Crossing Ebenezer Creek

by Tonya Bolden

“One acre. I want one acre of land somewhere safe. I want me and Zeke to be able to live off my one acre.”

  Mariah told Caleb about Jonah’s twenty-dollar gold pieces.

  “I can imagine how much you must miss him,” said Caleb.

  “I do, but it’s all for the better. Besides, you said it’s only a matter of days. How far are we from Savannah?”

  “As the crow flies, twenty, twenty-five miles. Surely this terrain and Rebel devilment will slow us down some. Likely to be some Rebel resistance once we get there.”

  “Strong forces?”

  “Captain Galloway says no.”

  “Any colored doctors in Savannah?”

  “Don’t know, but—”

  “Not for me,” Mariah said, seeing the alarm on his face. “I wonder if there’s some special kind of doctor who might be able to make Zeke better, even if only a little.”

  “Well, if there’s no special doctor,” Caleb replied, “I promise you this. I will help you take care of Zeke.” When Caleb reached for her hand, Mariah didn’t flinch. “Be whatever you want me to be to him.” Caleb brought her hand to his lips. “Friend.” He kissed her hand. “Father. Whatever you want.”

  Mariah’s heart raced when Caleb joined her on the pallet. She felt a quivering, a quickening, became aware of breathing heavier, of how warm his lips felt, of how good his hands felt on her face, her neck, her—

  Mariah pulled away. “I should leave.”

  “No, you shouldn’t.”

  “But I, I—”

  “Stay.”

  She couldn’t tear her eyes away from his. He was magnificent. “I, I, Zeke’ll be—”

  “The Doubles will see to him.” Caleb began stroking her face again.

  “I, uh—”

  “Stay.”

  Oh God did she want to stay, but—

  “All I’m asking you to do, Mariah, is stay. Nothing more.” Caleb removed his hand from her face, leaned back. “This march has done wonders for my self-discipline.” He laughed. Mariah burst out laughing. Both were soon laughing so hard their eyes were gleaming with tears—happy tears, love-of-life tears, love-for-the-ages tears.

  When their laughter died down, Caleb took Mariah’s hand. “Girl, we ain’t wild dogs. You merit better than a tent on the edge of swampland. You merit a warm room, fireplace, fine clean sheets on a proper bed. And blue glass beads in your hair.”

  STONE OF HELP

  For Wednesday, December 7, 1864, Caleb didn’t start off writing about the march.

  “Hardly saw M. at all today. Spent a little time with them for breakfast. In the evening I brought her a dress, a shawl, and a few other things. Also brought a high-crowned black hat to replace the one Mord. lost in crossing Buckhead Creek. Spent most of the evening at the forge.”

  Caleb looked at his nub of a pencil. No shaving left to do. He reached into his toolbox for a new pencil. But he didn’t return to his diary. His thoughts rested on Mariah.

  He dreamed of making her happy, doing all in his power to see that she never knew another hurt, another pain. He was sure she’d like Savannah. And if she didn’t, they’d move to wherever suited her. If she wanted to live in New York, he’d make that happen. That’s right—that’s where Captain Galloway was from. Surely he’d help them make their way in New York. And Zeke, Caleb thought. Most likely there were better doctors up North anyway.

  Beside himself with anticipation, Caleb felt like the happiest man on earth!

  Calm down, he told himself. Let’s first get to Savannah and see what’s what. He then returned to his diary to stabilize his mind. By writing about the march.

  “Division moved at 6½. Made 7 miles. At our rear 3 skirmishes today with Rebel horsemen. 13 Yankees lost. They say Rebel soldiers have been dispatched from Augusta. All is getting worse. More fallen trees. More swamps. Sometimes 2 or 3 men needed to push wagons along. Rain this morning did not help. Nerves fraying with every mile.”

  And the glum and gloomy surroundings. This was an uneasy place to be.

  “We have been marching among giants these days. Giant bald cypresses. Some wade in the waters, some stand on dry land, all with some of their roots jutting up. Otherwordly. Same with the giant tupelos. You could sleep three in the hollows of some trunks. And so much sound. Flying squirrels. Tree frogs. Owls. Nighthawks. Right now the wind is wailing, and this night feels too alive. Cannons in the distance.”

