COLD SPRING SETTLEMENT WAS just like a thousand other places throughout the South, a small village with such trade establishments that could be supported by surrounding farms and plantations. Gage noticed that the livery stable was closed, the stable doors sagging open; a dry goods store was empty with boarded-up windows; and goats came in and out of a tiny storefront that had a milliner’s falling-down sign above the open door.
One two-story clapboard building seemed intact, however, and above the narrow front porch was a faded sign: Pinckney’s General Store. Gage hitched up Cayenne and went in. A small bell jangled as he opened the door.
The store was deserted, but then Gage heard footsteps on stairs and a weary-looking woman with graying hair came through the curtained door at the back of the room. She stared at him suspiciously and demanded, “Are you a Yankee?”
“No, ma’am. I’m just on my way home to New Orleans from Appomattox.”
A spasm of pain crossed her face. “I beg your pardon, sir. It’s just that since the surrender the Yankees aren’t always wearing their uniforms, and no Union man is welcome in my place. But you are. I’m Mrs. Pinckney. What can I do for you?”
“If you’ve got some medicinal supplies, ma’am, I really need some laudanum, and some bandaging. Maybe muslin or any cotton fabric that hasn’t been dyed?”
“Oh? Are you injured, sir?” she asked, looking him up and down.
“No, ma’am. It’s a man I met on the road. He’s been shot. I patched him up yesterday, but he’s in a lot of pain, and I didn’t have a single thing to make good bandages.”
“Well, sir, why don’t you bring him here? I’ve got a little shed out back—it used to house my pony and cart, until the Yankees confiscated them,” she finished acidly. “Anyway, it would make a nice little shelter, and I’ve got some supplies that you’re welcome to.”
Quietly Gage said, “That’s very generous of you, ma’am, but this fellow is a Union captain.”
Her face twisted darkly. “Then I can’t help you.”
“I see. So you don’t feel that you could sell me any supplies, ma’am?”
“You have money? Real money, not Confederate bills?”
“I have U.S. money, ma’am.”
“Then I’ll sell you what you want, because you’re one of ours,” she said disdainfully. “But it’s a shame for you to waste your money helping the scum of the earth, as far as I’m concerned. My husband died at the Bloody Angle. He raised a company here, and out of the twenty-eight men that went with him, only sixteen came back, some of them crippled. And since ’63 those Yankee brutes up in Natchez have made our lives miserable. They’ve taken our crops, livestock, our horses, our wagons, sometimes they’ve stolen things out of people’s homes, furniture and the silver and the like. ‘Confiscated’ them, they say, so as not to give shelter and comfort to the enemy!” she spat out. Then with an effort she calmed herself and her face drew back into hopelessly weary lines. “Anyway, laudanum and bandages, you said? I do have one bottle of laudanum left. And I have a length of unbleached cotton, it’s good quality, like for bedlinens. It’ll cost you,” she warned.
“All right. May I have the bottle of laudanum and about three yards of the cotton. Also if you have toothbrushes, I’d like two. And I saw that bushel of green peas over there, ma’am. They’re fresh, aren’t they? I’d really like to have a good mess of them.”
“Yes, sir,” she said, still with somewhat ill grace, and began to gather the items. When she finished she meticulously added up the cost. “I’m sorry, sir, but I’ve got to charge you three dollars for the laudanum. It’s the last I have, and I don’t know when I’ll be able to get more. So your total is going to be four dollars and eight cents.”
Gage reached into his little leather bag of coins and pulled out a ten-dollar copper eagle.
She took the heavy coin in her work-hardened hand and turned it over. “Mister, I don’t have the change for this. I’ve got exactly twenty-eight cents in cash to my name.”
“Oh, sorry, ma’am,” Gabe said uncertainly. “I didn’t think . . . but I’ve only got eighty-three cents in change left . . . uh—what else could I . . . ? I don’t guess you have any men’s shoes, do you, ma’am?”
To his consternation, her eyes filled with tears. She turned and almost ran to the back of the room and through the curtain and he heard her fast, hard footsteps up the stairs. Uncertainly he wondered what to do. His purchases were neatly stacked on the counter, but the lady had been holding his ten-dollar coin when she dashed off. He had just decided to pack up his things in his rucksack and leave quietly when she came back into the room. She wasn’t weeping now, but she looked sad. In her hands was a brand-new pair of tan leather brogans, those sturdy half-boots that working men and soldiers had worn for decades.
