The Return of the Freedom Thief

by Mikki Sadil

  Puck looked agonizingly at Ben, who so far had not said a word. “Ben, please. You said I would be with you, that you’d take care of me. Say something!”

  Ben stared at the man sitting across from him. “Neither of us takes orders from someone we don’t even know. What’s your name, anyway?”

  The man shrugged. “It don’t really matter one way or another. Thee can call me Zeke. Now that’s taken care of, what’s it gonna be? Thee goin’ to take on this job, or not? I got no time to mess around if thee are not gonna take orders.”

  Ben looked at Puck, who was staring at him with tears running down her cheeks. He spoke without looking at Zeke, “We’ll go outside for a minute and talk. Then I’ll tell you what we’re going to do.”

  Without any acknowledgment from Zeke, Ben grabbed Puck’s hand, and they went outside.

  “Puck, we’ll go talk to Glory. I reckon she’ll take you in. I’ve been thinking that what this Zeke isn’t saying, is that this trip is going to be dangerous, and you shouldn’t be along. I’ve got to do this, Puck. Please understand.”

  “I’m afraid to stay without you. What if those soldiers come back to Glory’s and see me?” Her shoulders were shaking with sobs.

  “From what you heard, I don’t think they’ll be back. I reckon they’re going to be getting ready to go on attack.”

  Ten minutes later, Ben and Puck walked back into the house. Puck’s face was streaked with tears, but her shoulders were set in the same show of defiance that Ben had seen many times. She would be all right.

  Zeke was smoking a cigar, and leaning back in a chair. He looked at them quizzically, but remained silent.

  “It’s settled. I’m going, she’s staying. But I have to take her back to Glory’s, and see if she can stay there.

  The man nodded. “Glory’s one smart lady, and she’s got a good heart. She’ll keep thee, girl, and she’ll keep thee safe.” He turned to Ben. “Okay, here’s the plan.”

  * * *

  On the way back to Glory’s, Ben and Puck rode outside of the town, on a narrow trail behind all the buildings. Noise erupted from Main Street, and they brought the horses to a halt. Shouts and swearing overtook the usual business noise on the street, and the sound of hooves running made them both snicker. It was obvious that the soldiers had come out of the saloon to get mounted, and loosened bits and cinches had done just what Ben wanted: caused their horses to buck and run.

  Ben looked at Puck and put a finger to his lips. They moved quickly on to Glory’s, and tied up at the back hitching rail. Once inside, both exploded into laughter. Glory frowned when she saw them, saying, “What is this? You were supposed to stay in the shed.”

  Ben swallowed his laughter, and explained to her what had happened with the soldiers, and then what he had done to their weapons and horses. Ben told her about Zeke, and how he was going on another mission.

  “This is way too dangerous for Puck to go with me. Can she stay here with you? She’s willing to work for you, wherever you want her to do, if you’ll just give her a safe place to stay. I’ll pay you, of course.”

  Glory sat with her elbows on the long table, and looked hard at Puck. “You be an independent miss, with an attitude. You stay with me, you do what I say, when I say. No sass, no bee in your bonnet ‘cause you don’t want to do somethin’. That okay with you, little miss?”

  Puck nodded, her throat clogged with unshed tears.

  Glory stuck out a work-hardened hand. “We shake on this, it’s a done deal. No crying crocodile tears later on, understand?”

  Puck nodded again, cleared her throat, and shook Glory’s hand. “I understand. I’ll stay with you, and thank you for letting me.”

  Ben counted out twenty dollars, and handed it to Glory. “This should cover her for a few weeks, then I’ll pay you whatever else I owe, when I get back.”

  He stood, and reached for Puck. He gave her a hard hug, held her a few minutes while she cried. “Puck, I’ll be back. I’ll come back for you, and we’ll go to Lexington, rest up at Mistress Fenaway’s, and then I’ll take you to my home. It may be a while, but I’ll be back.”

  Glory got up from the table. “You wait just one second, Ben. I got some food for you to take.”

  She hurried off to the kitchen, came back with several large biscuits and ham, and a couple of apples. “It isn’t much, but it might come in handy. And about them horses of yours and Puck’s, I’ll keep ‘em here. Puck and me’ll feed ‘em good, keep ‘em in shape for when you get back. Now, don’t you worry none about this little miss, or them horses. Just go do what you have to do.”

