Spake As a Dragon

by Larry Hunt

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  First Alabama Cavalry

  Luke is driving the lead wagon; Nate is bringing up the rear. The two extra horses were tied to the back of Nate’s tailgate. Sam was riding in the back, just like he said with a big old Spencer cradled in his arm. Kentucky Lead and four of his offspring rides in the wagon with him. As they go out the gate, they turn right to head down the mountain Luke pulls on his horse’s reins and yells, “Whoa!” Catherine is riding in the seat next to him. He wants to give her one last look at her home before leaving. Old Kentuck stands in the rear of Nate’s wagon, head sticking out looking forlornly at the home he has known all his life.

  “Let’s go,” Catherine said turning back to face the road ahead, “home is in Alabama now.”

  In one of the outlaw’s pocket, Luke found a set of discharge papers showing Bert Black had been a Private in the Union Army and had just recently been discharged. Before leaving the farm, Luke found his old blue Union shirt and blue pants, and tucked Bert’s papers into one of his pockets. Luke knew East Tennessee, the direction in which they would be traveling, was heavily pro-Union. Posing as Bert, a discharged Union soldier, might get them through to Knoxville and then later down to Alabama. Luke’s made up a story that his home was in West Alabama. An area of mountainous land, where little, if any cotton farming is done in those hills. Moonshine and white lightening yes, but slaves no, not in this back wood’s country; therefore, they did not believe in fighting for, what they called, the rich man’s war.

  Luke yells back to Nate, “Nate, tell Sam to stay sharp. Bert and his outlaws will be coming it’s just a matter of time. I just hope we can stay ahead of them.

  A couple of weeks pass uneventful. As they near the outskirts of Knoxville, Luke speaks to Catherine, “Keep a good look-out, somewhere along this road we are apt to run in to a detachment of Union soldiers. The Yankees took Knoxville about a year ago; we just have to pray we can fool them in to thinking I am the Yankee Private Bert Black.”

  The two wagons travel down a dirt road another couple of miles. Up ahead they see a crossroads. Fortunately, no Yankee sentries are posted. Luke turns to Catherine, “What luck, Bart and those Texas fellers are following somewhere behind, but with these roads they will not know which way we are headed. We are going south, so we have two out of three chances they will pick the wrong road.

  About a mile farther south on the road that skirted around the western side of Knoxville, their luck runs out. Standing in the middle of the road are two Yankees with Springfield .58 caliber muskets held at port arms, ordering the wagons to halt.

  The first soldier, who doesn’t appear to be much older than Sam approaches Luke and demands, “You there soldier, what’s your business?”

  “Uh, I was with the 1st Alabama Cavalry, just got discharged and headin’ home.”

  “What you mean 1st Alabama! You is Seceshs!” The first guard hollers to the other, “They are Confederates!”

  “Where you been boy? The 1st has been in action with the Union forces since you wuz jest a pup; we’ve fought in most all the major battles of the North. How many battles have you been in you young whippersnapper?”

  Embarrassed, the kid had not seen any fighting, so he answers the question with another question, “Who’s the 1st attached to?”

  “We wuz with the 16th Corp of the Union’s Army of Ohio,” Luke said just making up some unit. He knew the discharge papers had blood covering Bert Black’s unit designation. “We wuz commanded by Major General John Logan.” Luke had heard that name before but did not have an iota of information where or who the general commanded. He was just taking a chance the young soldier did not know either.

  “Let me see yer papers,” said the Union soldier.

  As he was reading the discharge the other soldier at the back of Nate’s wagon yells, “Hey, Tom thars another one in this here wagon with this darky.”

  Both soldiers stand at the rear tailgate and look at Sam. Sam stares back. “What’s this uns story?” Soldier number one said to Luke.

  “Listen fellers, I know y’all ain’t been in the Army very long, so what I’m fixin’ to say you might not understand. That’en is my brother Sam, he’s seen more fightin’ that you two will see together. He got wounded at the Battle of Broken Timbers (again Luke was making up a fictitious name), they wuz gonna cut off his leg. I wuz done discharged, so I figured being only sixteen years old he would need that leg some day, and I also thought they wouldn’t miss him anyway. I slipped him outta the hospital tent, and I’m carrying him to my cousin’s house,” turning to Catherine, “uh, this here is Catherine, my cousin...”

  “Ma’am,” said the Union soldiers touching their hats.

  “We’ve been doctoring him, and his leg is getting better, but we figured we’d git him back to West Alabama. That part of Alabama ain’t nothin’ but hills and hollows, and we never did take to owning slaves. Besides the War’s ‘bout over, who’s gonna miss one more sixteen-year old kid. Nate, that darky in the other wagon works fer my Pap running white lightin’, Pap sent him and Catherine to fetch us back home.”

  “Uh, Mister...”

  “Sorry, my name is Black, Private Bert Black.”

  “You know we, that’s me...uh, Private Tom Samuels, and this here is Private Ewell Smith, we both are jest sixteen ourselves. We wouldn’t be here neither if they hadn’t made us jine up.”

