The Thackery Journal

by John Holt

  Walker shook his head. “After you Tom,” he said, holding his hand up.

  “Just sign it George,” Jarvis said smiling.

  Walker shrugged his shoulders. “Fine, whatever you say, Tom.” Jarvis slid the document in front of him. Walker took hold of his pen. He looked at the other three men and added his signature. “There, all done,” he said. “Now Tom, there’s just you.” He picked up the document up and handed it to Jarvis.

  Jarvis put the document on to the table in front of him. He picked up his pen. He slowly looked up, and around at the others. Butler and Walker were talking, and paying him no attention. Randall was nervously pacing up and down.

  “There we are,” he said, as he placed the pen on to the table. “All signed. The Lincoln Ultimatum is ready.” He read through the document once more. Then he folded the document, sealed it, and placed it into a leather pouch. Jarvis then securely tied the straps. He looked at Walker.

  “Signed sealed, and shortly to be delivered. There’s no turning back now. “It is all ready to go, George.”

  It was all ready with one small exception. There were four generals seated around the table, but only three signatures on the document.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  No Turning Back

  Walker looked up, slightly surprised. “Oh Tom, I would have liked to have seen the completed document before it was sealed up. To see it all signed sealed and ready to go, so to speak.”

  “Oh I’m sorry, George, I just never thought,” Jarvis said quickly holding on to the pouch. “Should I break the seal for you,” he offered.

  Walker shrugged. “Oh no, Tom, don’t do that. It doesn’t really matter, not now. There’s no point breaking the seal.” He looked at the other two men. “What is important is that we have all signed it,” he said. “Isn’t that right?” He then turned to face Jarvis once again.

  Jarvis could visualize that final page, with those three signatures only. What would the others think if they knew? He smiled at the thought. So who was going to tell them?

  “Absolutely George,” he said. “We are all in this together.” Walker said nothing. Jarvis handed Walker the pouch. Walker stood up and without a word walked to the side of the tent. He opened the flap, and looked out into the darkness. A short distance away the two sentries came smartly to attention. “Corporal,” he called out. The Corporal quickly marched forward and saluted.

  “Corporal, this is to be taken to President Lincoln, immediately. Deliver it to him personally, no other,” he instructed. “You are to guard it with your life, do you understand?”

  The Corporal understood. He took hold of the pouch, and saluted once again. “Yes sir,” he said firmly. He placed the pouch inside his saddlebag, mounted his horse, and rode off.

  Walker stood watching until the trooper was out of sight. He sighed. What had they done? It was totally against his military training. It was treason, there was no other word for it, and yet it had to be done, he tried to convince himself. “It had to be done,” he murmured as he turned around and went back inside the tent.

  “It’s on its way,” he announced to the others. “There’s no turning back now. I just hope we have done the right thing.”

  “It’ll be alright,” said Jarvis placing his arm around Walker’s shoulder. “You’ll see.”

  * * *

  Corporal Silas Morgan took one last glance behind, watching the General as he walked back inside the tent. Whatever was in that pouch now safe in his saddlebags must be very important that was certain. There had been four of Lincoln’s top generals huddled inside that tent the whole of the morning, discussing something.

  “And it sure weren’t the weather,” the Corporal hazarded a guess. Whatever it was he had been instructed to place it directly into the hands of President Lincoln himself, and to nobody else. Apart from the document he had an authorization signed by General Grant himself that would allow him access directly to Lincoln.

  It would be a daunting task and a dangerous one, he knew that well enough, but he was well prepared. He had water and provisions to see him through, his Colt pistol, a Springfield carbine rifle, and enough ammunition to serve a small army.

  “Just keep an eye out for Confederate patrols,” he had been advised although they were now becoming less and less as the war progressed. “And watch out for the Indians.” The Indians were another matter entirely. With the war raging between the States the Cherokee had been largely forgotten, but they still posed a danger, and recently hunting parties had been reported in the south-west.

  As he reached the perimeter of the camp he saluted the trooper on guard. “Take care Silas,” the guard called out. “Hurry back.”

  “Sure will,” the Corporal called back as he rode past. “See you in a few days, Amos.”

  * * *

  Though it would certainly be considerably more than a few days, he thought. With a little over one hundred and fifty miles to his destination, and then one hundred and fifty miles back again, he estimated that the round trip would take a minimum of ten days. That was ten trouble free days.

  He couldn’t understand why they hadn’t just telegraphed the document. It would have been so much quicker, and safer. If it was so urgent that would seem to be the most sensible thing to do. He guessed that the Generals knew what they were doing, and had a good enough reason. Maybe they didn’t want prying eyes seeing what it contained. Must be mightily important, he reasoned. Besides it wasn’t for him to question their decisions. They knew best. He didn’t need to understand their thinking he just had to carry out their orders.

  Another three hours and it would be getting dark. He planned on getting to Bracken Pass, where he could rest up for the night, before sunset.

