“Go and wake Jonas, Ruth. I want him to go into town and get the sheriff. It seems that Mr. Hargraves here is not interested in the Danville farm after all. I’ve caught him trying to help Emaline and her child escape.”
James expected her to hurry off and do as she was told, but to his surprise she said, “Let them go, Zachary.” Clearly the banker was shocked as well and he said, “Have you lost your mind? This man tried to steal some very valuable property. Now go and get Jonas at once.”
“I understand all too well her value to you, Zachary. I am quite aware of your indiscretions . . . I’ve known for years. You, sir, are the father of her child.”
Stark let out a moan of protest and started to dispute his wife’s accusations but she cut him off. “Don’t bother to deny it. I will only hate you all the more; you and all of your kind—you Southern gentlemen strutting about with an aristocratic air, thinking you set a fine example. And all the while impregnating your slave women and selling your own children into bondage. I want that slave woman and her bastard child off of this place. You will let them go or you will deal with the truth as I will spread it all over this state.”
“Perhaps,” said Stark. “I shall just get rid of you instead. Emaline’s value far exceeds your own,” he said in a mocking tone. But Ruth was not intimated; instead, she held out her hand and said, “Give me that weapon.”
Then she grabbed his wrist. Her adulterous husband pulled his hand back sharply to break her grasp and the gun went off, sending the bullet into his chest. Instantly, he dropped to the ground and James did not need to check his pulse to know that he was dead. For a moment, everyone stood still. Then Mrs. Stark said, “Take the woman and go. I will take care of my husband.”
“It’s true that it was an accident,” said James. “But you’ll have no witnesses.”
“How chivalrous of you under the circumstances to worry about me, Mr. Hargraves. But the sheriff is my brother. Now leave and consider how fortunate you’ve been this night.”
James did not hesitate further. He picked up his revolver, hurried Emaline and Jasmine out to the wagon, helped them in, and they were gone. Polly and Israel and the boy were waiting; within half an hour they were packed up and set to continue their journey. Deep inside, James was grateful to God for helping thwart an injustice and reunite a torn family. But he could not shake the guilt concerning what had happened to Mr. Stark. Some people might say he had it coming; James believed it was not his place to judge. He drove through the moonlit night in a solemn mood that even Polly could not change. If only they could reach Mapletown without any further trouble. But even if nothing in the form of a new threat confronted
them . . . there was still Sheriff Wilkes.
THIRTEEN
Sheriff Wilkes’s Last Stand
Mrs. Stark waited until the sound of James’s wagon had faded away, and then she woke Jonas, told him to bring another man, and come out to the driveway. When they got there she told them that Mr. Stark had had an accident. “Go to the barn and hitch up the carriage. I’ll get dressed and then we’ll take the body in to town.” Jonas brought the carriage up to the house and the two men loaded the banker’s body into the backseat. His stoic wife was helped into the front, and Jonas climbed up beside her. “Drive me to the sheriff’s office,” she said.
Sheriff Braxton was awakened by a loud pounding on the door. He rolled out of bed and fumbled around for a match to light the lamp. Then he got into his trousers, pulled the suspenders over his shoulders and went to the door. He was surprised to see his sister, Ruth, on the other side.
“Zachary has been murdered,” she said. The sheriff looked past her and saw a body lying on the backseat of the carriage. “Come in, Ruth. Come in and sit down. What in the world happened?” As Ruth began her explanation, another man came out of the back room. “This is Sheriff Raymond Wilkes, Ruth,” he told his sister. “He’s up here from Georgia huntin a man and a woman accused of assault and helpin two slaves escape.”
“Go on with your story, ma’ am,” said Wilkes. So Mrs. Stark told the story except that when she got to the part about the shooting she said, “Mr. Hargraves suddenly seized Zachary’s arm; they struggled, then Hargraves wrested the gun away and shot Zachary in cold blood.” She managed a few tears to lend credence to her story and Sheriff Wilkes said, “Can you describe this Mr. Hargraves?” She complied with the request and when she was finished Wilkes said, “Did you see his wife?”
“No. I only saw Mr. Hargraves but he told Zachary that his wife was with him.”
“Any idea where they went when they left your place?” asked her brother.
“I guess they went back to the Danville farm.”
“All right, Ruth,” her brother replied. “You’ll have to get Zachary to the undertaker. I am sorry this happened. I’ll gather some men and we’ll go after this Hargraves and his wife. Will you be OK?”
“Yes. Jonas will help me with Zachary and then I’ll go home. I will anticipate the capture of his killer. I won’t rest until he is hanged along with that slave woman, Emaline.”
Sheriff Braxton helped his sister to her feet and walked her to the door. Then he kissed her cheek and said, “Don’t worry, Ruth. I will find Zachary’s killer.” When she’d gone, he turned to Sheriff Wilkes and said, “Are you going with me?”
“I sure as hell am. I’d bet a steamship load of cotton that this man calling himself Hargraves is the same man I’m looking for.”
“Then we’ll go over to the Danville farm first. I think it’s a small chance that they are still there, but if not it will be a good place to pick up their trail.”
