“Do you believe that, Mr. Wells?” Peter asked, getting to his feet.
“Pa doesn’t want to take chance with the mules. We’ve just received word that the Yankees are at Stubb’s farm just a few miles up the road.” He smiled. “It seems Wayne-Wayne was telling the truth for once. I need to take a little more stock in the ‘Negro network.’”
Joe dug into the breakfast. It was good, too. Peter didn’t appear to want any, so Joe stuffed the rest in his bag.
The boys helped Jason gather the mules and horses.
“Jason, if you will show us the way to Baldwyn, we will head out,” Joe said.
“No, we won’t!” Peter said. “We are going to wait until daylight.”
What was the matter with him Joe wondered
Jason suggested they go to the woodlot with him until daylight. He would give them directions to Baldwyn and point the road out after the threat of Yankees was over.
***
They had just settled the animals in the woods when they heard horsemen on the road. They heard a few shots, then horses galloping south.
“What does it mean, you reckon?” Joe asked.
“I’m not sure,” Jason said. “Sounds like they are headed toward Brice’s Crossroads. You boys stay here. I’m going to cut through the woods to my cousin’s to see if there is news.” He mounted one of the horses and dodged his way through the dense woods and out of sight.
***
The boys were still in the woods at late morning. They could hear the armies moving on the road—cavalry they believed. Joe could tell Peter was scared. He held his Bible tight and prayed a lot. Joe wanted to leave, was restless as a mink in a cage, but Peter would not leave the spot until he believed it was safe. Hours had passed and Jason had not returned.
The musketry started, and the popping sounded like a crackling fire. The battle was growing like a storm.
“Reckon something done happened to Jason?” Joe asked.
“He’ll be back soon,” Peter said.
“I’m sick and tired of waiting in these woods like a squirrel. Let’s just head east and take our chances.”
Suddenly a loud boom exploded to the south. It shook the ground.
“Cannon!” Joe said. He jumped to his feet. “Did you hear it?”
Peter looked at Joe as if he had lost his mind. “I heard it. Lord, my God, not again.”
Joe didn’t know what was happening, and it was eating at him like a hunger. He wanted to see, wanted to know. He had waited in the blasted woods all day. If he couldn’t leave, at least he wanted to know what was going on, but Peter wouldn’t allow it.
***
In the afternoon, Jason appeared in the woods leading his horse.
Joe ran to him. “What did you find out? What’s going on?”
Jason tied the horse to a sapling, took his hat off and wiped his brow. “Yankees were at my cousin’s house. They took his horse and shot at him as he ran away. They seem to be everywhere. We hid out behind his place, too scared to move. I believe Forrest has made a stand near Brice’s. That’s the house at the crossroads where I met y’all.”
They heard something coming and they all wheeled around. It was Black Bill. “Marster Jason, them Yankees is at the farm!” Bill was dripping with sweat, and his eyes were wild.
“Is the family all right?”
“I believe they is. Them Yankees is tearing up everything and eating everything on the place. They killing the chickens and the pigs. And they’s a lot of colored Yankees, too. They tried to get me to go along with them, but I ain’t joining no Yankee niggers, but that worthless Yellar Bill done gone and throwed in with ‘em.”
“Tell me it ain’t so.”
“He say it ain’t nothing on the folks, but he want his freedom.”
“That foolish simpleton—he’s gonna get killed.”
“I knowed it weren’t no sorta good,” Bill said.
“What about father?”
“He done skint out after you did, but I don’t know where he go. The womans is still at the house.”
Joe saw his opportunity. He sneaked away while Jason and Peter were getting the news from Bill. When he was out of their sight, he ran. Peter would be mad, but he would get over it. Joe had to see what was going on.
The woods were thick, and briars tore at him as he jumped rabbits and quails. After a good run, he saw a clearing and crept to the edge. It was the road, and Yankees were everywhere. He saw wagons stretched up and down the road and in the fields.
