by John Holt
That was when the Journal had been commenced. It was the date that Jacob had gone down to the Court House. It was the day that he had enlisted. He could not wait. He had been so proud, so excited. Everything had changed that day. It seemed such a long time ago. It seemed like a lifetime, he thought. He took a deep breath. It was a lifetime ago, he murmured. In fact it was two lifetimes, his son’s and his wife’s. He laid his head back and removed his eyeglasses, loosely holding them between the first finger and thumb of his left hand. His eyes were beginning to ache, and the bridge of his nose was sore. He reached up and started to massage the sides of his nose. After a few moments he stopped. He closed his eyes. Very soon he was sound asleep. The eyeglasses dropped from his fingers, and slid to the floor. Prince looked up momentarily, and then settled back down and went to sleep.
* * *
Chapter Three
April 1861 - War Looms
It was a day just like any other. In fact on the face of it, it appeared to be a perfectly normal Saturday. The sun was shining brightly, and there was not a cloud in the sky. There was just a hint of a breeze blowing in from the south. All in all a very pleasant Spring day. Like any other Saturday the town was busy. Although today it did seem to be a little busier than normal. A little more crowded perhaps, a little more activity going on. Jacob Thackery could not quite put his finger on anything specific, but there was something different about this day. Certainly there appeared to be a lot more people that he did not recognize.
Thackery thought for a few moments. It wasn’t a public holiday or anything like that, was it? He shook his head. No it was nothing like that, so why all the extra people was a mystery. No matter, he had a lot to do today, and had to get on.
He had gone into town as he usually did on a Saturday afternoon, reaching the town square at a little after two o’clock. Here was located the Land Office building, where Jacob was expected in a little over an hour and a half. His father had just purchased a narrow strip of land from their neighbor. It was quite a small plot, but it tidied up part of their northern boundary. The purchase needed to be registered. Arrangements had been made for his neighbor and Jacob to complete the formalities. It shouldn’t take too long.
He had also promised to visit his father’s cousin, Thomas Lane after he had finished his business in town. He had a small homestead just on the outskirts of the town. He was having certain financial difficulties lately, and Jacob wanted to see if there was anything that he or his father could do. As soon as he had finished his business in town Jacob intended to ride out to see him.
Although they were cousins, Thomas was a good few years younger than Aaron Thackery. So much so that Jacob had always thought that Thomas was his cousin, not his father’s. He started to rub his chin as he tried to think it out. Thomas was really his second cousin, he thought, or was he an uncle. He was never very good at that kind of thing. Eventually he decided that Thomas was actually his cousin once removed, whatever that meant.
It was probably of little consequence anyway. Besides he had far more important things to worry about. Time was passing quicker than he would have liked, so he hurried on his way.
Next door to the Land Office was the Sheriff’s Office and the Town jail. Built in 1822 both were now a little dilapidated, and had seen better days. A little further along was the Court House. It had been the first brick built building constructed in the town, replacing the old timber meeting hall that been on the site for the best part of fifty years. The new building was quite impressive and had caused quite a stir when it was first opened. That had been almost five years ago.
Some people had said that that the whole town would be constructed in brick within the next few years. Jacob’s father had actually scoffed at the whole idea. He had said that the building would probably collapse after a few short months because of the tremendous weight.
* * *
“It’ll never stay up,” said Aaron Thackery when he heard about the proposed new Court House. “Mark my words it will simply sink into the ground and that would be that.”
“But sir, they are constructing brick buildings everywhere,” said George Stuart, the local newspaper editor. “In New York, San Francisco, and all over Europe, and they are still standing.”
“It’s just different ground that’s all,” Aaron explained. “Our ground is far too soft, that’s how we can grow the cotton.”
“But the Engineers have taken all of that into account,” replied Stuart.
Aaron held his hands up and shook his head. “It will sink I’m telling you. Besides what is wrong with the existing building? Just tell me that.”