“My sister-in-law ordered these for her son when she found out he was on his way home,” she said in a low, shaky voice. “He’d written to her before, telling her that his shoes were so patched they were more patch than shoe. Then when he got home last summer he’d lost both his legs. I had ordered them for her for three dollars. Would you like to buy them, sir?”
“Yes, ma’am, that’s just what I need,” he said kindly. “Thank you very much.” He picked them up and stuffed them into his knapsack. “God bless you, ma’am, you’ve been very kind. I’ll say a prayer for you tonight.”
“But—but I still owe you three dollars!” she blurted out.
“You just keep that, ma’am. My Bible tells me that if I take care of a widow my trouble will be repaid tenfold, so you don’t feel like you’re in my debt in any way. Good day, ma’am.”
ON THE WAY BACK to camp Gage reflected on his odd experiences with his money.
When he had a steady job back in New Orleans, he had taught himself to be a frugal man. He didn’t mind spending his money on something that made him happy. He had paid a high rent, considering his salary, on an upstairs flat in the French Quarter, one second-floor part of a wing of an old Spanish villa built in the traditional three-sided structure enclosing a courtyard. His rooms were of peach-colored plaster that molded and mildewed constantly, and he had to scrub them with boracic acid to kill the fungus. There was no glass in the windows, only shutters. But the courtyard below was delightful, with old roses lining the walls and jasmine and passion flower vines crawling up the single cottonwood tree in the center. The courtyard was paved with ancient Spanish cobblestones, and in the cracks thick green moss and tiny purple wild violets grew all year round. His rent had been about a third of his earnings, but he thought it was well worth it.
He had found, also, that if he kept his savings in unusual coinage he was less likely to spend it on impulse purchases. It was easy to get new and different coins at the New Orleans Mint, so any extra money Gage had he exchanged for new issues or unique offerings by private banks. He had one “dixie” left, the showy red ten-dollar bill issued by the New Orleans bank, the Banque des citoyens de la Louisiane, in 1860. The French word for “ten” is dix, and so the English-speaking citizens of New Orleans had called it the “dixie.” It had amused Gage that the term had become an affectionate label for the entire South, and “Dixieland” an anthem for the Confederacy. Most of the soldiers that weren’t from Louisiana had no idea why they were fighting for “Dixie,” and it had been a source of great interest when Gage showed the bill around to them.
Of course, the bill was worthless now. New Orleans had been occupied in early 1862, and the Federals had immediately not only condemned Confederate currency of government issue, but they had also outlawed currency issued by private Southern banks, soundly backed or not.
And the ten-dollar eagle coin was the last Federal money he had besides the eighty-three cents in other coins. It didn’t bother Gage. It had to be done. That ten dollars wasn’t doing anyone, including him, a bit of good in his pocket. He had carried it all through the war. Many, many times he had been tempted to buy food, for General Robert E. Lee had strictly enforced bans on l
ooting. But somehow it made him feel guilty that he couldn’t buy enough food for his regiment, so he had shared their rations, or lack of them, with a good conscience. He had been the most skilled hunter, and almost all of the fresh meat they’d gotten had been from him. That made him feel much more satisfied than buying some delicacies for him and his half-a-dozen or so close buddies.
When he got back to camp he found Denny staggering around in his drawers, barefooted, gathering kindling for the fire. He was clutching at his left side, breathing raggedly, and his face was distorted with pain. He looked like a decrepit old man.
“Why don’t you lie down before you fall down?” Gage said acidly as he dismounted. “’Cause then I’d have to carry you around again.”
“I’m just trying to get a few little sticks,” Denny said grumpily. “You’d think I was a puny four-year-old girl, no more than I can lift. Where have you been?”
“To Cold Spring, to get some supplies. Sit down, I want to check that wound.”