He saw many Negro soldiers. They were fanning out across the fields and woods. Joe guessed they were getting ready to defend that position. Smoke hung over the fields like a cloud, and the soldiers appeared and disappeared in it like demons.
An explosion shook everything and orange hell appeared past the smoke. The small trees behind him disappeared in splinters. Debris rained down on him. He dove to the ground and flattened out like an adder snake. Cannons thundered again, and he saw a wad of soldiers blow apart. Pieces of bodies rained down. The Yankees returned fire, their muskets making a loud ripping sound. Men were screaming and cussing and yelling, but nothing could be understood.
He wanted to run back to Peter. This was the mistake of all mistakes coming here. He was too scared to move. He had never been scared like this—never. His whole body trembled like a wet dog.
He now saw the Confederates coming out of the smoke like devils. This was surely hell. They were slowly advancing, and he saw the cannons at the front. Instantly all he saw was fire and smoke as the cannoneers fired.
What the hell was he doing here? Had he gone insane? He scurried behind a tree and buried into the dirt like a groundhog.
Cannons roared again. The ground in front of him ripped away as if an invisible plow had been flung through it. Little circles of smoke rose from the ground.
Shortly two Yankees ran across the field, coming toward him and the cover of the trees. The cannons came alive again, and they disappeared. Guts strung down the field, and blood flew like red paint.
Smoke rolled across the field and into the woods. It burned Joe’s throat, but he tried not to cough—could not let anyone know where he was. Then he thought: how are they going to hear me above all of this?
A soldier ran out of the smoke and slid behind a tree not ten feet from him. He was a Negro Yankee. Joe stared at him and he stared back at Joe. The soldier was shaking all over. His teeth were chattering so loud, Joe could hear them above the battle. He said nothing to Joe, and Joe said nothing to him. They both simply turned back to watch the battle.
When the smoke drifted away for a spell, Joe saw wagons stacked up on the road. Some were turned over and wedged, and the Yankees were abandoning them and running for their lives.
Joe saw the Rebel cavalry swooping around the ends of the Yankees with their revolvers blazing. He felt sorry for the Negro soldiers—some were running and some seemed to be melting to the ground.
Confederate soldiers pushed the cannons down the road by hand. They would stop, shoot, then push them farther. The gray army would not be stopped. Joe had no doubt of that. This was not Helena.
Out of the corner of Joe’s eye, he saw the Negro soldier move. Joe turned. The Negro was raising his hands. Confederate soldiers materialized in the woods from behind like spirits. They were ragged and ghostly. Joe wondered what they would do with their Negro prisoner. He prayed they realized he wasn’t a Yankee like the Negro.
A nasty black-bearded man walked up to the Negro, raised his revolver, and shot his left eye out.
The Negro fell over slowly like a felled tree. Joe looked at the Rebel. Joe saw the man’s mouth move, but he couldn’t hear him. Strange. The man pointed back the way he had come. He bent down to Joe’s face and yelled something, but Joe only saw his mouth move. The man rose and shook his head, then charged on with the other ghosts.
Joe looked at the Negro. Green flies were already on the hole in his face. Joe slowly looked around, couldn’t believe it was al
l real. The Rebels drove past him.
Joe looked at his hands. They were shaking, and he couldn’t stop them. He was numb all over, and it was hard for him to breathe. He placed his trembling hands under his armpits to steady them.
Slowly he recognized sound again, then he shot back to reality like a slap on the face. The sound of war was suddenly too loud to bear. The sight of the dead soldier was too much to stand. He slowly lifted himself from the ground and slipped back to the camp.
***
Jason and Bill were sitting on a log when Joe returned.
“Where have you been?” Jason said.
Joe looked around. “Where is Peter?”
“Them Rebels done took him,” Bill said.
“What are you talking about?” Joe said. “Took him where?” Joe fell to his butt.
“We don’t know,” Jason said. “We tried to tell them that he was with us, but they would not believe it. They said he talked too good. They said he had a Yankee talk.”