* * *
Jacob smiled as he recalled the conversation. Certainly he wasn’t being serious was he? Or was he? Maybe he was being perfectly serious. Perhaps he really had thought that the building would indeed collapse.
Whether he was serious or not, the building was still there, and there wasn’t a hint of it sinking. Furthermore many other brick buildings had been erected subsequently. That was progress, Jacob murmured. After all it was the middle of the nineteenth century, and you could not stop progress. There had been a lot of changes taking place. The telegraph office had opened its doors just ten years ago. Five years later came the introduction of gas lamps along the streets, and inside some of the larger buildings.
“Gas lamps, it’s not natural,” his father had said when he heard. “Whatever next?”
There were even plans to rebuild the Sheriff’s office in brick, and to enlarge the jail. With progress came an inevitable increase in crime. But they had been talking about rebuilding for a few years now, and there was still nothing definite. It was all to do with high finance, stock bonds, loan consolidation, and mortgages, the Mayor had explained at the last town meeting. In short it meant that they were short of money, and could not afford the expense. “Maybe next year,” he had said. “Or it might be the year after that.”
“And pigs might fly,” Jacob murmured. He smiled, turned and continued on his way, past the saloon, and the newly constructed theatre. Another sign of progress, he thought. Obviously they had no problems with regard to their finance. They didn’t have to worry about loan consolidation whatever that meant, and stock bonds, or any other financial constraint. They seemed to have no monetary worries whatsoever. From planning through to the actual construction had been a matter of a few short months.
Obviously the theatre was a far more important place than the sheriff’s office, or the town jail. That was a little unfair perhaps. It was just how things turned out. Besides no public money had been required to develop the theatre, it had been wholly privately financed.
He had been to the theatre two or three times since it had opened its doors. The plays were all right, but he was not that keen on the music hall. What did they call it? Burlesque. He was also not entirely happy about the greatly increased influx of visitors that had occurred because of the theatre either, but what could he do about it? There was nothing that he could do. That was just the price of progress.
He looked across at the main entrance. There were a number of placards displaying details of the play that was to be performed that evening. It was to be “The Wife’s Secret”, starring Miss Jane Coombes. She was really quite good, he thought. Some people were describing her as the Queen of the American Theatre. Thackery was no expert when it came to the American theatre, but he thought that they could be right. He had seen her once before, in New York, at the Wallack’s theatre. He could not remember the name of the play, but she had been in it. The name did not matter. What mattered was that “The Wife’s Secret” was scheduled to play for one week longer, and he had tickets for the last performance in seven days time. He and Miles would be going.
As he drew nearer he looked closer, and there, spread across the boards, was a second notice advising that the performance had been cancelled. Jacob wondered what could have happened. Why cancelled? He shrugged, probably one of the main actors, or actresses, suddenly taken ill. He
wished them a speedy recovery, and that everything would be all right for the following week. He hoped that it was not Miss Coombes who had been taken ill. He then quickly turned and once again continued on his way.
A short distance further was Jed Munroe’s feed store. Jed had died some fifteen years previously, and the store was now owned by Jack Dean, but it was still known as Munroe’s feed store, probably always would be. Jack had tried and tried to get things changed, without success. He had now given up on the idea. He reasoned that as long as the store was known, it didn’t matter what name it was known by.
Further down the street were the livery stables, and beyond them was the blacksmith’s forge. Thackery rode over to the stables, dismounted and led his horse inside.
“Good afternoon, Will,” he called out.
“Afternoon Mr. Thackery,” Will Tyler, the blacksmith and owner of the livery stable called back. “It’s a great day ain’t it?” he said with more than his usual enthusiasm. “A great day for the South I mean.”
“It certainly is,” replied Jacob, slightly puzzled, and wondering precisely why it was considered to be such a great day, and why for the South in particular. He said nothing, and merely led his horse over to Will, and handed him the reins.
“I’ll be a couple of hours, all right?” he asked.
