“Paul, the other one is definitely out there somewhere!” Philip called out.
“Then you come an’ trip over ‘im!”
Philip struggled to lift himself onto another fallen trunk while keeping his eye and carbine on Will. “As soon as he finds your pard, we’ll be off, and you can get some water and food.”
“You can leave both here,” Will whispered.
“No, you’re caught. But that was a foolhardy thing you did with that other fellow. Why?”
“Couldn’t leave him free,” Will croaked and worked his tongue over chapped lips. “Needed to take care of him.”
“Get up, Reb.” Paul’s muffled voice sounded out, causing both Philip and Will to react.
“Well, looks like we’ve found your pard; c’mon, let’s get going.” Philip stood. Will didn’t budge but sat motionless as if he was unaware that he’d been addressed.
“Lieutenant, c’mon,” Philip prodded.
Will opened his eyes and heaved a sigh. His limbs felt heavy, and his head was pounding. Food and a night’s rest sounded awfully inviting despite the circumstances by which they would come. He felt some relief from the chase. But what about Kearns? If Will was going to be taken to the cavalry, what then? Should he look for a chance to escape again or deal with Kearns? Will struggled to his feet and started toward the trail with Philip in tow. Paul was already guiding Stephen down the trail, where all four of them met and stared at one another for a brief moment. Stephen, looking as worn out as Will, looked at Philip, his expression showing recognition.
Stephen hesitated. The man with Hunter had come upon him at the pond at Shiloh and had reluctantly given the last rite for his friend William who lay dying. He had been a reverend before the war, or so he said. “You was at that pond at Shiloh; they was callin’ you Rev. You said you were Methodist,” Stephen recalled. A tinge of sorrow washed his expression as if he were recalling something painful.
“Now I’m one again. I guess I couldn’t run away from the collar,” Philip admitted. “We’ve a horse down that way.”
Stephen and Will moved slowly, reluctantly, and Philip kept a wary eye on both men, waiting for some turnabout to occur.
“What we gonna do with them?” Paul asked.
“Father’s first; get them some food an’ see from there.”
Paul shot Philip a glance. “What are you up to?”
“Seems we could all use some food, an’ I think these two are going to get enough of a reception from the authorities once we turn them over.”
“You know how Father is about guests. He’d rather a visit from the Harpers than from these two.”
Philip winced; the name still brought with it bad memories. But he remained undeterred.
Gathering up the horse, the four men walked on foot, following the trail that led to the Pearson home. They avoided the cavalry encampment, though Paul continued to look questioningly at Philip.
The afternoon was bearing down on everyone willing to be out in the heat. Will hesitated as they came up to the rear of the house. A large acreage, it was fenced off with poorly kept split-rail fencing. Wildflowers and tall grass grew haphazardly. A fallow garden, now in the midst of being reclaimed by nature, stood in the center of the land, and rusting tilling tools lay where they’d been carelessly dropped years before. A small shed, paint peeling and wood weathering, stood amidst a barrier of tall grass and weeds. A once comfortable back porch was now strewn with broken chairs and other bric-a-brac.
Watching Will closely, Philip noted the recognition in his expression.
“What?” Philip broke the silence. Their approach, though not stealthy, had nonetheless been solicitous.
Will, jarred a little, returned a questioning gaze.
“What?” Philip repeated. “You’ve been here before, haven’t you?”
Paul stopped and turned. “What’s that?”
Stephen, bewildered by the last twelve hours, just looked on and waited to see what would happen next.
“That’s right,” Will said slowly. “Came into town yesterday morning looking for food. I stole up to this house, this very path.”
“Jesus Chr …” Paul cried, checking himself.
“Doesn’t that beat all?” Philip exclaimed. “Didn’t find anything to carry off?”
Looking about the back porch was answer enough. The shed was empty but for seeds and inedible preserves.
“Seen you leave that morning, and I knew we were in some trouble to get away from here unseen,” Will replied.
“I suppose we’ll offer you some hospitality in the right vein this time—some food rightly given.” Philip motioned to Paul to lead the way.
