by Larry Hunt
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
The Swamp Fox
“Mama,” said Mattie Ann, as she climbs up on the wagon seat with Malinda, “how far is it to Scarlett?”
“Hon, I really don’t know, when we came to Alabama your father said it would take us about two weeks to get here, but it took us nearly a month. Back then we had your father, Uncle Jed and Jefferson, now it’s just us, so I say it will take us a couple of months, if all goes well.”
“What about my sister Cecelia June, why don’t you ever talk about her? Will she be at Scarlettsville when we get there?”
“Baby girl, the reason I do not talk about Cecelia, is simply the fact that it is very difficult for me to speak of her. You’re old enough now, so I’ll tell you. She married Lester Smith in July of 1849; we left for Alabama in ’52.”
“Wasn’t she the oldest Mama? What happened to her?”
“Yes, she was hon, she was my firstborn. Baby Paul was the second. A couple of years after we left Scarlettsville she and Lester both died,” Malinda said with tears streaming down her face.
“In the 1830’s the Federal government moved all the Indians from their homes in South Carolina to Oklahoma. That move is now known as the ‘Trail of Tears’ March, but many of the Indians hid in the mountains and did not go. It is said, but never proven, that the government sent Indian traders, years later, in among the remaining tribes with smallpox-infected blankets. The government wanted to remove all remaining Indians left in the East by trading the infected blankets to the Indians. Your older sister Cecelia June and Lester ran a small store in Scarlettsville. The government sent the smallpox blankets to their store sealed in wooden crates before moving them out to the Indians. Cecelia and Lester opened the boxes for easier distribution to the Indian,, both came down with the ‘pox and died soon after.”
“Mama, did the ‘pox kill little Paul too?”
“No darling, he just got sick and did not recover, he was just a few months old. I always thought he caught pneumonia.”
For the first week or so the small wagon train moves east from Albertville, down Sand Mountain, into the valley, to a small military outpost at Fort Payne, Alabama. This route skirts the mighty Tennessee River, which is much too broad and swift for them to attempt a crossing, and the only close ferry would take them in the wrong direction. The small fort is in a narrow valley on Big Wills Creek immediately west of Lookout Mountain with Sand Mountain somewhat more removed to the southwest. Fort Payne was a good safe place to rest for a few days.
Once their animals were rested, the family gets their two-wagon wagon train back on the trail to South Carolina. Their next obstacle is the wilderness surrounding the area of the Tallulah River of northeast Georgia. The area is dense, and the view to their front is severely limited by the growth of hardwood trees and a considerable amount of undergrowth.
They have been out of the fort for about a week; it is late afternoon Malinda looks for a suitable spot to make camp for the night. She stops the two wagons in an open grassy area next to a cool, running creek, which apparently flows from a spring somewhere up the mountainside.
“Stephen you and Thomas Henry get the fishing poles and see if you might catch a couple of trout for supper. William you and Isaac get the campfire started while Sary and I get the stew going.” Speaking to Mattie Ann and Lizzie, “You two just make yourselves useful.”
Stephen and Thomas are gleefully whooping as they land a couple of large rainbow trout. Thomas proudly rushes back into camp with a twelve-inch whopper. Stephen has that downcast look of dejection, but his ten-inch fish is a trophy too. Malinda gives both pats on the head and Sary oohs and awes at their catch. “Boys get over on that log and clean those two beauties; they are going to make some tasty eating for supper.”
Stephen and Thomas are laughing and slapping each other on the back as they begin cleaning their two fish. “What was that?” Stephen quietly asks, looking towards the woods.
“Don’t know, didn’t hear nothin’.”
“There, hear that? That was the whinny of a horse coming through the woods. Mama,” Stephen said to his mother in a loud whisper, “someone’s coming!”
“Sary, get the gun out of the wagon.”
Malinda has the 12-gauge in her hands as a couple of men on horseback come quickly out of the woods into the light of the fire. They appear to be dressed in uniform, but neither blue nor gray. What they wear is a Forest Green color. Their faces are tanned from months of exposure to the sun; in fact, their skin has more the appearance of animal leather than human skin. Their eyes are sunken deep in to their eye sockets and appear as though they have seen many unhappy events in the past. Both have shaggy beards that have grown to the top of their green collars. The closest man has a chew of tobacco; so large Malinda wonders how he ever got it into his mouth. Both have long, cavalry sabers hanging from their belts and bedrolls tied to the back of their saddles. The saddles, from where Malinda stands, appear to be military – but to which side do they belong, Yankee or Confederate?
The one closest spits tobacco juice on the ground beside his horse, “Howdy Ma’am, we smelt yer fire from a ways off and thought we might need to reconnoiter the situation. What’s two wimmen like yerselfs doing out here in this wilderness? I sees you have three or four boys with you, where’s yer men folk?”
“The three men with us are out in the woods gathering up firewood!” Malinda says, thinking that might forestall any villainous intentions the two vagabonds might have.
“Seems to me,” said the man, “you’ve got plenty wood piled up there already.” Dismounting from his horse, “What’s we havin’ fer supper? I sees a big pot of somethin’ boilin’ there over that far, and them two over by the logs got a couple of dandy fryin’ fish. Thanks fer invitin’ us fer supper.”
Malinda raises the shotgun, “You hit that saddle on your horse, and the two of you get back to wherever you came from, I mean it!”