“No,” Joe said. “Didn’t you tell them he was free?”
“We tried,” Jason said.
“They’s gonna kill him at first,” Bill said. “But one a them sesesh mens said being he didn’t have on no uniform they would have to see the captain. So they fetched him off with a gun in his back.”
“I got to find him,” Joe said. He jumped to his feet and started for the road.
Jason grabbed his arm. “He told me to look out for you until this matter is resolved.”
Joe jerked free. “Where did they take him?”
“We will find out tomorrow. Nothing can be done now while they are still fighting. We could all be killed.”
Joe settled down; Jason was right. When the fighting was over, it would be easier to find him. But how easy would it be? There were hundreds of Negroes in that one field alone. But Peter wasn’t a soldier. Why did they grab him? They didn’t get Bill. Damn Peter for talking so good. Damn himself—he should have stayed to protect Peter.
The fighting moved north. Joe could hear it like a storm moving across the land. This left no doubt that the Confederates were winning since they had come up from the south, and from the sound of things and what Joe had seen in the field, they were going to have a total victory. What would it mean in the morning?
They settled in for the night. Jason had made a little shelter from an Indian rubber coat and some saplings. It was just big enough for the three of them to lay huddled together. It was a good thing they had the shelter because it began to rain again at dark. It was a nasty rain—an unwelcome one, but it did settle the sulfur smell a bit.
***
At daylight, Jason and Joe left the mules with Bill and sneaked to the farm. What they found when they left the woods was a nightmare. Bodies lay everywhere and in all sorts of distorted positions. Joe began to count the bodies, but it made him sick to his stomach. The dead Negro soldiers stood out. They made him think of the poor soldier rotting in the woods.
The road was littered with debris: guns, knapsacks, shoes, clothes, canteens, and many other articles that Joe couldn’t identify.
He saw Yankee wagons, too, and the local people were going through them until some Confederate soldiers came up and ran them off.
There were many Rebel troops at Jason’s home—what was left of his home. The cannons had taken a toll on it. Hunks of the house were gone. It was full of holes like a woodpecker tree.
They found Jason’s mother and his sisters in the house. They were safe, but told how they had hid in the parlor as the war enveloped them. They said the Yankees had stolen most of their possessions.
The Yankees had stolen from the slaves, too. The war had turned into a war to free the darkies, so why would the very army that was coming to free them steal from them? It was like back at Uncle Zeke’s farm. War gave men a free pass to do bad things, and they did bad things wholesale.
The women were especially shocked when the black soldiers had raided their home. The colored soldiers had said they were going to make Forrest pay for Fort Pillow. Joe remembered something about Yankees accusing Forrest’s men of murdering surrendering soldiers there. Hours later when the battle was lost for the Yankees, some of the Negro troops were horrified and begged the civilians for protection. Joe saw why: the black troops lay scattered.
A portion of the Confederate army came back down the road with hundreds of prisoners—very few were black. The prisoners were a sad looking lot. Joe felt sorry for them. But he still saw no sign of Peter.
He stayed in Jason’s barn again that night. It was a long night. Confederate outfits were camped all about the farm, so there was a different feeling than the night before, and no cider.
Joe found it hard to sleep for once. Where was Peter? How long would he look for him? The answer to the last question was simple: until he found him. He was going nowhere without Peter.
As Joe lay in the hay, he listened to the men in the camps laughing and talking. The longer he lay there, the more he missed Peter. Finally, he came up with a plan. Tomorrow he would go from camp to camp searching. He knew he had to start first thing. He had no idea when the Rebels would pull out, but when they did, it would be too late—who knew where they would go. With the plan set, he finally found sleep.
***
Joe awoke the next day to a dreary rain. He would just have to get wet because he was determined to find Peter.
When Joe left the barn, he saw someone had been burying the dead. They weren’t burying them six feet either. In fact, Joe saw a black hand sticking out of one the graves like a marker stick in a garden. Dead horses had been set afire, but the rain had put the fire out, leaving something Joe had to turn away from. As horrible as it was, the cooked animals smelled like a smokehouse. At that instant, Joe felt he could never eat smoked ham again.