  “I’m sorry fellers, but I believe this War can’t last much longer.”

  “I hope yer right about this War not lasting much longer. Good luck to you all.”

  “Good luck to you too Tom and Ewell. Oh, Tom one favor if you can. There might be a band of Conscription soldiers on our trail, dressed up in civilian clothes riding western style horses with western saddles. The officer in charge goes by the name Bart Black. Same last name as me, but no relation, thank goodness. I’d appreciate it very much if you wouldn’t mention we’d come through here. They’re after my brother Sam.”

  “I hate them Conscription cusses too, don’t you worry we’ll send’em packing in the wrong direction. Get your kin out of here and get him home, we ain’t seen nothing!”

  “Thanks, Private Samuels, Private Smith. Git up there hosses,” Luke said slapping the horses with the leather reins.

  Two weeks later they are in sight of Lookout Mountain, which is just south of Chattanooga, Tennessee.

  Luke pulls the wagons into an open grassy spot next to a small creek to spend the night. The place is well hidden from anyone traveling the road. “Now we’ve got to be real careful. Even though the South was victorious at the Battle of Chickamauga that was back in ’63; since then the Yankees have taken Chattanooga, so we will have to go around the town to get to Alabama,” he explains as they eat their supper.

  Luke continue, “To by-pass Chattanooga we will need to skirt the eastern side of the Tennessee River, slip south down the valley between the ridge on the east and Lookout Mountain on the West. Once we pass the battlefield of Chickamauga, we will cut west through Lookout Mountain’s Day’s Gap cross the mountain and then go down the valley to Fort Payne. Spend a few days there letting our animals rest; then one last push up on to Sand Mountain and within a day or two we should arrive at Albertville, and home.”

  The travelers sit around the campfire, the wind is blowing slightly from the north, and there is a slight hint of snow in the air. “It will feel good to get home,” remarks Luke. “I haven’t seen my family in such a long time, and I am nothing but skin, bones and beard, they probably won’t even recognize me.”

  “Yessir, I’m shore gonna feast my eyes on Ma and Pa, and baby brother Jefferson. I wuz so ugly when I left bein’ so ugly now won’t make them no never mind. They’d know me anywheres.” Said Nate.

  “And you Catherine, and Sam I can’t wait to introduce you both to my family. They will make you both feel right at home,” said Luke.

  “Luke, what do you think you’re mother will say when she finds out we got married at that preacher’
s house after leaving the farm?”

  “I’ll tell you what she’ll say: she’ll say, ‘Why Luke Scarburg, you’ve done gone and married the prettiest girl in this whole country’!”

  “Oh, go on Luke, you’re just putting me on,” Catherine said laughing.

  From their ridge northeast of Chattanooga, they can see the whole city spread out in the valley below. Campfires of the hundreds of Union soldiers camped on the east side of the large ‘S’ curve in the Tennessee River are clearly visible. Luke made mention that the lights reminded him of the candles on a Christmas tree. “Did y’all know tonight is Christmas Eve?” The merriment of the evening grew somber at the utterance of Christmas. Each can remember back to their last Christmas. Luke and Nate drinking ‘snakebite medicine’ in the cave with the mailman Kay Mann and Old Bill; Catherine and Sam at home with their father and mother.

  “Catherine lets not make Christmas a sad occasion, we are all just beginning a new life, come on tell Nate and me what you and Sam did for Christmas last year.”

  For a moment, Catherine did not want to participate in Luke’s trip down memory lane, and then consented, “Of course Mother and Father were there Christmas Eve. Mother baked my favorite tea-cake cookies and Sam made snow cream −”

  “Whoa, Sam did what?” Asked Luke interrupting. “What in the world is snow cream?”

  “Now Luke Scarburg don’t tell me you have never eaten snow cream. It is just a mixture of snow, milk, pods of the vanilla plant and sugar, but we had no sugar and used honey instead”.

  “It was mighty fine,” chimed Sam.

  “I suppose it doesn’t snow enough in Alabama for us to have figured that one out, but you’re right, it does sound good.”

  “All right Luke, the next snowfall I will personally see to it that you have your own bowl of snow cream if I can find some vanilla.”

  “Hold on,” chimed in Nate, “What about me?”

  “A bowl of snow cream for you too Nate,” laughed Catherine.

  The therapy of talking about Christmas seems to help Catherine and especially Sam. Just getting it out of their system appears to release some of the pent-up hurt they are carrying with them. “That was good, let’s all try to get some sleep and we’ll be off at first light in the morning,” Sam said, throwing his bedroll down near the fire.

  It is after midnight, probably closer to three a.m., ‘Snap’ the slight sound of a breaking of a small twig is heard. From the back of the wagon, Kentuck hears the stick snapping too and throats a faint growl. His eyes open, his ears perk up, but he does not move. Sam hears his dog too. Someone or something is moving outside the wagon!

