring and the air was heating up, the Yankees had moved farther south, and a troop passed near the Anderson farm, and the bells rang. A rag tag assembly of men rode up to the main house, demanding to see the master of the home. John came out to the porch, long musket in hand. Calmly, he asked what they wanted.
“Gentlemen, what do you want?” He said with calm resolve.
Seven men sat upon their horses, looking around at the run-down farm. John could see that they were not impressed. There were no women to be seen, only his men and John almost smiled at their confused expressions.
“Where are all your negro women?” The sergeant asked, his eyes scanning the surrounding area and house.
“The women have been sent away, all but a few. We heard there had been rapes and I didn’t want my people ravaged. What do you want?” John asked, his voice now harsh, attempting to concealed fear. John knew he could not appear weak to these men.
“We need provisions and horses. You are to give over what you have.” The sergeant said arrogantly, his hand moving not so subtly to his sword.
“You’re too late, some men came through here several days ago and took all that we had.” John lied, his eyes narrowing.
“Then you won’t mind if we take a look around, just to make sure they didn’t miss anything? Were they blue coats like us, or gray?” The sergeant asked, his lip curling in a sneer.
“I don’t know, they were filthy and didn’t really wear a uniform like yours, they said they were Union men, but I don’t know for a certainty. If you look around, I ask that you act honorably, that you not to break, steal or fire anything. I’ll give you what I can. My wife is dieing, so I ask that you leave her in peace.” John said, his hand gripping the weapon, his knuckles turning white.
Sargent Waterson eyed the old man for a long moment and then nodded. He ordered his men to spread out and look about the farm. He followed the old man into the house to look around. The walls were bare and the china cabinet was empty. Dust had settled all over the house and the sergeant believed that the women were gone. Had the house been clean and spotless, the sergeant would have known the old coot had been lying. As it was, the house had a deserted and depressing air about it.
Waterson followed the old man down the hall to the kitchen. Two slaves met them. The sergeant was taken aback by the huge men and a prickle of fear shot through him. He looked about the deserted kitchen, the cupboards were empty, spider webs and dust the only contents. There were very few pots and pans laying around, and the sergeant suspected that someone had indeed come by before them and had ransacked the house. He cursed under his breath as he looked into cupboards and closets.
Disappointment clear in his face he turned to the old man.
“How many slaves you got?”
“I have fifteen left. Most of my healthy bucks have been taken from me, by both armies.” The old man said in a hard voice. Waterson could clearly see the rage in the pale blue eyes. Sargent Waterson was dubious as he looked at both the huge black men, flanking the old man. As though reading his mind, the old man spoke up.
“These bucks are deaf mutes. They aren’t very smart and they only understand me. Barely. They were useless to the armies, so they were left with me. They are here to guard me and my wife.” The old man said. Waterson grunted and the old man continued.
“When one of the army soldiers tried to force the issue, the big black one tried to rip the man’s arm off. It took five men to pull him off.”
The sergeant felt the blood leave his face; he could believe it. The man was massive, with arms as big around as tree trunks. Waterson would hate to be on the angry side of that. He turned and walked back out to the front of the house and found his men. All were empty handed but for a small basket of nuts.
“There ain’t nothing here Sergeant Waterson. The barns are empty, ain’t nothin been in there for a while.” The young private said, shrugging, his lank hair falling into his eyes.
Sargent Waterson cursed once more under his breath. It would seem the old man hadn’t been deceitful. It was frustrating, but there was nothing he could do, but go on to the next farm and hope for better.
“Mount up.” He barked and he went to his horse. He was here to liberate these slaves, but to do so, he’d have to feed them and he didn’t have the supplies to waste. He thought about burning the house and the surrounding buildings, but then he caught movement from the inside of the house. The two massive slaves hovered just inside the door. He grunted and turned his horse, not bothering to look at the old man who stood on the porch.
It wasn’t until the soldiers were out of sight that the men let out their breaths. It had worked, the soldiers had left them in peace. Slowly, word spread that the soldiers were gone and women and children started coming out of the main house. They had hidden in false walls and under the floors. Their plan had worked, they would survive. Mary moved about the women as they left the house. She went upstairs to find her mistress. She was sure Victoria was frightened, as they all were.
