by S A Ison
“I have some terrible news, the Confederate arm is in need of men, whether they be slave or white. They have come to take twenty men from us. I must choose the twenty men and send them on to the Confederate’s encampment.” Theo said. A low rumble of astonishment rippled through the slaves. Fear reflected in their faces, the women looking to their men, clutching their arms.
“I’m sorry, I’ve no choice. If I don’t send twenty men, then the soldiers will come back and take all the men.” His voice was strong and rang out over the group.
Theo continued, “I want all the men who have no wives to step forward.” Sixteen men stepped forward; their hats gripped in their hands. Theo’s eyes searched each man, trying now to pick the ones who might survive this nightmare. Sorrow filled his face as he caught Mary’s eye, he would have to pick Dark Henry, Theo knew Dark Henry could survive if anyone could. Calling out his name, Mary gave up a wavering cry, trying desperately to hold on to her man.
Gently, Henry disengaged his wife’s frantic hands, kissing her gently on the forehead. He whispered that he would be back soon, no army could keep him away. He walked forward, along with three other healthy strong men. When all twenty men were chosen, Theo looked into each man’s eyes. Trying desperately to ignore the women’s cries Theo told the men where to find the Confederates. He told them that once they had been with the army for a while, to try and get back home.
“If you’re sent to different units, don’t tell them who your master is, don’t tell them where you’re coming from. When you find your chance, come home. If you don’t want to come back here, then head north to freedom.” Their mouths hung open at this incredible offer for their freedom.
“Try to wait until you’re well away from here to try and leave and run away. I don’t want the soldiers coming back here. I’m going to give each of you men a bit of money to help in your effort. I’m sorry, that’s the best I can do.” He ended.
The slaves dispersed and Theo pulled Dark Henry to the side, to speak with him privately. He gave Henry the colt revolver he was issued.
“Keep this hidden under your coat. If you need to fight your way home, I want to make sure you make it back to Mary, alive. It is the only revolver I have. I don’t think they will give you a weapon, so keep this one hidden.” Theo said softly, patting Henry on the shoulder at his nod of understanding.
Early the next morning, Henry pulled Mary into his arms, to say farewell.
“Theo gave me his gun. Try not ta fret, as soon as I can, I’ll come home to you Mary. As soon as it’s safe.”
“Don’t you dare get hurt, don’t you dare die. You come home to me Henry.” Mary ordered. She felt the warm rumble of laughter and a sob move through Henry’s body.
Tears streaked down from Mary’s honeyed eyes, blurring everything around her. She thought her heart might stop with fear and grief. Pulling her in tighter for a crushing hug, Henry abruptly turned away with tears cascading down his blue-black face. He and the other slaves walked down the road, looking back and waving as they went.
Mary held onto Liza, crying hard, still in disbelief that her husband was gone, perhaps forever. Victor, seeing his mother’s distress, ran to his mother, his arms upraised. Ida wasn’t far away, crying as well, not knowing why she was crying, only that her mother was and she should help. Mary held both children in her arms, taking comfort from their warm bodies.
At night Mary lay with her body curled around her children. It had been nearly three months and no sign of any of the men, gone from the farm. She worried constantly and fretted when she heard the thundering cannon fire in the distance. Theo told her not to fret, that Henry was strong and smart and would find his way home no matter what. It was little help, this coming from a one arm man with both brother’s dead in the ground. Mary kept her thoughts to herself. It would serve no good to lash out at Theo, he had little choice in this deed.
Standing at the window, Mary watched the snow come down in fitful spray. It wasn’t even December and there was snow dusting the ground. It was going to be a hard winter ahead. Fear curled through her stomach, was Henry warm? Had the Rebs discovered the pistol her husband carried? Why wasn’t he home yet? What was taking them so long? The questions ricochet inside her skull, causing it to throb and ache. She had become short tempered and snappish with the children, and had lost weight with the lack of appetite.