“Now,” said man number one, “you don’t have to git so uppity. We’s just tryin’ to be friendly, and thought you might be neighborly and let us have a bit of yer hot food. We ain’t et no hot vittles in quite a spell, and yous for shore the first wimmen we’ve seen up close in a mighty long spell too. White or black, right Herman?”
Looking at the two women from his horse Herman grins showing a mouth full of teeth that had never seen a dentist and was missing a tooth or two, “Yore right Jimbo, and that honey-haired one is shore purty.”
Jimbo had not made any attempt to get back upon his horse. He unbuttoned his jacket to expose a large Colt pistol buckled to his hip in a manner that made it easy to get to, and placed his right hand on the handle. “What you say about them vittles little lady?” Glancing toward their wagons, he said, “What about them wagons? What ya got in them? Whatcha say me and you git in one of them and have a little fun after we done et?”
Malinda has made up her mind; although she isn’t pleased about the situation, if he wants fun then she’s going to let him have some fun – fun from the business end of her 12 gauge. She is going to kill these two before they get the upper hand on her. She pulls the two rabbit-eared hammers back on the shotgun. She takes up the tension on the trigger with her finger. Malinda is within a fraction of a second from killing these two, when suddenly another green clad rider emerges from the woods, “What’s going on here Sergeant?” announces the latest newcomer.
Malinda releases her finger’s tension on the shotgun’s trigger. Looks toward the tree line, but cannot plainly see the man speaking. The sun is directly at his back, and all she can see is the outline of a man with the suns rays seemingly radiating from his body giving him an ethereal appearance.
“Well Sir,” said the Sergeant, “these here kind ladies was jest about to ask us to sup with them, ain’t that right ma’am?”
Assessing the situation, it was three armed riders against her one shotgun with only two barrels. She figures the odds are on the side of the three with the pistols so she replies, “Ye
s, that is right, we were just going to invite these two gentlemen to eat supper with us. Would you care to join us?”
“Sergeant! You and the corporal get back to our camp and get your meal there like the rest of the men, now git!”
Jimbo saluting, “Yessir, Captain, we’s goin’, come on Herman,” he says as he hurriedly mounts his horse.
Stepping from his mount, the Captain removes his hat. Malinda could plainly see him now but couldn’t help notice his hat was adorned with a large black ostrich feather. “I’m sorry ladies if my men were a nuisance to you. Those were two of my scouts Sergeant James Guthrey and Corporal Herman Gullion. Sometimes, living in the woods months on end as we do, they overstep their bounds and forget their manners. Let me introduce myself, and apologize for their behavior, I will deal with them later. Ladies I am Captain Francis Marion, some call me the Swamp Fox.”
Malinda is startled, “Francis Marion, I seem to remember there was a Swamp Fox named Francis Marion in the Revolutionary War?”
“Your memory is totally accurate Madam that was my forefather General Francis Marion. I am Captain Francis Gabriel Marion, his great-great-grandson. I lead as my forefather did before me, an outfit of guerilla rangers who operate behind the enemy lines. We wear the green uniforms to blend in with the green of the forest. All my men are volunteers and are as skilled woodsmen as they are excellent soldiers. That is, excepting their manners.”
Malinda introduces herself and her family. She explains that they are on their way to South Carolina, and her husband and two sons are fighting for the Confederacy. Where exactly, she does not know. She explains about losing the farm for back taxes and the need to move to a place where she has relatives.
“Obviously by leaving your home in Alabama to the tax collector you are limited in funds,” taking a leather pouch from his saddlebag he tosses it to Malinda. “Take this, you might need provisions along the way and a toll will have to be paid to the ferryman to cross the river between Georgia and South Carolina.”
“No! Sir,” responds Malinda, “I’m afraid we cannot take your money, you and your men will have need of it!”
“Do not worry Mrs. Scarburg, it once belonged to the Union Army, we can all ways persuade the Yankees to give us more,” he said grinning. “It has been a pleasure meeting you all, and I wish you a safe journey to your destination in Carolina. My men will ensure your safe passage until you reach the thundering water of Anna Ruby Falls. This unique double waterfall cascades off of Tray Mountain in a spectacular fashion, you will be safe until you reach that area. From there to the Carolina border be on the lookout not only for Yankees, but deserters of both armies and of course run-away slaves. I suggest you camp at the base of the waterfall for a couple of weeks until the Yankee’s command garrisoned on the Georgia and South Carolina border move out and return back up north. Post guards at night and in the daytime always remain on alert. Until we meet again, I bid you adieu.” Tipping his hat, he mounts his horse, turns and disappears into the forest as quickly as he had arrived.
“Quick Mizz Malinda open that poke. How much money did he’s gave us?”
“Lordy, Sary! What am I to do with you?” Malinda said smiling. She may be grinning and making jest with Sary, but she is just as interested in the money as Sary. Exploring the contents of the pouch she sees it is only a couple of small gold pieces and a few silver coins that total nearly twelve dollars; however, twelve dollars is exactly twelve dollars more money than they had before the stranger arrived!
As they were about to board the wagons and leave, Malinda recalled the words of Sary’s prayer “… and may you sends one of your Heavenly angels to protect us and give us a helping hand, if the need comes.”
‘Well, I’ll be,’ thought Malinda, ‘Francis Gabriel Marion!’ Speaking softly to Sary, she whispers, “Gabriel, the Archangel!”