“Better go in first, set Father in the right way before I lead in two recaptured Rebels.” Philip nudged Paul.
Their father was no tyrant, but he wasn’t the type to welcome uninvited guests.
Paul disappeared into the house, leaving Will and Stephen to mark time. Profound weariness was evident in both of their eyes. Philip stood behind both, carbine resting on his hip, trying to look like he might mean to use it.
After a few awkward moments, all three glancing at one another then away, Charles appeared at the back door. He didn’t look pleased.
Philip straightened to attention. “Sir, with your leave, I’d like to give these two a moment’s rest before I turn them over. They could use some hot food and coffee. I might also relate how I found them.”
Charles, looking dour, nodded and then vanished through the doorway. Philip motioned with the carbine for the two to enter. Ushering Stephen and Will into the kitchen, Philip assumed the duties of host. Paul, looking warily at the two men, sat listlessly on a corner stool, intent to let his brother fumble about unaided. For his own part, Charles retreated back to the sitting room and his study. He was a sociable man in the proper time, and this was not his proper time. Further, the Rebels did not present a very sociable appearance.
As Philip prepared a pot of coffee, occasionally asking Paul for something only to have to do it himself, the kitchen was soon alive with the aroma of brew. For food, there were only the leftovers of some bread and salt pork. A half-eaten mincemeat pie sat invitingly in the middle of the rough-hewn kitchen table. All Stephen and Will could manage was to lean heavily upon their elbows and look weary.
“How long were you two out there?” Philip began the questioning.
“Two weeks,” came the weak reply.
“When we saw you at the boarding house a few days ago, you didn’t look that worse for wear. And you,” Philip motioned to Stephen. “You was captured at Shiloh?”
Stephen nodded.
“I was with the Army of the Ohio marching to join Grant when you attacked his camp. We got there late the first day and didn’t do any fighting. By that time, I suppose the battle was already won.”
“Don’t know … was already a prisoner by then and at Savannah,” Will stated.
“Must have seen you; we boarded steamers at Savannah to get across the river to Pittsburg Landing,” Philip said.
“Maybe,” Will said.
“So, how is it that we meet like this?” Philip said as he checked the coffee.
Blank, disinterested stares were his answer.
“How did you come by a leave?” Stephen asked, stirring slightly from his lethargy.
“I’m home after being commissioned a chaplain. I’m on my way to join my new regiment.”
The coffee was now steaming, filling the room with an intoxicating aroma such that all four of them lifted their noses and drew in a deep, satisfying whiff. Without a word, Paul collected four tin mugs and set them in the center of the table while Philip retrieved the pot and poured each a healthy portion. Paul sat down at the opposite end and cradled his mug, occasionally blowing across its surface and staring at a spot on the rough surface of the table.
“So,” Philip said after each had enjoyed a few, ginger sips at their mugs, “what is this with the man you hogtied?”
Step
hen looked at Will.
Will did not show any sign of reply. Holding his mug under his nose, he breathed in and out contentedly, conveying the very clear message of “Leave me alone.”
Philip, undeterred, asked once again.
“Hopewell was a nuisance to us and to anyone he might come across; dangerous an’ he had to be halted. I halted him,” Will said.
“You were gonna kill him,” Stephen added.
“Thought about it.”
“Why didn’t you?” Philip asked, trying to catch Will’s eye.
“Believe me, he deserved it. But he was still a soldier, and I’m still an officer, an’ he’d not have had a court-martial to pass proper sentence. Though I regret not having killed him all the same.”
“So you left him alive for honor’s sake, not for what you think he deserved? I mean, if it had been wholly up to you, you would have killed him without compunction. He says you killed those two men.”
“Of course he does,” Will replied. “He knows he’ll be executed by you Yanks if he lets on that he’s the one been killing people. Them prolly ain’t the first he’s killed neither. He would have gotten death from a court-martial for murder.”
Stephen regarded Will closely.
“What would it have mattered?” Philip asked. “You were on the run, who would know?”
“Didn’t say I liked the choice, just that it was the right one in the end.”