Patina and Cookie tried to persuade her to eat, trying to cajole her with treats and flavorful dishes. Nothing, Mary merely stood by the window each day and looked for her husband. The children now clung to Patina or Lisa, feeling slightly abandoned by their mother. Liza could not shake Mary from her vigilant position by the window. Theo stayed away from her, knowing he was responsible for sending her husband away.
It was close to Christmas, though Mary didn’t feel very joyous. Two of the slaves had made it back, feet bloody, and fresh scars on their backs. The two men were starved rail thin and were close to death when they arrived. They had no word of her husband, which frightened Mary even more. The returning men told Mary and the others that some of the slaves had been shot for trying to desert, though they couldn’t say if Dark Henry was among those recaptured or if they were even slaves from this farm.
“Dark Henry talked to other slaves from other plantations and farms. They was all plannin’ ta desert, you know, little by little. At night, so them rebs didn’t catch us.” One man said.
Dark Henry had plan to leave after them, staggering the desertion, hoping to send the soldiers in different directions. When the returning men asked after the farm’s other slaves, they were told that they had been the only two out of the twenty to make it back so far. This did not bode well and the other women cried piteously for their lost men.
Mary went back to her cabin, dejected. Night came and the wind whipped bitterly at the naked trees. The cabin moaned, the air coming through the chinking was bitter cold. The fire flared up from the gusts of cold air, sweeping down the chimney. The door to the cabin banged open, and Mary turned, annoyed, thinking the blustery weather had intruded into her home.
There, standing before her, like some specter from hell, was Dark Henry. A joyous cry filled the small home, causing the children to jump. Mary flung herself into her husband’s massive arms, though somewhat diminished in size. Mary’s heart flipped; her husband was thin as a blade of grass.
Henry held onto his wife for all he was worth. He never thought to see her again. His great sobs rattled them both and he nearly crushed the breath from Mary. Shivers wracked his body and he felt his children at his legs. He wiped at his eyes and bent to pick them both up. Mary closed the door behind him.
“Sit, let me get you some food.” Mary said, moving about the cabin and putting a pot onto the fire. It was from dinner earlier and there was plenty left, she assured him. Mary helped Henry strip out of his damp clothing, as tremors moved through his body. His teeth chattered loudly as he put on dry clothing. She grabbed a quilt from the bed and flung it over his hunched shoulders. Henry sat down at the table, the children crawling back into his lap. He watched his wife move about the cabin, looking at him, a large smile on her face.
Henry devoured the large bowl of potato stew, it had a joint of pig knuckle in it, with onions and turnips making for a tasty dinner. Henry ate two large bowls before the gnawing hunger was eased a bit. Mary sent the children to bed, and he kissed each child before they scampered to their pallet. Henry saw that the children had grown while he’d been gone and it tore at him, he’d missed that. He smiled when he heard their giggles as they settled down. He looked at Mary across from him and reached out a hand. Hers was warm and solid and he squeezed it. Tears shimmered in her honey brown eyes. Eyes that he’d missed so much and eyes that filled his dreams at night.
Henry told Mary how he had escaped the army, sitting back in his chair, his stomach full for the first time in months. For the first time since leaving his home.
“We arrived at the bivouac late in the evenin’ that first
day. The camp was filled with a ragtag army, them men half-starved and filthy. It didn’t seem like anyone was in charge. Heaps of trash was piled everywhere. There weren’t no order, just a jumbled mess. The slaves stood to the side, waitin’ for their masters’ biddin’. Our people was made to join the other slaves and we was told to wait. We was made ta stand all night. If any of us sat down, he was beat.” Henry grunted and Mary sucked in her breath, shaking her head.