“I’ll go over to the hotel and get my men,” said Wilkes.
“I’ll round up a few of my own and meet you back here,” Braxton replied.
Ordinarily, James avoided heavily traveled roads and populated areas like cities and towns as much as possible. It was simply a fact that fewer people meant fewer problems. But Richmond was only forty miles from Petersburg. If they could get there it would be easier to elude pursuit than if they were out in the open. Also, James considered that the railroad was the way to make good their escape. He remembered a time years ago when his father decided to raise some beef cattle. When they were ready for market, they were driven to the railhead in Macon and shipped to the packing house. It was only a matter of paying for the space in the cars needed to transport the cattle. James thought that he could do the same with the horse and wagon.
About five miles from the city, they could see lights flickering against the night sky. As they reached the outskirts, they could see soldiers guarding the approach. “We’re going to have to pass through a guard post,” James told Polly. “I’m sure that all of the roads to Richmond are guarded. Just remain calm.”
The roadblock was lit up brightly with many torches on both sides of the thoroughfare. James slowed the horse to a walk. A man in a gray uniform held his rifle on an angle at arm’s length and said, “Halt.” James stopped the wagon and the young soldier walked over and said, “Where you headin, sir?”
James decided to give him the same story he’d used on Captain Blackwell of the 1st Virginia Cavalry down in Tennessee months earlier. “We came from Georgia; that is where I am from, but my wife is from Lynchburg. I’ve decided it’s time I join the Confederate Army so I’m taking her to live with her parents until we whip the damn Yankees.”
“I reckon you decided right, sir. If the war lasts a while I expect you’d get drafted sooner or later anyhow. Sit still a minute while I write you a pass.”
They waited as ordered and in a short time the soldier returned, handed James a piece of paper and said, “This will get you through the other guard posts. You’ll run into another one at the edge of the city and two more on your way out no matter which way you go. But all you’ll need to do is show your pass. Good luck to you, sir, and be mighty careful on your trip. There are skirmishes breaking out all over Virginia now and you just might run into them Yankees sooner t
han you think.”
“Thank you for your courtesy,” said James. The soldier stood aside and they drove past a dozen other sentries and a couple of cannons. At the next stop, as instructed, he presented the pass and the old corporal on duty merely glanced at it and waved his hand forward. He stopped long enough to ask the corporal for directions to the train station.
They had no trouble finding the station and it was not a problem buying passage for the horse, wagon, and six passengers. “You and your lady friend can ride in the passenger car but the niggers will have to ride in the boxcar with the horse and wagon,” said the station master.
“That’s all right,” James told him. “We’ll all ride in the boxcar.”
“Suit yourself,” he said with a sour expression. A half hour later, the train that would take them as far as Morgantown in western Virginia, pulled out of the station.
They were an hour gone by the time sheriffs Braxton and Wilkes reached the first guard post with their posse. When they described James and Polly and explained why they were after them, the same guard who had spoken to James was outraged to learn that the story he’d been given was a pack of lies. In addition, he said that he did not know the slaves were in the wagon, thus admitting that he did not conduct a search.
When the lawmen got to the second stop, the old corporal informed them that James had asked directions to the train station. The station master was also irate when he found out that he had allowed an abolitionist murderer to escape.
“How long have they been gone?” Wilkes asked.
“A little over an hour. They’re going to the end of the line, Morgantown.”
“Does the train make any stops along the way?”
“Twice for wood and water, but they will be short stops. Damn it all! I shoulda known something wasn’t right when that son of a bitch and his woman insisted on riding in the boxcar with their niggers. Respectable white folks would have ridden in the passenger car.”
“Well, don’t worry about it,” said Wilkes. “We’ll ride hell bent for leather straight to Morgantown, and when they pull in, we’ll be waitin.”
At one end of the boxcar was a clean pile of straw. James helped Polly put down blankets and make beds for everybody. A sense of security settled over them. It seemed like they were on a nonstop ride to freedom. When they reached Morgantown, they would only be about twelve miles from Reverend Pyle’s church. James was looking forward to seeing the reverend again, but this time he had more than one purpose for the visit. It was his intention to ask Polly to marry him. If they got married in Mapletown James would rent a house there, and then he would have a safe place to leave her when he went south again. These thoughts filled his head as exhaustion won him over.
The train slowed as it approached the station and the clanging of the bell brought him fully awake. The others were responding to the sound as he got up and went over to the side of the car. Peering through a large knothole, he could see the station about a hundred feet ahead. He could also see Confederate soldiers milling around on the platform.
The train was barely moving now, but their car eased closer and closer to the station. As it drifted by the building, James saw his seemingly perfect escape plan completely collapse. Standing on the platform was a group of men dressed in civilian clothing and they were armed to the teeth. It was Sheriff Wilkes, and at least a six man posse. James knew that this time they were trapped. There was no place to go and no possibility for a group made up of two men, two women, and two children to defend itself. Maybe, thought James, if he surrendered, the most severe punishment would be unleashed upon him. Maybe the others would at least survive. He turned away from the knothole feeling weak in the knees. He had come to failure after all, to his purpose and to his responsibilities. For a moment he was sure he knew exactly how John Brown felt when he was trapped in the firehouse at Harper’s Ferry.