  * * *

  The sun was just setting as he reached the entrance to the Pass, another hour and the sun would have disappeared. He had made good time. He looked back along the route that he had just taken. At times it had been hard going, but he had avoided that long trail that ran around the south side of the bluff, leading through the foothills to reach the valley. It had certainly shortened his journey, and saved at least a day’s travelling. Another three days and he would reach his destination. He then looked down the other side into the valley. There was the river just a hundred yards away. That is where he intended to make camp for the night.

  * * *

  The trooper was up just before dawn. Breakfast was over, and his horse had been fed and watered. He was now ready to continue his journey. He had been told that it was a most important mission that he was on, and speed was of the essence. The President needed the documents that the leather pouch contained. They had to be delivered without delay. He checked his saddlebag to make sure that they would not break loose. They were securely held in place, and the pouch was safely stored inside. He mounted up and rode out on to the valley floor.

  A slight haze rose up from the valley floor. It was going to be a hot day, the trooper murmured. There was a light breeze coming from the west, but it was not strong enough to have any real effect. He took off his hat and brushed his forehead with his gloved hand. He then sat forward in his saddle, and reached behind for his canteen. He opened the cap, and put the canteen to his lips. He took a long drink of the cooling liquid, and then placed the cap back on tightly. He turned slightly to return the canteen back to its place.

  It was then that he saw them over on the other side of the valley. A small band of young Indian braves, out hunting. There were four of them. The leader suddenly looked over in his direction. Had he been seen? The trooper could not be sure. Perhaps they hadn’t seen him, after all the low lying sun would have been shining directly into their eyes. But could he take that chance. Suppose he had been spotted, and even now they were making their way towards him, ready to trap him at the end of the valley. He had to get away, fast.

  He tugged hard at the reins, pulling the horse around, and dug his spurs in. The horse gave a slight murmur, and galloped away. Keeping close to the valley s
ide, he started along the valley towards the foothills where he could take cover. He looked back once more. There they were, slowly riding in the same direction that he was travelling. He still wasn’t sure whether they had seen him or not. Were they coming for him? Or were they merely going in the same direction? If they were after him they would be riding much faster wouldn’t they? Maybe, he murmured, although he was far from convinced.

  He looked behind once again. There was no sign of the Indians. He looked all around. They were nowhere to be seen. He heaved a sigh of relief and began to relax, and continued on his way, heading towards the end of the valley.

  He had gone no more than two hundred yards when the Indians re-appeared over to his right hand side. They were no more than one hundred yards away. He dug his heels into the horse’s flank, and rode as fast as he could towards some rocks. The Indians gave chase. Gradually they began to gain on him. Then no more than thirty yards from him one of the brave took up his bow and placed an arrow on to the string. He lifted the bow, took aim and let the arrow fly. It struck the trooper on his right side puncturing a lung, and entering the heart. The trooper fell to the ground dead.

  The band of Indians rode over and dismounted. They started to look through the trooper’s possessions. They found a leather pouch. One brave pulled it open. Inside were a number of sheets of paper. He removed the papers and carelessly dropped them to the ground. The wind caught hold and blew the papers away, scattering them in all directions. The empty pouch was judged to be of no value. It was ripped apart and discarded.

  The Indians continued to search through the trooper’s things. Finally they decided to take his horse, his saddle, his rifle, and his boots. The remainder they left to the buzzards, and the coyotes.

  They rode away excitedly, firing shots wildly into the air.

  * * *

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Captured

  Thackery knew that the war was going badly. He knew that it was almost over. Another few weeks maybe, a month perhaps, and then it would be finished. It was hopeless. The cause was all but lost. The South had been defeated. Of that there was no doubt. Perhaps, realistically it never really had a chance from the very beginning. Perhaps the South should never have gone to war. That’s what Miles had said wasn’t it, all of those years ago.

  That’s what he had said all right, but it hadn’t seemed that way the day he had walked down to the Court House. The day he had enlisted. There was no doubting the resolve then. No doubting the courage, and conviction. It was all so long ago, another time, another world. It all seemed so unreal now. Then it had seemed that the South was invincible. Right was on its side, and nothing could stop it.

  He looked around him. What was left of his men were mounted and waiting for his order. There was Tom Davis, Chet Tyler, and Jethro Bennett. They were all that was left from his home town. Their uniforms were torn and tattered, their faces dirty, and gaunt. They were tired. They had had enough.

  Thackery could see capture and imprisonment staring him in the face, or maybe even death. He wasn’t sure how the Yankees treated their prisoners. He had heard stories that they didn’t actually take prisoners, and that all captives were shot, on the spot, there and then. He had heard that some prisoners were tortured first, and then left to die. The prospect did not fill him with confidence.

  He looked at his men once again. He then looked towards the wagons. He still had the gold. What was he to do with it? Richmond was now occupied by Union forces, so he could not go there, and Vicksburg was too far to contemplate. The gold was of no value to the south, not now, even if he could deliver it to the authorities. With the loss of Richmond there were no authorities. He decided there and then that he would make use of that gold, for his benefit, and that of his men.

  “Where to sir?” asked Sergeant Trelor.

  Thackery smiled. “Let’s go home, Sergeant.”