“For two days we stood waiting, no food, nor water, no sleep. Most just fell to the ground and let them soldier boys beat them. They was that tuckered out. I just about did myself. But I was afraid they might find the gun. Then we was told we could sit, but we couldn’t move from that spot. Them soldiers watched us and I could feel the hate. The lieutenant came back on the third day with over one hundred slaves in tow. He ordered us to make our camp on the edge of the white’s camp. We was told if any of us attempted escaping, we’d be shot on the spot. We slept on the open ground, no bedrolls and no blankets at night. Small groups huddled around campfires for warmth, layin’ head to toe for warmth on the cold nights.” Henry said, his hand idly petting Mary’s fingers. He smiled when he noticed Mary watching his hand. She got up and got the kettle to pour hot water into waiting cups. The cabin was filled with the aroma of fragrant tea. Henry took a sip, enjoying the heat as it spread through his chilled body and then continued.
“Food was rationed out, terrible old moldy biscuits and rancid bacon. I ate anything that crawled by, I just popped it inta my mouth and swallowed.” He smiled grimly.
“Oh, Henry. My lord, I’m so sorry.” Mary said in a low whisper.
“Hunger was like a clawin’ thing in me and it was all I could think about. Many of the slaves died that first month, while the white soldiers ate their fill, though truth be told, they ain’t had a lot, but more than us. There was some attempts ta run away and those men were shot dead for their efforts.” Henry shook his head, he felt old. His large hands cradled the earthenware cup of tea and he stared into the depths, lost in thought for a moment.
“We was divided up and sent with different groups. When we was asked our names, we lied. When we was asked where we come from, we lied. My group went along the coast and it seemed all them soldier boys was doin’ was raidin’’ and rapin. It was like them white soldiers was crazed and burned homes down, just for the joy of burnin’. We was told to stand there and guard, but we didn’t get no weapons. So, we just stood. Them poor black folks at those houses, they just scattered to the wind. Some were shot while they ran, and others got clean away. It just made no sense. They even killed white folk.” Henry choked and Mary got up and wrapped her arms around him, making shushing noises. Henry took a deep breath and let it out, then nodded and patted her arm. Henry watched her move about the cabin, covering the children and adding wood to the fire, then she came back and pulled her chair close and held onto his hands and squeezed. Henry took a deep breath and continued his story.
Henry bid his time, and planned with the other men, to escape one or two at a time. The regiments were stretched thin as it was and couldn’t find every slave that melted into the forest. White soldiers were disappearing as well. Fights between the white soldiers were rampant as was the lack of discipline. Fights over food and theft led to many of the slaves being blamed and shot.
Henry kept his gun hidden, it was cold and reassuring against his body. The weather grew bitter and still the slaves had no blankets. Henry was grateful for his coat; many men didn’t have that luxury. The day before Henry left, they found one of the men frozen to death, during a rare cold snap that blew the night before. The man’s eyes were still open, his skin ashy blue and his tongue protruding. The man had been thin with no meat on him and he must have rolled away from the warmth during the night.
Knowing that his chances for getting back home were growing slimmer by the day, Dark Henry set out the next night, another cold snap driving the soldiers into their tents and under their blankets. It worked to Henry’s advantage, because as he ran in the night, knowing those men wouldn’t poke their heads out of their tents. He’d waited for the patrols to stand by the fire, their backs to the sleeping slaves. He was thankful for his heavy boots and his coat, both kept him reasonably warm.
Henry ran for hours, fear of capture spurring him on, despite his weakened state due to starvation. As he went, he drank from streams and rivulets. Some water was brackish, but he drank. He kept to the woods as much as possible, only crossing fields at night. His stomach tormented him as he went, but there wasn’t much in the way of food.
“I’d found a pecan grove and loaded my pockets up. I spent a whole day, layin’ there eaten them things. I kept your face in my mind, Mary. All I’s wanted ta do was get home to you.” He smiled wanly and Mary’s hand came to caress his face. He heard the rasp of his beard beneath her cool hand.