Late spring blended into summer following the long harsh winter; the men and women worked out in the fields to plant the crops. This year they would be growing corn, tobacco and barley
. Theo had started experimenting with different crops and found that in diversity, they could have bigger harvests. When the crops where harvested, John and Tall Tom took the bounty up to Savannah to sell. It was a risk leaving the farm and going out on the road with the crops. Raids by both armies were frequent, along with collateral damage. Then there were the deserters that snuck onto farms and plantations, wreaking havoc. It would seem that the entire south was on fire.
Much of the food was canned and set up for the coming winter. Root crops were buried in the forest, hidden from outsiders. John received more news from his sons. The fighting was terrible, the Confederates were taking a beating and it didn’t look good. Many homes had been put to the torch and slaves confiscated to serve in both armies. The fighting was bloody and fierce. Theo had been wounded, only a scratch he assured his father and all was well.
Several of John’s slaves had disappeared and John didn’t know if the slaves had run away or if they’d been attacked and killed in the woods. No bodies were found. The women grieved and cried, so Anderson didn’t know what to believe. Tall Tom had brought up the fact that the men might have been taken by patrols or a group calling themselves Ku Klux Klan, who had been sending terror into the heart of blacks and whites alike. Both Theo and Samuel had confirmed about the group’s vicious activities and had warned John about their disturbing presence in the surrounding countryside. The Grover farm and Kilgour farm, Anderson’s neighbors, had been hit by both armies. Anderson felt helpless and bitterly wished his sons were there to help him.
Mary fretted over Victoria; she was falling farther into the depths of depression. She would not leave her bed and refused to eat at times. When Mary brought Ida into the bedroom, the child’s presence seemed to cheer her mistress up. Ida was starting to wobble and walk. Victoria laughed at her antics.
“She is such a smart child and so strong.” Her voice shook and was frail as only the old can be. Mary was pregnant with her second child. She was due in the fall and was looking forward to it. It was a bittersweet time, she was happy to be pregnant, but with the war and uncertainty, it made her restless. She was torn with worry about her mistress and her family. The women continued to hide throughout the house, when soldiers came. Some of the boys had been sent to hide in trees with bits of mirrors, to signal the approach of strangers.
It was difficult to get work done and everyone was on edge. They all worked together, they knew it was their only hope. Rumors came floating to them about the Confederates killing whole families of slaves if they refused to fight, and the same was said for the north as well. To Mary, one was almost as bad as the other. They knew there was a regiment of free black men fighting as well. It made pride swell within her. Henry was on edge was well. He watched her and Ida. There was little any of them could do. Especially with some of the men and boys disappearing. No one knew what had happened. The men and boys had gone out to patrol the surrounding areas of the farm, keeping watch for strangers and soldiers, only to never return.
Smoke was prevalent in the air. Something was burning and it hazed the sky. Men now stood watch at night, both at the house and around the slave quarters. Gabe and Henry took turns working in the cooperage and standing guard. The men had begun to dig tunnels under their homes, to send their families should the farm be raided at night. There was nowhere for them to run. The countryside was unsafe, the cities were unsafe. The whole world seemed to burn around them.
Mary hoped for freedom, but she was afraid the cost would be too high. By each day that passed, her mistress sank lower and was so despondent that Mary felt like shaking her. This was her home and this was her friend and she felt at a loss as to how to help her. Even Ida’s antics went unnoticed.
It was mid-August; Mary had celebrated her nineteenth birthday in hiding. Confederate soldiers had camped out on the farm for over a week. Dark Henry and Tall Tom took food to the women hiding within the walls of the house in the dead of night. The children were frightened but kept quiet, babies were hushed. It was a long and uncomfortable time for them all. Mary found it difficult in the cramped space with her large belly. The women moved about the house quietly. A boy watched at the windows around the house. At a word, the women scattered to disappear.
They were setting around the dinner table when a rider came to the house, Mary took the baby and went up stairs. She heard the rider come to the door and knocked loudly. John, flanked by Dark Henry and Tall Tom went to the door. It was dark out and John held a lantern to see who had come. All other lights in the house were kept sheltered. A darkened house was less of a target if you couldn’t see it. Mary moved to an open window and hid behind the curtain to listen.
John lifted the lantern; he could see it was a young man. His eyes scanned around but he saw no one else.
“Is you John Anderson, sir?” the young man asked, holding a letter in his hand. John thought the young man looked frightened. Fear shot down John’s back, something told him, he didn’t want to take the letter.
“Yes, I am.” He was surprised his voice didn’t shake. The young man handed John the letter and turned and went back down the steps to his horse. John stood unmoving on the porch as he watched the young man ride away. Looking down, he noticed he had all but crushed the letter. He turned and saw the two large men flanking him and he smiled. These men had become close to him. He’d not say friend, but something close to it.