“You agree,” Philip addressed Stephen.
Stephen shrugged. “I didn’t see Lewis kill Fredrick or Peter. I come too an’ Lewis was bein’ tied up an’ Fredrick was dead. I took the lieutenant’s word for it.”
“If you say so; but I suspect they will not be so sure either of you is telling the truth,” Philip said.
“What’s done is done,” Will said and downed the remainder of his cup. The coffee had done both men good; they were looking alert and energized.
Will sat back. “So, you gonna parade us around like circus animals?”
“Local authorities might, though you’re not the first Rebels people around here have seen,” Philip replied.
“It’s like a constant parade of Rebels coming up from Cincinnati or heading back from Columbus free as you please,” Paul added.
“But the first escaped prisoners headed back in chains—that might be worth a parade,” Philip stated, his grin fading quickly.
It was clear no one appreciated the humor.
“Have your fill of coffee and eat up the pie; you’ll not get either from the cavalry. We’ll take you both in a while. For the time being, you’re my guests.”
The delay in the inevitable did not do much for the men’s moods, though the coffee and mincemeat pie did wonders for their energy. Revitalized, both men took in their surroundings. The kitchen was spare and the seating roughly handled. Likewise, the walls were bare and had the appearance of being decorated by an unconcerned man. What little decoration was present in the room was dusty or sitting forlornly upon an otherwise empty shelf. The house looked as if it were dying from the inside out; it matched the stern facade of its occupants.
“So, tell me about your homes?” Philip said, breaking the silence.
Both men sat silent, brooding over their now empty cups. Stephen, the youngest in the room, looked at Will as if for permission to speak. His military discipline had not worn off despite the months in captivity. Will nodded.
“I live in Carthage, Mississippi. I was eighteen last year when I volunteered.” Stephen’s eyes widened as if something had struck him. A look of worry replaced the surprise.
“Yes?” Philip asked.
Stephen shook himself from his reverie. “Pardon me, sir, but I just realized my younger brother was only two years my junior when I volunteered. It’s been over a year since I did, an’ it struck me that he might be itchin’ ta volunteer himself soon, if our government don’t press men into the service first.”
“That seems drastic. Can’t imagine us doin’ that,” Philip replied.
“They’s talk of a draft, or they was if the war weren’t settled after a year. I was jus’ thinkin’ ‘bout home an’ having good food an’ coffee an’ what they might be doing now. We have a big house an’ boarders all the time, so they’s always a lively time. My brother’s named Paul too.”
Paul nodded.
“We’d be havin’ supper ‘bout now. Food would cover the table, and if we had a boarder, he an’ father would be debating’ somethin’. My younger brother Paul would be ‘bout the age to participate; Father had this idea that at seventeen one was old enough ta take part in adult conversation at the table.” Stephen, a wistful expression washing his face, was far away. “Mother always made more food than we could all eat. The remainder always went to the families of free blacks who lived near the church.”
“Mississippi still allow blacks to gain their freedom? Lots of the Southern states enacted anti-freedom and liberty laws for free blacks … or so I read before the war,” Philip replied.
“Mississippi did that; made it harder for slaves to gain freedom and restricting what they could do if they did, where they could live. It were almost better when they weren’t free for some. They couldn’t operate they own business, an’ no one would hire a free black for anything, so those who were born free or were freed by payment were in a sorry lot. Father wouldn’t hire any for his livery business lest his customers take they business elsewhere, but he sometimes hired them on the sly for little jobs here an’ there. Mother always took the extra food to a couple of families near the stables.”
“That was awfully charitable of your mother,” Philip said.
Will listened silently, knowing the inevitable would be asked of him. It was expected that a minister would approve of feeding the niggers, Will thought, but his vocation prior to the war would not be a popular one in this house.