He moved along the countryside at night, keeping away from plantations or large farms. He found small farms or abandoned farms and slept in their outbuildings. One night, he found an abandoned homestead. Going to the barn, he went to a stall and burrowed under piles of dirty hay, Henry was able to stay warm. His body was dangerously thin, but he generated enough heat beneath the straw to sustain a comfortable temperature in his cocoon. When night fell once more, Henry dug himself out and looked around the barn. He found a hen sitting on a clutch of eggs, breaking the hen’s neck quickly, he stuffed the body into his shirt, feeling the warmth of the chicken. Cracking the eggs, he sucked out the yokes and fled the barn.
Gaining his bearings, Henry headed out once again, at a steady pace. He ran in the dense forest, knowing it was his best chance to remain undetected. He listened for any sound of armies, men and horses, anything that would indicate he was near people or activity. He ran through the night and the next day, not stopping to even eat. By the evening of the next day Henry was exhausted, his chest burning from exertion. He walked on wobbling legs, looking for a cave or abandon home, any place he could make a small fire and cook the now stiff chicken.
An hour after sun set, Henry found a burned-out home. The charred ruins stood grim sentinel over the burned-out fields. Going to the separated kitchen, he found the old stone oven. There he made a shielded fire, within the oven, so as not to attract unwanted attention. With a sharp rock, he gutted the chicken and pulled most of the stubborn feathers off of it. Rolling the carcass in mud, Henry placed the chicken in the flames of the oven. For a few moments, he let the heat of the fire seep into his quaking bones. He closed the oven and left the structure.
Henry went into the forest, to wait until his meal was cooked. He didn’t want to be trapped within the house, should someone come by. He walked around the area, looking for any hidden food stores, but found none. At the foot of a walnut tree Henry pushed away the overgrown grass and found a handful of nuts, buried beneath. Gathering them, he put them in his pockets for later. He had already gone through his supply of pecans. Walking about the forest, he found six more walnut trees and gathered what he could.
Sometime later, he went back to the kitchen, he neither heard nor saw anything to alarm him. Taking a board from the floor, he raked the clay encrusted chicken out of the oven. Removing his coat, he gathered up the hot clay bound bird and went back into the forest. The cold was piercing and he made his way deeper into the stand of trees. The heat from the chicken felt good and seemed to penetrate into his frozen chest. Finding a large dead tree, fallen long ago, Henry crawled inside, hoping that he wouldn’t find anything else sharing his temporary quarters. For a while, he simply held the warm bundle in his arms, absorbing the heat from the cooked chicken. When he thought he could crack the clay without getting burned, Henry put the warmed coat back on. He had to do all this by touch, it was dark within the confines of the tree. Placing the blob of warm clay on the floor of the tree, he gently pounded his fist into the terracotta form.
The casing broke open, sending up a tantalizing aroma of roasted chicken. The feathers and skin stuck to the b
aked clay, leaving the meat and bones free. Carefully Henry devoured the bird, picking at the skin that stuck to the side. Only well chewed bones and dirt was left, his meal warm in his belly. Henry curled up and slept through the night, he was exhausted. Near daybreak Henry was roused by the sound of horses. They were farther away, near the abandoned house. He debated whether to go now or stay put. Knowing if he were out in the open, he would be an easy target, he opted for staying put. He spent the rest of the day inside the dead tree. He didn’t eat his cache of nuts, not knowing when his next meal might be.
A gibbous moon was high in the sky before Henry crawled out of his tree. His body ached intolerably at the confined position he had been forced to stay for such a long period of time. Slowly he walked, unsure if anyone was nearby or not. As the distance between the charred house and him grew, so did his swiftness. His long legs stretched and ate up the distance quickly, he kept his stride at a steady speed. As the night waned into daybreak, Dark Henry found himself in familiar territory. His heart filled with elation; he was almost home. The fatigue fell away and he kept up his jaunt through the rest of the day, skirting the roads and keeping well within the tree line. He ate the walnuts as he ran, cracking them in his large hands. Finding a stream, he broke through the thin crust of ice and drank his fill. He was nearly home.
Mary stared in awe at her husband, he had survived and made his way home again. Johnny Reb hadn’t killed him and he was home, safe and sound.
“What did you do while you were in the army camp?”