  It was past midnight, and Caleb knew he was hardly the only one still awake. He knew the pioneers were hard at work. A couple hours after they camped, a scout reported that a few miles ahead the bridge across Ebenezer Creek had been destroyed, so yet another pontoon had to be laid down. “Capt. G. has ordered me to cross with the first group in the morning to be on hand for repairs to the wagons when they reach the south bank.”

  Tree frogs and other creatures were getting louder. The night became a scream.

  Earlier in the day, when out foraging, Sergeant Hoffmann told Caleb about the history of this desolate place. Of a town started long ago by folks from Germany fleeing some kind of hell. They named the settlement Ebenezer.

  “Stone of help,” Caleb wrote. “That’s what Sgt. H. said Ebenezer means. The town did not prosper & folks moved to higher ground. All that’s left of their first try are ruins of a redbrick church. It’s across Ebenezer Creek.”

  Ever since the sergeant’s history lesson, Caleb hadn’t been able to get the hymn “Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing” out of his head.

  Come, Thou fount of every blessing,

  Tune my heart to sing Thy grace;

  Streams of mercy, never ceasing …

  Here I raise my Ebenezer;

  Here by Thy great help I’ve come;

  And I hope, by Thy good pleasure,

  Safely to arrive at home …

  With the night so alive Caleb figured he might not get much sleep, but given his early rise, he thought the least he could do was rest his eyes. He scribbled one last thing.

  “Camped at Old Ebenezer.”

  FREEDOMS

  Mud.

  Swamp.

  Tripping over tree roots.

  Sloshing through streams.

  Roads so snaky, narrow.

  Mariah had never experienced so much stop and start on the march as she had the last two days. Stopping while wagons got righted. Stopping because of roads cluttered with slashed-down cypress trees.

  And now Mariah, Zeke, and the rest, they all would have to walk today. Just as they made it to the campground last night, their wagon’s front axle snapped and the front wheels fell off. Mariah knew Caleb couldn’t come to the rescue. He had sent word that he needed to be at the head of the column the next morning and had camped up there overnight.

  Mariah was grateful that at least her shoes were holding up. Could be worse. So many others trudged on bare feet. She couldn’t count the times she’d seen blistered feet, swollen feet, and toenails torn off. Shoes. They were the one thing Caleb always tried to rustle up. The pairs he parceled out didn’t make a dent in the need.

  Mariah reckoned it high noon when word spread that the work on a pontoon bridge started in the middle of the night was finally done. There was chatter, too, of skirmishes with Rebels in the rear.

  “Thank God we’ll be crossing soon.” Mariah sighed as she summoned up the strength for another day on the march, got her sling sacks on her shoulders, her calabash canteen around her neck, then Zeke on his feet, cap tight on his head. She figured with Rebel horsemen in the rear, everybody—colored and Yankee—would move double-time as best they could. She took comfort in knowing that once they got across the creek, there’d be less to fear from the Rebels because Yankees would pull up the pontoon.

  But Mariah and the others had only gotten themselves ready for another wait.

  “Step aside! Step aside!” a soldier commanded.

  Row after row of bluecoats marched by.

  “Step aside! Step aside!”

  Row after row, wagon after wa
gon, cattle, more bluecoats, row after row.

  Cannon boom from somewhere left made everybody more anxious. Mariah guessed it was coming from the Savannah River. Gunboats.

  Bluecoats. Wagons. Cattle. More cannon boom.

  As Yankees passed by, the only colored marching with them were strapping-strong young men. Pioneers.

  “Step aside! Step aside!”

  Mariah began to panic. Never before had all the other colored been made to wait until this many Yankees marched by. Never before had they been stopped from marching behind the Yankees who had found them useful.

  In vain Mariah had searched for Jonah. She had even searched for Captain Galloway, Private Sykes, Private Dolan, and Sergeant Hoffmann—any kind face.

  An hour passed, another. Still waiting.

  “What in creation is going on?” asked Mordecai.

  “Maybe part of the bridge broke?” Chloe wondered.

  “Could be Rebels ambushin’ on the other side of the creek,” suggested Ben.

  “But then we’d hear gunfire,” Mordecai pointed out.