“It were a shame, really; we’d knowed one family since I was a little who was free, an’ the man had his own smithy which he’d run for years before I was born. He were a hard worker, an’ Father would send all his shoeing work to him; then things started changing, an’ it were outlawed for him to have his own business. He got by, but when that happened they was an uproar in our church. Father is a deacon, but since they had they own colored church, there were those who didn’t want to be seen as favorin’ the blacks and so they didn’t reserve any charity for them. Others, like Father, wanted to have charity for any, but no one wanted to be seen taking favors an’ have they own livelihood threatened, so no charity was given.” Stephen spoke matter-of-factly.
Will fidgeted with his cup, his own thoughts drawn to his father’s drunken tirades about free and slave blacksmiths who took his own wages away, food out of his mouth, money out of his pocket. Alabama had adopted similar laws, as had every Southern state, making it so onerous for free blacks to have their own businesses that it was either leave the state or reenter a type of servitude that was worse than being a slave—indebted to someone who had no care for the black’s health or state of being. Freedom was made to be a punishment.
“There are several families in Germantown who are freed blacks, and they seem to do all right,” Philip added.
Will perked up at this. “The one that got away,” he said and huffed.
“Pardon?” Philip asked.
“I was hereabouts afore the war, hunting a runaway,” Will said and tried to look haughty. All of this talk of niggers and freedom was grating on his nerves. He might as well get his own word in.
“I was several days behind one that had done pretty good to elude me. Most times they weren’t schooled enough to not go visitin’ some slave quarters an’ try to hide, and finding them was easy if you knew where to look an’ not take a lie as an answer from no nigger.”
“There will be none of that in this house!” Charles’s voice called from the other room. “Son, it’s time you either take those two to the authorities or take them out of the house.”
Philip studied Will for a moment bef
ore speaking. He’d met numerous Confederates in his time in the army; wounded, recuperating at home and under oath, prisoners, old men and boys too young to serve, and they all had this same vituperative attitude when it came to slaves and “damn Yankees” invading their peace. Most had been simple farmers. He’d never run into a slave hunter before.
“So you were around here before the war?” Philip asked.
“Hereabouts. I followed this slave through Cincinnati and others through these woods but never caught this last one’s trail again after crossing the Ohio. He disappeared, poof. Some benighted soul took it upon theyselves to spirit away someone else’s property, an’ I was gettin’ no help from the local law by then, so I give up an’ returned home. One of the few times I returned empty-handed.”
“Are you talking about the Fugitive Slave Law?” Philip asked. “A law is only good if it is enforced.”
“Well, no one was enforcing it by 1860, least not in Ohio,” Will said, disgusted. “Pardon the attitude, but I wasn’t accustomed to being bested, an’ no one was helping if they knew of anything. A nig … a black can be free if he can get it, an’ that don’t mean no mind to me; it was the ones who hadn’t gotten they freedom that I paid attention to when they wandered off.”
“I suppose you can see something of the slave’s plight now, no?” Philip asked smugly.
“You mean my escaping from a stockade is somehow related to a nig … black escaping to the north?” Will took a moment to reflect. “It was being captured what put us there in the first place, not my bein’ bought an’ paid for by anyone. They’s no relation at all. I surrendered of my own free will, an’ I escaped of my own free will.”
“Well, you was compelled to surrender, or you wouldn’t have, right?” Philip countered. Stephen and Paul just sat listening to the verbal joust.
“It wasn’t worth bein’ shot in the back,” Will replied sourly.
“How was it you found yourself tracking runaways?” Philip changed the subject.
Will shrugged. “It was what I was good at. Father was a blacksmith, but slavers hired they slave blacksmiths out to other plantations an’ fer cheap. Father din’t make much money, an’ what he done made he spent on hisself. When I come of age he tried to apprentice me out, but I didn’t take to it, an’ it weren’t much way to make a living an’ stay with others who relied on the slavers’ scraps fer they keep. I did take to finding where the runaways got off to whenever they managed to slip away, or finding stuff they stole. That proved more fun an’ less like work to me, so Paw started hiring me out to lead posse on high-value slaves. I was apprenticed to someone who was arguably the best in Alabama at finding an’ tracking runaways. It was what suited me. Money was good an’ it got me into Montgomery respectability, of sorts.”
The Shiloh Series: Books 1-3 Page 61