“That’ll be just fine, sir,” Will replied, as he lead the horse into a stable. “I’ll rub him down, and give him a feed.”
Thackery thanked him and left. He made his way past Mr. Davies Hardware Store, and on towards the General Store, which was still run by old Mr. McCready. He must be getting on, Thackery thought. He has always been old. I can’t remember him any other way.
He smiled mischievously as he entered the store. He was surprised to see that most of the shelves were empty. Normally they would be stacked high with merchandise, but not today.
“Afternoon Mr. McCready,” he said as he approached the counter. “What’s been happening here? It looks like you’ve been ransacked.”
McCready glanced at the empty shelves and shrugged his shoulders. “I tell you Jacob the last few hours have been crazy. People have been buying provisions like there was no tomorrow. I’ve seen nothing like it before.”
“It’s the war,” a voice called out from the doorway.
“War, what war?” Jacob asked puzzled, as he turned towards the voice.
“Fort Sumter has been attacked,” the voice explained. “We are at war with the North. We’ll show those Yankees.”
Jacob looked at Mr. McCready. “It can’t be. Miles said it would come, but not so soon.”
“Well it’s here, and no mistake,” said the voice smugly. “I’m gonna enlist today.”
“It’ll all be over by Christmas,” said another voice.
“Sooner ‘an that,” from a third voice just entering the Store. “Those northerners just better watch out.”
McCready shook his head. “All of this talk about war, as though it was so wonderful. I remember the last one, as does your father Mr. Thackery. They all make it sound like it’s so great. Madness I tell you madness. There ain’t nothing good about a war.” He paused for a moment. “A lot of good people are going to get killed, on both sides, that’s all and for what reason?”
“It’s so we can be independent,” someone said as they entered the store. “So we can rule ourselves.”
“Who said that?” asked McCready, as he looked towards the voice. “Oh it’s you Billie.”
Billie Johnson shuffled forward nervously. “Yes sir, it’s me.”
“Rule ourselves indeed,” said McCready. “You couldn’t even blow your nose without your mother’s say so.”
Billie looked offended. He opened his mouth to say something more, then changed his mind, and hurried out from the store, much to the amusement of the onlookers.
McCready watched as the boy left, and shook his head. “He’s twelve years old, what does he know,” he said sadly. “He thinks it’s fun, a game almost, a great adventure.”
“Don’t you think it’s exciting?” asked Jethro Bennett standing at the end of the counter.
“No Jethro I see nothing exciting about it,” McCready replied.
“It is a great adventure Mr. McCready, and it is exciting,” said Adam Cartwright as he strode towards the counter. “And you’ll see when we win the …..”
“I tell you Mr. Cartwright, no one wins in a war,” McCready said abruptly. “Everyone loses, you’ll see. There’ll be nothing but trouble, and hardship, and suffering, and young men dying. And when it’s all over people will ask exactly what did we gain?”
“Well that’s easy,” Jethro replied. “We gain respect, and victory for a just cause.”
“And those that died,” said McCready. “Your son, or your father, or somebody’s husband, what then? Where’s the just cause then?”
“I don’t know whether you are right or wrong Mr. McCready,” replied Jethro Bennett. “But one thing I do know, and that is the war is here, and we don’t have a choice anymore.”
“That’s absolutely right,” said Cartwright. “There’s not a thing we can do about it. We have to fight.”
“Ah, we have to fight do we? Indeed,” said McCready dismissively. “Exactly why do we have to fight? Tell me that.”
“For victory,” said Cartwright. “And for the glory and honor of the South.”
“Hog wash,” said McCready. “For the glory and honor of the South you say. Poppycock. There’s no glory or honor in dying. It would be a whole lot better if we just did what Mr. Lincoln wanted.”
“Stay in the Union you mean?” replied Cartwright.