  “Maybe they makin’ sneak attacks with sabers.” That was Ben again.

  “No,” said Mariah, trying to clear the panic from her voice. “I think they makin’ us wait for the whole Fourteenth Corps to cross.” She racked her brains. How many soldiers did Caleb tell her were in the Fourteenth? “If I remember correctly, that’s about fourteen thousand men.” Now that number sounded like a world.

  “I reckon we’ll be here awhile.” Mordecai took a deep breath and let out a loud sigh.

  Dusk. Still waiting.

  Just hardtack for supper in case the wait would soon be over.

  It was a dry supper too. With no fresh water nearby, they only put their canteens to their lips for small sips. Mariah barely drank any water at all because Zeke was strangely thirsty, along with being fidgety, whiny. He was also spinning a lot. Mariah prayed that he wasn’t coming down with whatever had Rachel’s little girl in fever on and off the last two days, whatever had Miss Zoe coughing and sneezing. And Miss Chloe out of pennyroyal.

  Mariah also hoped that Rachel didn’t come due before they crossed. The night before Miss Chloe had said it was a matter of days, maybe hours. Rachel could barely walk, and her back was killing her.

  And chilling Mariah was the sight of an old woman about to camp by herself, someone Mariah had never seen before.

  Stooped but strong and the color of sweet corn, the old woman had a snakeskin around her neck. Cracked and creased leather pouches dangled from a rope around her waist. One gnarled hand gripped a walking stick fashioned from a long bone. Dimes with a hole bored through were tied around her ankles.

  The woman was staring at Mariah, just like that silver-gray crane the other day. The bird looking like it was privy to a mystery.

  Mariah had a bad feeling that something was wrong, or something was about to go wrong.

  Under moonshine and stars. Still waiting. They took catnaps, two or three at a time.

  Then came the break of dawn.

  Mariah peered ahead, saw the last of the soldiers about to cross. “Get ready to move out, everybody,” she said.

  Gathering her things, she looked behind. For as far as she could see, hundreds, maybe thousands, of colored people, most asleep on the ground or up against a cypress or tupelo tree. Cannon boom startled them awake.

  This ragtag colored regiment was soon on its feet with sacks over shoulders, bundles on heads, and maybe a walking stick—or nothing—in their hands. It brought tears to Mariah’s eyes.

  She looked around for the strange old lady with the long bone walking stick she’d seen the night before, but there was no sign of her.

  But there was more cannon boom. A shell whizzed through the air.

  Mariah looked ahead, saw Yankees moving faster across the bridge.

  Another boom.

  Mariah looked back, saw people rushing forward.

  Something was coming. Good or—

  Evil.

  Mariah knew it in her bones.

  Hand tight on Zeke’s she prayed for wings as eagles as she, Ben, Rachel, Rose, Miriam, Mordecai, and the Doubles neared the water’s edge. She felt a tightness in her chest when she saw the tramp of troops coming to an end. Only about a hundred left to cross. From the back of the last covered wagon, a pair of eyes peeked out. Praline.

  Mariah looked back, saw colored crammed against each other. The air reeked of fear.

  Mariah’s group was within a few yards of the planked way leading to the bridge when she—they all—got a fright.

  “Stand where you are!” shouted a soldier, his musket rifle at the ready. One, two, three other soldiers raised their rifles too.

  Mariah stared at the soldiers in disbelief. They can’t be …

  Rachel cried out, “They gon’ do what they did at Buckhead Creek! Gon’ take up the bridge!”

  Hagar screamed, “Good God, they can’t do that!”

  Mordecai shouted, “Buckhead wasn’t nowhere deep as this one!”

  Mariah stood there in frozen fear, staring at the black water, reckoning it to be more than a hundred feet wide, terrified at the thought of how deep.

  Mariah stood there in frozen fear as the bluecoats walking backward began to pull up the bridge, with the four rifle-ready soldiers behind them, guns still trained on the people on the north bank.

  “Please, no!”

  “Stop!”

  “Don’t leave us!”

  “Have mercy!”

  Mariah stood with her arms around Zeke, tears streaming down her face, staring at the nothing. The nothing between Ebenezer Creek’s north and south banks but water. It looked icy cold.