Obediently Denny sat on his pallet, and Gage looked over his side and back. “Looks good, skin looks pink. I got some stuff to make a bandage that’ll go tight around you. I think if we keep pressure on that hole in your back it’ll heal faster. And a good pressure bandage will probably help keep that busted rib from shifting around so much.” Gage pulled the length of cotton out of his rucksack and started tearing it into long strips.
“You make your living patching up shot Yankees, Johnny Reb?” Denny asked caustically.
“No, I made my living shooting them,” Gage retorted. “And I’m a better shot than whoever plunked that one into you. Are you going to tell me how you ended up in this predicament?”
“There is a young lady, Marie Joslin, that lives at Winningham Plantation, down that road about half a mile from here. I’ve been stationed in Natchez since ’63, and we—er—made friends. Marie’s a real friendly young lady,” Denny said, his brown eyes alight. “Her father was a major in the 11th Mississippi Cavalry, and he got killed at Antietam. Her two older brothers were in the Jeff Davis cavalry, and she had a young brother, only twelve years old when the war started, that the older brothers took with them as drummer boy. So it was just her and her mother, you see. I kind of looked out for them.”
“Did you,” Gage said knowingly. “Miss Joslin’s mother too?”
“Uh—she didn’t much care for me, as a matter of fact, or any Union soldier for that matter. We did sort of confiscate some stuff from the plantation. Giving aid and comfort to the enemy, you know. Some of our men got rowdy, and some windows were broken, some things were missing from the mansion, things like that. But I went back and called on Miss Joslin to apologize, and after she met me on a personal basis she liked me. So in the last year or so I’ve been calling on her, bringing her and her mother gifts, you know, food and chocolates and scent and things like that. Mrs. Joslin didn’t ever warm up to me, unfortunately, but Marie did,” he finished with a rakish smile.
“I’m guessing that her mother didn’t rob you and shoot you,” Gage observed.
“I was coming to that part,” Denny sighed. “I was calling on Marie, and I didn’t know her brothers had gotten home from Appomattox. They came running out when I got to the house, yelling that scary Rebel yell and some other unfriendly things. Seeing that I wasn’t going to get the warm welcome I was accustomed to, I turned my horse and headed back up the road. They caught up with me, and there were three of them on fast horses, and so they sort of surrounded me and ambushed me.”
“You shoot any of ’em?” Gage asked curiously.
“They didn’t have a single firearm between them, and I’m not going to shoot an unarmed man. I tried to kind of beat them back with the flat of my saber, but it didn’t do any good. They pulled me off my horse and proceeded to strip me. That’s when I got shot.”
“With your own gun, huh,” Gage said. “That must have been aggravating.”
“It was an accident, really. The kid—I guess he’s about sixteen now—took my belt off and pulled my Colt out of the holster. It has a hair trigger, and it just went off,” Denny said regretfully. “I think the kid was more scared than I was. And the two brothers—well, I guess they were scared too. Shooting a Union officer, after the surrender? Not good at all. So they mounted back up in a hurry and took off back to the plantation.”
Gage asked evenly, “Are you going to have them arrested?”
“Nah, that’s way too much dramatics for me,” Denny said airily. “I’ve got no desire to see that kid hang. Or the brothers, either.”
“Why not?”
Denny shrugged. “Guess I’m not too sure I wouldn’t feel the same way if it had been my sister cuddling up to some smooth-talking Johnny Reb. And those men never meant to kill me, they just wanted to embarrass me. Which indeed they did, since I ended up toddling down the road in my drawers. At least they left me my canteen, and my kepi cap. They took my slouch hat with the gold braid, though,” he said regretfully. “And I had just got it broke in.”
“Yeah, but stealing your horse, that’s not a prank,” Gage said, frowning. “And I don’t know what other valuables you might have had, but whatever, it’s still robbery.”
“I know. I’ve thought about it. But to get my horse and my belongings back I guess I’d have to turn them in, and like I said, none of it’s worth hanging a kid.”
Gage reflected that it took a merciful man to have that attitude. He had seen many men, older and supposedly wiser than Denny, in positions of power that would never think of showing such understanding and compassion. “So, are you deserted, Captain Wainwright?” he asked lightly. “Do I need to hotfoot you back to Natchez to report yourself undeserted?”