The train jerked to a stop. It would only be a matter of seconds before the door would slide open and he would be staring into the sinister smile of Sheriff Raymond Wilkes. He went over to Polly and took her by the hand, but before he could speak a shrill blare sliced through the morning air followed by a screeching cry from a hundred throats. Suddenly, gunfire exploded from everywhere. Someone on the platform started yelling, “Yankees! Yankees!” Then James yelled, “On the floor! Everybody get down on the floor!”
For the next half an hour, the occupants of the boxcar pressed themselves against the wooden floor while hell swirled around them. For all, it was the first time listening to the sounds of battle. The terrorized screaming of men and horses went on and on amidst the thundering din of thousands of discharges. Bullets cut through one side of the boxcar and out the other raining splinters of wood down on those inside. Finally, the shooting subsided and a voice just outside shouted, “Sergeant! Take some men and start searching the cars.” Having gone to school in New York, James could clearly detect the soldier’s Brooklyn accent.
He got up from the floor of the boxcar and looked to the others to see if anyone was hurt. Fortunately, no one had been hit by anything but a serious grip of fear. Then he hid his revolver in the wagon so the Yankees would find him unarmed.
“Now I want us all to stand by the door with the children in back of the adults,” James told them. “When the door opens I want everyone to raise their hands high in the air.”
They stood at the door as he instructed and when the door slid open, all hands went up. Two soldiers in blue stood there holding rifles. The ranking man said, “All right, climb down.” James and Israel jumped to the ground then helped the women and children out. They were herded, with the rest of the civilians, to an open grassy area near the station and ordered to sit down. A half dozen soldiers stood guard. Fifty yards away, a handful of Confederate prisoners were also surrounded by Yankees.
While James and his companions sat and waited to see what would happen next, the dead were being gathered and separated. The Union casualties were laid out in one area while the Confederates were carried past the group of civilians and placed in another. James had mixed feelings when he saw the bodies of Sheriff Wilkes and the other members of the posse carried past. Regardless of what Wilkes had tried to do to James and in spite of his sense of relief; he was still sorry about the end result. And he did not know what to expect from the Yankees, but he had to admit that for the time being, the enemies of his native South had saved his life. Sheriff Wilkes would threaten them no more.
There were approximately fifteen men, women, and children who had been passengers on the train, not counting James and his companions. They, too, had been very fortunate to survive the attack on the train station with no more than a few cuts from flying glass. Most of the people were trying to get to their homes or the homes of friends or relatives in Morgantown. Of all the men in the group, James was the only white man young enough for military service.
After almost an hour of waiting, a major came out to inspect the civilians, apparently to determine whether or not any of them appeared suspicious, warranting an interrogation. He looked the crowd over very carefully, then turned to one of the guards and said, “Send these people on their way.” Then he looked at James and said, “Not you. You follow me.”
When James stood up, so did everyone else. “Just you,” said the major, pointing a finger at James.
“These people are traveling with me, sir.”
“Then have them sit back down and wait.”
James motioned for the others to sit, and then he followed the officer into the station. The major took a seat behind a desk and James stood facing him.
“Who are you and what is your reason for being in Morgantown?”
For the first time in quite a while, James introduced himself using his real name. Then, in elaborate detail, he told his story, all to the fascination of the Yankee major. When he was finished, the officer said, “If you’re telling the truth, it sounds like we saved your ass.”
“Yes, sir, you did. Before I heard that bugle bl
ow, I was convinced that I was as good as hanged.”
“So you and your lady friend helped those slaves escape from way down in Georgia?”
“Just the man and the boy, sir. The woman and her daughter were picked up in Virginia. They are all one family but they were separated a few years ago when the woman was sold to a man in Petersburg.”
James had already explained everything and he suspected that the major was trying to catch him in a lie.
“Well that is quite a story, Mr. Langdon, and one that might be worthy of praise. But you understand why I would have reason to doubt it. After all, your people are fighting a war to preserve slavery. What makes you see things differently?”
“Who can say, Major? I just don’t believe in it. I’ve turned my back on practically my whole life. I have my family believing that I work for the Confederate government. If they knew the truth it would break their hearts. It isn’t easy to live with.”
“Indeed,” the major replied. “But that is what I am a just a little concerned about . . . that you work for the Confederate government.”
“No, sir,” said James. “I am not a spy. I can prove that my story is true.”
“How?”
“Do you know where Mapletown is?”
“I do. We came through Mapletown on our way here.”
“Then get in touch with Reverend Percy Pyle at the Mapletown Community Church. That is where we are headed. The reverend can vouch for me.”
The major studied James for a moment then he said, “Very well. When our business is finished here I will be moving my cavalry detachment back across the state line. But I won’t make you wait around while we destroy the contraband here. I will release you in the custody of three of my men. They will escort you to Mapletown and question the reverend. But I warn you, if you’re lying, my men will place you under arrest and you will likely face a military tribunal.”
A Deeper Sense of Loyalty Page 14