“Yes by staying in the Union,” replied McCready. He paused for a moment and then turned towards Jacob. “All this talk of war and glory and honor, not one of them understands what it’s all about. God help us.”
“Don’t you worry Mr. McCready,” Jacob replied. “There’ll be no war, it’s all a big mistake.”
“It’s a big mistake that’s for sure, but there will be a war, more’s the pity” McCready replied sadly. He looked down at the floor for a moment. Then he rubbed his hands on his apron, and looked up.
“Let’s have no more talk about the war shall we?” He paused once again, and brushed a tear from his cheek. “Now Jacob, what can I do for you?” he continued. “I suppose you’ve come about your supplies?”
“Just as well that I ordered them I reckon,” Jacob replied, then he started to frown. “You have put them aside for me haven’t you?”
“Sure thing Jacob, they’re safe no need to worry,” McCready replied. “They are out back ready when you are. Just drop by on your way home and collect them.”
Jacob thanked him, said that he would be back and left the store.
* * *
Chapter Four
Fort Sumter Attacked
As Jacob came out of the General Store, he looked across the street, towards the town hotel. He was surprised to see that the stagecoach was still waiting outside, and it was still un-occupied. He looked across at the Court House clock. It was twenty minutes to three. As he arrived at the hotel lobby he looked in. There on the opposite wall was the hotel clock. It confirmed the time. The stagecoach should have left town shortly after two o’clock. But there it was, sitting in the street in front of the hotel, empty.
Joe, the driver, and Pete, who rode shotgun, were sitting on the rocking chairs on the hotel veranda. They were both sound asleep. The horses had been provided with bags of oats, and a bucket of water each. Scattered around the footpath were numerous items of luggage. Inside the hotel there was a small crowd of people, all seemingly talking at once. As Jacob looked inside he could see Brad, the hotel manager. He was looking a little stressed. He saw Jacob, smiled and gave a wave.
The stage should have left almost an hour ago, Jacob thought. It wasn’t like the stage line to be late. They prided themselves for being on time. What was going on?
Jacob walked into the hotel lobby. “What is g
oing on Brad?” he asked as he walked up to the reception counter. “That stage should be long gone.”
“I don’t know what’s happening, Jacob,” Brad replied. “All I know is that the stage has been delayed. It won’t be leaving for some time, if ever that is.”
“But why not, what’s the problem?” Jacob asked. “What is going on today?”
“I don’t know, Jacob. They say that we are at war. Whatever it is for the time being, the stage cannot leave the town. That’s all I know.”
“War,” Jacob repeated. “They were saying that in McCready’s just now, but surely there’s some mistake, Brad.”
“I am only repeating what I hear,” Brad said. “I know nothing else. I am as much in the dark as you.” He paused. “Or all of these other people here,” he continued as he looked across the lobby floor. “I want to get down to the Gazette office to find out some more,” he said. “But I just can’t get away.”
Jacob hesitated, and shrugged his shoulders. At war, he murmured, shaking his head in disbelief. It didn’t seem possible. It had to be a mistake. Brad was simply wrong. He had to be. The people at McCready’s just now, had to be mistaken. But he had to admit that there was something different today. Something was going on, that was certain.
“I’ll see what I can find out, Brad,” he said. “I’ll be as quick as I can.”
Without anything further he turned and left. As he came out of the hotel he heard the shrill whistle from the train as it approached the town. What was happening? The train was almost two hours late. He looked back at the stagecoach. Joe and Pete were now seated on board and preparing to drive away. The passenger compartment was still empty, and the luggage was still lying on the ground. As Jacob moved closer towards the stage the driver looked over and saw him.
“Howdy Mr. Thackery,” he called down. “Don’t know what is going on, but we are going back to the depot. There’s no stage leaving today.” He took hold of the reins. “First time I can remember the stage being stopped, in eight-teen years.” Without another word he cracked his whip, and pulled hard on the reins. The stage lumbered forward. It slowly turned around and headed down the street back towards the livery stables.