“No, my unit was the 10th Missouri, and we were mustered out of service June 1. I was just making one last call on Miss Joslin before I took a steamer to New Orleans.”
“You’re going to New Orleans instead of home? I mean, I assume you’re from Missouri.”
“St. Louis,” Denny replied. “But my Uncle Zeke is in New Orleans and I’m going to visit him. I mean, I was going to visit him. Now I’m flat broke and a long way from New Orleans.”
Casually Gage said, “I’m from New Orleans, and that’s where I’m headed. It’s about a hundred and sixty miles from here. That’s not really too far, considering where I’ve come from.”
Denny studied him. “Yeah, but you’ve got a horse. One horse. And I don’t even have any shoes. I’d like to come with you, Gage, if you’d give me a chance to get a little stronger—and for my feet to get tougher, I guess. It’s asking a lot, I know, but I can repay you for your trouble. At least I can when I catch up to Uncle Zeke.”
Gage thought for a few moments, then said, “Okay, Billy Yank. We’ll figure it out when you’re fit to travel. But we can stay here for a few days, I was planning on camping out here and taking a rest anyway. Me and Cayenne have been traveling long and hard. I don’t mind a few days out of the saddle, and I’m pretty sure Cayenne’s really looking forward to it.”
“Thanks, Gage,” Denny said in a low voice.
“Aw, forget it.” Gage had padded Denny’s two wounds thickly, then had wrapped a tight cingulum around him. He stood up and said, “I’m going to get a fire going and make us some coffee. And then I’m going to cook us up some fresh sweet green peas. I’ve been hankering for vegetables for four years now. Quartermasters told us that we needed to eat fresh vegetables, and they sure wished they had some to give us, but there was no such thing for us boys. They recommended we eat wild onions. I hope I never have to eat another onion again as long as I live.”
Gage busied himself laying the fire and making coffee. He had a small two-cup coffeepot and one tin mug. He and Denny shared, both of them savoring the rich dark brew. Gage liked his coffee strong and black, in true New Orleans tradition.
“So what about you, Gage?” Denny asked. “What’s your story?”
“I joined up in June of ’61, I soldiered, I surrendered at Appomat
tox,” Gabe said shortly. “Now I’m going home.”
“You’re from New Orleans, huh,” Denny said, his eyes narrowing. “What unit did you join?”
“1st Louisiana Tigers,” Gage said proudly. “Tiger Rifles battalion.”
“You’re a Louisiana Tiger! You people are supposed to be the—I mean, you’re famous.”
“Infamous, you mean,” Gage said carelessly. “I know a lot of our boys were kinda rowdy, we were mostly just tough guys from the docks that didn’t know any better. But there was never a faint heart among them, they fought hard and never gave ground and died without complaint or regret. I couldn’t have asked for better men to have served with.”
Denny nodded. “Yeah, I heard the Tigers were about the baddest boys to face, either on the battlefield, or off. I gotta tell you, you sure ain’t what we all thought the Louisiana Tigers were like.” He nodded toward Gage’s Bible, which was lying on his pallet. “Bet you kinda stood out from the crowd.”
Gage grinned. “Yeah, I did. Because I was the only clerk in the regiment.”
“You’re a clerk?” Denny asked with astonishment. So Gage wasn’t a cold-blooded assassin, and he wasn’t the typical scum-of-the-earth Louisiana Tiger, but Denny still hadn’t pictured him as a clerk.
“I am. A sugar clerk, as a matter of fact. Ask me anything about refining sugar, I’m an expert.”
“A sugar clerk,” Denny said faintly, shaking his head. “What about family?”
“No family,” Gage answered evenly, staring into the distance.
“None? No wife? Parents?”
“I’m an orphan. There was a girl once, but it seems like she couldn’t wait for me. She got married in the spring of ’63,” Gage said with no apparent bitterness. “Anyway, New Orleans is the only home I’ve ever known, and from what I’ve seen it’s the only home I’ll ever want. How about you, Denny? Your family?”
“My parents live in St. Louis. I have one sister, ten years older, married with two kids. She and her husband live in Pittsburgh. Personally, I think Pittsburgh is aptly named. It is a pit of a burg.”
The River Palace: A Water Wheel Novel #3 Page 3