  Then she heard the thunder—pictured a thousand horses, full gallop.

  From behind more shouts and cries. One word over and over, first too faint for Mariah to make out, but it was soon a roar as people shouted it up the line.

  “Secesh!”

  “Secesh!”

  “SECESH!”

  Then a chorus of bloodcurdling screams.

  “Help us!”

  “For the love of God!”

  More thunder. Could only be Rebel horsemen.

  They were trapped. With no hope for Rebel mercy there was only one thing to do.

  The crowd from behind surged forward, became a shove.

  Bullets cracked the air.

  Mariah saw Rachel grab her stomach, collapse on top of little Rose.

  Saw Hosea, eyes heavenward, tears streaking down his wrinkled face. Saw Hagar drop to her knees and wail.

  Saw Ben jump in.

  Miriam jump in.

  “Swim, Zeke, swim!”

  Hand in hand with her brother, Mariah plunged into Ebenezer Creek.

  Before they hit the water, she heard Zoe cry out, “We can’t swim! We can’t swim!”

  The thunder was louder, muting the cries for help.

  “Swim, Zeke, swim!”

  Muted, too, the angry shouts and curses on the other side of Ebenezer Creek.

  “Swim!”

  Mariah caught sight of men, colored and white, hurling logs into the water, lashing branches fast together for rafts.

  She heard Zeke calling out, “Mariah! Mariah!”

  “Swim, Zeke, swim!”

  She spotted a log, reached it, reached Zeke. “Hold on tight!”

  More bullets whizzed.

  She ducked. Up again she saw a pouch bobbing in the water, floating away.

  “My freedoms! My freedoms!” Zeke cried out.

  Then she saw him—

  “No!”

  Let go of the log.

  “No! No, God, no!”

  More rifle shots shattered the air.

  She saw Zeke flailing, thrashing.

  Another bullet whizzed, sent her ducking.

  Up again. “Zeke!”

  Down again. Couldn’t see.

  Up again. Couldn’t see.

  “Ze—”

  ON THE EDEN ROAD
<
br />   Slumped in his tent, cup of coffee gone cold, Caleb stared at the pages of his diary. He flipped back to the entry he made the day he left Atlanta. He skimmed other pages at random. Then, for a while, he just listened to the pouring rain.

  Thirty minutes had passed since he wrote in the upper right-hand corner of a new page, “Fri., Dec. 9th, 1864,” then put his pencil down.

  What time the division moved, how many miles marched—none of that was worth writing about. Not today. And he couldn’t muster the strength to write about the crossing at Ebenezer Creek.

  If only he hadn’t been so far ahead.

  When word reached him, Caleb had leapt onto the first available horse he saw, rode hard. But by the time he reached Ebenezer Creek all that lay upon its waters were cloaks, caps, shoes, kerchiefs, walking sticks, shawls, leather pouches, calabash canteens.

  He searched among the survivors, many in huddles before fires bundled up in Yankee blankets and coats.

  No Hagar.

  “Mariah!”

  No Hosea.

  “Mariah!”

  No Ben.

  “Mariah!”

  No Rachel, no Rose, no Miriam.

  “Mariah!” Caleb called out as he stumbled from cypress tree to cypress tree, from tupelo to tupelo. “Mariah!”

  “Mordecai!”

  “Chloe!”

  “Zoe!”

  “Zeke!”

  Caleb cried out until he went hoarse.

  “Mariah! Mariah! MARIAH!”

  Soon he knew that somewhere upon the waters blue glass beads floated too.

  “How’d it happen?” Caleb, in a daze, asked Captain Galloway long minutes later as they sat on the banks of Ebenezer Creek.

  Captain Galloway looked away, hung his head.

  Caleb shook with rage. “General Reb?”

  Captain Galloway nodded. “He swore a select few to secrecy, told them—” The captain swallowed.

  “Told them what?”

  “Told them other than pioneers to not let any colored cross.”

  Caleb looked up at the sky, peered at massive anvil-shaped clouds, figured there’d be rainfall soon. “Captain, can you do me a favor?”

  “Anything.”

  “Get me attached to a man like you in the right wing. I can’t ride with the Fourteenth Corps, with the left wing, no more.”