The rain poured. Everything was miserable and wet. Joe wondered if the rain would ever end. The rain had even run the gravediggers in. The bodies along the road were hard to witness. They were beginning to swell, and buttons were begging on the clothes. The smell was starting. It wouldn’t be long before it would be unbearable. He hoped to be gone by then.
That was enough. It was foolish to think he could find Peter in all of this rain. Everyone had taken shelter. He was alone with the death, with the leftovers of war. Joe ran all the way back to Jason’s barn. He threw himself on the hay. He was wet and cold, had seen things that a thirteen-year-old should never see. And he was alone. He was alone somewhere in Mississippi far from the Shenandoah Valley. The closest thing to family that he had now was Peter. And where was he? Where was everyone that he cared for? Dead! His mother and sister were dead. Uncle Wilbur and Katie Bea were dead. Who knew where his pa was? And now Peter is gone.
Joe tried to hold it in, but it was no use, and he cried. He couldn’t stop. It was totally out of his control. Everyone was dead—everyone.
Joe felt a hand on his back. He rose from the hay. It was Black Bill. “What the matter with the young marster?”
Joe rubbed at his eyes and tried to pull himself together, but the sobbing wouldn’t let go. Joe couldn’t find the words to answer.
“Bill know. It Peter.” Bill softly patted Joe’s shoulder.
Joe simply nodded.
“I tells you what.” Bill perked and stood. “I can’t helps you today, cause Bill’s gotta help fix up things around here, but tomorrow we take a couple of horses and we go find Peter. I’ll talks it over with the marster and we’ll be off.”
Joe felt hope.
***
Peter rode with the soldiers as they left Ripley headed back south. He had nowhere to run. If he tried to escape, he would be shot; he had no doubt of that. The best plan would be to just go right along. They were going back south and down the road that went by the farm.
He counted himself fortunate. The Rebels treated him well compared to the way they treated the Negro prisoners. In fact, they had killed many of the black soldiers, and the others were marching back to certain bond
age.
The pitiful look on the Negro soldiers was surprise and horror. They had believed they could win the fight. They had not expected Forrest’s army to be so strong. Now they were bound back into slavery. One had told Peter he now believed the North could never defeat the South, not even if Joshua led the army and they had a million men.
Peter didn’t have to march on foot. He had a mule to ride. A Corporal Green had appointed Peter as his body servant. Green had taken Peter’s free papers and crammed them in his knapsack. He had told Peter if he was a good nigger, he would set him free when the outfit was on the move again. Peter didn’t take much stock in that, but he didn’t have too many options at the present.
The most urgent thing on Peter’s mind was Joe. Was he all right? Where did he slip off to during the battle? He had to find him. But how?
Green rode beside Peter. “See them niggers going there?” Green said, pointing to some prisoners trudging in the mud.
Peter nodded. He wondered where Green was going with this.
“Ain’t you lucky you ain’t them?” Green smiled. “You are a good boy, Peter. I believe I will keep you for mine.”
“Mr. Gree—”
“Master Green.” Green said.
Peter hated it, but he had no choice. “Massuh Green.”
“That’s much better. I think we’ll get along good together.”
“You said you would let me go, and what about young Joe I was telling you about?”
“I’m sure Joe will be fine. I’ll think on the matter.”
Green put spurs to the horse and moved on ahead.
Peter knew Green was not going to let him go. He would have to make a move when he neared Jason’s farm, or he may never see Joe again.
Peter didn’t have to wait long. He spotted Joe’s blonde hair. He was riding one of Jason’s horses and Bill on another. They were riding against the flowing tide, and the soldiers cursed them.
Peter saw the instant Joe spotted him. Joe stood in the stirrups and yelled. It was a deep comfort, hearing Joe call his name. Finally, he would be free, and more: the boy was safe.
Chase The Wild Pigeons Page 24