“Can you have Mary come to me?” He asked Dark Henry, who nodded and disappeared. John moved through the darkened house and went to his study, the lantern light leading the way. When Mary came in, she was followed by Tall Tom and Dark Henry. They all sat down to resume their dinner. John had taken to eating with Mary, Henry and Tom. It was during this time they could discuss strategies to keep their recourses, or what was the best method of farming and so on.
John was lonely, his wife shut away of her own volition, and his sons had deserted him. He had come to count on the three people at his table and grateful for their company. John had turned seventy-two that spring and he knew he was getting on in years. His body was failing him, his strength and sight were nearly gone. His mind seemed to wander and he felt as though he were floating in and out of this world around him. A world he no longer understood.
No one spoke about the letter, it lay like a cancer on the table, their eyes going back to it in the lull of conversation. When dinner was finished, Mary cleared the plates, taking them to the yard. Cookie no longer cooked in the kitchen, they wanted it to appear abandoned. They had a makeshift kitchen in the woods, a small shack had been built for her. Cookie was guarded by several of the men when meals were made.
The house was no longer cleaned, leaving it to appear neglected. Only the mistress’s chambers were cleaned. There were many nights that Mary slept on a pallet in her mistress’ chamber. Dark Henry didn’t resent it, he knew Mary loved Victoria dearly. He knew the old woman was dying. Henry slept outside the chamber when he wasn’t guarding the house. Henry looked up when John picked up the letter.
Anderson broke the wax seal and opened the letter. He squinted his eyes. He sighed heavily and handed the letter to Mary. Mary shifted to catch the light of the lantern and Henry watched her face closely. Tom had left to take a walk around the house. Alarm filled him when he saw Mary’s eyes tear up. She looked up at Mr. Anderson.
“Suh, I’m sorry to tell you this. It says that Samuel was killed in a skirmish outside of Charleston.”
A low sorrowful moan escaped the old man’s lips and his hands flew up to his mouth. His eyes were wide and he shook his head in denial. He slumped back in the large leather chair and began to weep. Henry looked at Mary, who shook her head and shrugged. There was nothing they could do, but let him grieve. Mary got up and she turned, intending to leave the study. She gathered up Ida, who had been asleep on the settee. Dark Henry followed behind, pausing to lay a large hand on the old man’s shoulder. He squeezed it gently and left the man to his sorrow. When Mary and Henry got to the door, they saw Victoria,
standing in her bedclothes. A strangled cry came from her lips and she fell to the cold floor. Mary rushed over to Victoria, gathering her up awkwardly in her arms, handing Ida to Henry. John came and knelt on the floor, his hand gently pushing back the hank of hair that had fallen into Victoria’s face.
Mary felt her neck and listened to her breathing, there was nothing. Panic raced through her and she shook the old woman.
“Mistress, Mistress, answer me, are you alright?” Mary asked, fear and sorrow deepening her voice. John’s legs gave out from under him and he sat down hard on the dusty floor beside Mary. Victoria Anderson was dead; news of her son’s death had killed her. Victoria no longer wanted to be on this earth, she wanted to join her child. Mary and John wept, as John took his wife and held her in his arms on the cold wooden floor. Henry took his wife and held her in his massive arms and rocked her and his daughter.
Tom came into the house and helped his master up and carried the dead woman back to her bedchamber. Mary and Henry followed. Henry carried the lantern high, to light their way. Tom gently placed Victoria in her bed and pulled the counterpane over her body. He helped John to the chair and pulled it over to the bed.
“I’ll have Netta come by and I’ll see to the casket.” Tall Tom said and disappeared. Mary shook her head numbly and she and Henry left the room as well. There was nothing she could do for John Anderson now. She was weary and heart sore. Victory had been like a mother. She would grieve for the woman.
On a humid and hot afternoon, they laid Victoria Anderson to rest, by the graves of her children. The whole of the farm population attended, this time, real tears filled their eyes. Mary and John were the hardest hit and found solace in each other. As the days blended into another, it was rare that John let Mary out of his sight, he would sit weeping and talking about his children and beloved wife. He had become more frail and needy.
Tall Tom had taken over running the farm, he and Dark Henry ensured all went smooth and everyone was safe. It was a difficult time and made harder by the sorrow that enveloped the house. Ida seemed immune to the sadness and brought light where there was none. John sat on the porch and held the child, he seemed to be waiting for something.