  Luke and Nate are bedded down next to the fire, which now is only glowing embers. Catherine is asleep in the other wagon. The fire does not cast enough light to illuminate the crouched figure slipping into their midst. There is, however, enough moonlight to see the dark shape of a man holding a pistol in his hand.

  The intruder quietly tiptoes over to Luke’s bedroll. Luke is rolled in his old saddle blanket for cover; his black slouch hat covers his head and face. The assailant bends over and sticks his six-shooter between Luke’s hat and blanket. What should have been his neck was empty space. The gun barrel touched nothing! Luke’s bedroll was empty. Luke wasn’t there!

  Luke steps from the bushes grab the infiltrator by the hair of his head and thrusts his ten-inch, razor sharp, Bowie knife hard against the man’s jugular vein. At the same time, Nate rolls from his blanket brandishing the old reliable Colt forty-four. Sam pokes his head from the rear of the wagon slamming a shell into the Spencer and swiftly raises it to his shoulder ready to fire.

  The sneak thief has four accomplices, who quickly drop their sidearms to the ground, throw their arms into the air and yell, “Don’t shoot, we surrender!”

  Luke kicks a couple of logs onto the fire and pushes his attacker close to get a good look at him. “Well, well,” said Luke, “Look what we have here ambusher Bart Black and his merry men! Sam, you and Nate keep these other bushwhackers covered, if they more’n twitch an eye shoot’em dead. Catherine, get in the wagon with Sam.”

  Luke lowers the knife from Bart’s neck, turns him so they can speak face-to-face, “Drop your .44 to the ground! You sure have been following us for a long time; what’s your game?”

  “I knowed from the start you warn’t no hick as you pretended. I saw right off you knowed more about my twin brother than you let on. You kilt him, didn’t you?”

  “Yeah, I’m afraid you’re right about that Mr. Black. Just as I’m afraid the same is going to happen to you now!”

  Just as Luke was finishing, Bart grabs Luke’s knife hand, and a fight to the death begins. Bart’s men start to retrieve their shooting irons, but Nate steps between them and the fight, cocking his hammer on his .44, they freeze in their tracks. “Let’em be,” said Nate.

  Bart and Luke wrestle and claw at one another. They exchange savage blows. At one point, it appears Bart has the upper hand and at other times it is Luke who is winning. Bart picks up a handful of dirt, throws it into Luke’s eyes then knocks him through the campfire to the ground. Luke had no sooner fallen than Bart pounces on him with the glistening, steel Bowie knife. A loud sigh is heard, both men fall limp; a river of crimson blood is seen flowing from beneath the two onto the grass and dirt. Has Bart’s knife found its mark in Luke’s heart?

  Nate, Sam, and Catherine are frozen with fright they hold their breath afraid to breathe.

  Finally, struggling, Luke pushes Bart from his body. Luke’s chest is wet with blood! Hot, red blood is running from his chest and dripping onto the ground. Catherine and Sam are horrified. However, at second look they see the knife blade is buried deep within the chest of the outlaw Bart. It is he who has the knife sticking from his body, the blood is his, his eyes are open, his face displays a surprised look, he is dead. It appears Bart did not believe he would be the loser of this knife fight. He was wrong – dead wrong.

  Luke turns to the remaining four men – “Where’s the rest of your ornery bunch? There were ten of you when you came to our farm.”

  The closest outlaw answers, “Two got theirselves kilt when we wuz up on the mountain and the others got kilt at a Union roadblock this side of Knoxville. We run in to a couple of scrappy young Union guards that jest wouldn’t let us pass.”

  Luke questioned, “What happened to the guards?”

  “We wounded one in the shoulder afore a big bunch of them blue-bellies showed up, the other’n didn’t git a scratch. We had a purty good fight, but four of our boys got kilt.”

  “Your leader Bart Black is lying here on the ground dead with that knife sticking out of his chest, what are your intentions now?”

  “Listen mister, Bart kept promisin’ we’d git rich if we followed him. We had done realized he wuz lying; he jest wanted revenge on you for killin’ his brother. If you let us go, we promise we’ll be headin’ back to Texas, and you won’t never see us agin. I’m Bill Johnson, and you got my word on it.”

  Luke looked long and hard at the four; he could see one of them was just a kid. Should he just kill them then and there and get it over with, or let them go?

  “All right, I’ve made up my mind. Nate get the shovels out of the wagon.”

  “Please Mister, please don’t kill us and make us dig our own graves too!”

  “Oh, shut up! I’m not killing you; although, I’m thinking I should, and will probably regret it, but you’re gonna bury your leader Bart, and then I’m letting you all be on your way back to Texas when you get finished. Nate empty their six-shooters and remove all the cartridges from their pistol belts and give their guns back to ’em. They will probably need ’em, it’s a long ride to the Lone Star State.”

  As the men began digging the grave, Luke reaches down and unbuckles the silver spurs from Bart’s boots, “You don’t think Bart would mind if he gave me his spurs, do you? No, I didn’t think so. Oh, by the way, I think he would want me to have his fancy boots
too.” Luke said slipping the boots from dead Bart’s feet.