  * * *

  Home, thought Thackery, certainly he would like to go home, but he was a realist. He knew that the chance of getting there was remote at best. Many miles separated the men from their families; many miles patrolled by Union forces. And even if they made it what would they find.

  “Pass it on to the men, Sergeant, we’re going home.”

  “Yes sir,” replied the Sergeant saluting smartly.

  “The first thing we will have to do is to find somewhere to hide the gold.”

  “I know the very spot Captain,” said the Sergeant. “It’s an abandoned mine about fifteen miles west.”

  “Lead on, Sergeant, and the quicker the better.”

  * * *

  Two hours later they arrived at a large rocky outcrop. “Here we are, sir,” said the Sergeant. In front of them was the sealed entrance to an abandoned mine. “Hasn’t been used for years, sir,” the sergeant explained. “There was a cave-in about ten years ago, and four miners were killed. They are probably still in there, I expect.”

  Thackery’s mind went back to another mine and another cave-in some years before. He should never have been there he knew that but he never thought there would be a problem. Then there came the rumbling, and the roof fell, trapping him. He thought that he was going to die. It was Miles who had found him, Miles who saved his life.

  It had been so long ago. Things had been so different then. Thackery brushed a tear from his eye. He wondered where Miles was at that moment. Was he still alive? Did he ever think of the old days?

  “So why was it never opened up again?” he asked.

  The Sergeant walked closer to the entrance and tapped on the rocks sealing the opening. “Too much damage and too expensive I would guess,” the Sergeant replied. “The owner, a Mr. Petree died about two years afterwards.” The Sergeant paused for a moment. “Some say that he suffered feelings of guilt and killed himself,” he continued. “I don’t know if that’s true or not, but it never re-opened as you can see.”

  Thackery dismounted and walked over to the Sergeant standing at the entrance. It was completely sealed with huge boulders. “So how do we get through there?” he asked.

  “We don’t, sir,” replied the Sergeant.

  Thackery looked puzzled. “I don’t understand.”

  “The cave-in did a lot of damage,” the Sergeant explained. “It also opened up a number of large crevices. Over there.” He indicated an area over to his right.

  He walked over to the area, closely followed by Thackery. “Here we are,” the Sergeant announced pointing to one of the fissures. “That’s where we place the gold.”

  Thackery moved over and peered into the opening. It seemed ideal. “Sergeant, how do you know so much about this place?”

  The Sergeant took a deep breath. “My brother, sir,” he replied. “He was one of the four that were killed.”

  * * *

  The last crate had been hoisted into position, and safely hidden. Thackery turned away from the mine and walked back to his horse. He reached inside his saddlebag, took out the leather pouch containing his journal, and started to write.

  “November 26th 1864 – we have decided to go home. The war is lost and it is fruitless to continue the struggle. I hope that I shall not be judged a coward.”

  He looked over at the men for a moment. He saw a mixture of farmers, store clerks, bank tellers, and Waggoners, but they had all fought bravely. The South should have prevailed, but it was not to be. He looked back at his journal and continued.

  “The men have served me and the South, with great courage, and honor. I could not have wished for more.

  It will be good to see my mother and father again after so long. How will they be I wonder? Will they recognize me? I am not the same man who left home those many years ago. I am older, although no wiser. I am weary of war. I long for home. Will my friends and neighbors be there to welcome me? I put my trust in God.”

  Satisfied he laid down his pen. He looked at his fob watch. Another five hours before sun down. They needed to be on their way. He called over to the Sergeant. “Hide the wago
ns, and get the men ready,” he ordered. “We are going home.”

  * * *

  Thackery planned to head southeast towards the river. Once across the river he intended to head up into the foothills. Then he would turn south. He calculated that it would him take three or four hours to get to the river. The first part of the journey went through a densely forested area. Progress was much slower than he would have liked. He soon realized that he would not make the river before nightfall, and would most likely have to make camp in the forest. The pathway became narrower as he advanced, slowing him down even further. The column of men was thinly stretched out. He did not like it that way. It was vulnerable, less well protected. But he had no choice. As he rode along he constantly looked behind, constantly checking.

  The Sergeant rode up to join him. “Captain, I think we are being followed, sir,” he said almost in a whisper. “I thought I heard muffled voices behind us.”

  “I thought so to, “Thackery admitted.

  Suddenly a shot rang out. Then two more shots rang out in quick succession. Thackery drew his pistol. “Troop, take cover,” he ordered. Then in front of him appeared four Union troopers, their revolvers drawn and pointing straight at him. “Stop right there, Captain,” the leading soldier ordered.

  “Captain, please put up your weapon,” a voice called out. “It is futile to resist you are completely surrounded, and quite frankly I have no desire for more fighting, it has been a long tiring day.”

  A figure then rode out from the forest. “I am General Thomas Jarvis, late of the 14th Ohio Regiment, and now a member of General Grant’s staff.” He paused for a moment moving nearer to Thackery.

  “You are a long way from Grant’s headquarters, General,” replied Thackery. “How come?”