  A final tight hug, a kiss on Puck’s cheek, a “thank you” to Glory, and Ben was gone.

  Chapter Fourteen

  BellaRee and the Raft

  Three days later, Ben stood at the edge of a river. Traveling on foot across rough country and through heavy forests reminded him of the journey he had made with Joshua and his parents, to find the Ohio River on the way to freedom for his slave friends. He surely missed Socks, but Zeke had warned him about taking the horse. “That there horse won’t go ever’where you need to go, and you’ll end up having to leave him. Best to find a place to keep him here in town ‘til you get back.”

  Now, he knew Zeke was right. There was only one way to get past the Confederate camp just a few miles to the north, and that was by the river. Of course, the problem was…how was he to accomplish that? He sighed, and sat down. He was going to have to build a raft, no question about that.

  I’ve never built a raft in my life. I just have my big knife, and a few feet of rope. How am I going to get enough logs, and how am I going to fasten them together?

  He remembered that he had passed a trapper’s cabin back in the forest. That was yesterday, so it was a ways back. He looked around the water’s edge, but all he saw was weeds, small branches, and other river debris. Nothing to build a raft with, that’s for sure. He’d have to backtrack, get to the cabin, and see what, if anything, he could find to use. Of course, if the trapper was there, he might even be willing to help Ben.

  He sighed. He was tired, thirsty, and hungry. All he really wanted to do was to lie down and sleep. And then eat a good, hearty meal. Ha! As if that’s going to happen any time soon. Come on, Ben, get going. The sooner I get this mission over with, the sooner I can have a good sleep and a good meal. He moved back into the forest.

  Hours later, he could see the tarpaper roof of the cabin between the trees. No smoke coming from the crooked chimney. No one seemed to be around. That could be good news, or it could be a trap.

  As quietly as he could, Ben moved on towards the cabin. Every few feet, he stopped and waited. No sounds came from the cabin, nothing from the woods behind him to indicate another human presence. He came to the edge of the small clearing. Still nothing. He walked around the cabin, and saw to his delight a small stash of logs stacked to one side. He passed by, and stepped up to the one window at the front. He cupped his hands around his eyes, and peered in. Before his eyes adjusted to the gloom inside, he felt something hard pressing against his spine, and a cold voice said, “What do you think you be doin’, snoopin’ ‘round me house? You jest raise them hands and turn around, real slow like.”

  With his heart beating wildly, Ben held his hands up and turned slowly around to face the voice behind the gun.

  To his surprise, it was a woman holding the old musket. She might have been the same age as his mother, but her bent body, heavily lined face, and straggly gray hair spoke of a life of hardship, rather than one as the mistress of a plantation. She looked him up and down, then lowered her gun to rest in the crook of her arm. Plainly, she was able to swing that gun up and fire it before he could reach her, if that had been his plan.

  “Well, if that don’t beat all! Ye jest a young’un, not a growed up man yet. But ye still doin’ some snoopin’ and I don’t like that. Whatcha’ story, young sir?”

  “I’m sorry, mam, I don’t mean you any harm. I was just looking to find s
ome fallen logs. I saw these already cut, and I was looking to see if the master or mistress here was home.” Ben hoped his half-lie was good enough to convince her.

  She didn’t lower the gun any more. “Humph. Well, I’m home, as ye can see. Now what about them logs got ye so interested. Why’d ye be wantin’ logs?”

  Ben didn’t know if she was Confederate or not. But since she was deep in the forest, and it looked like she had lived here for some time, he reckoned she wasn’t overly invested in the Confederate way of thinking. He decided to tell her the truth…at least, part of it.

  “I need to build a raft to float down the river. That’s why I need logs, but I haven’t found many downed logs in the woods. I was just looking for them, when I saw your place.”

  “And I reckon ye was wantin’ to steal them, too, now wasn’t ye? Jest takin’ them away from this old woman, jest like ever’body do always.”

  Ben struggled to keep from laughing. Her voice and demeanor had changed abruptly from that of a hostile enemy with a weapon, to that of a weepy, self-pitying old woman.

  He backed up a bit, and lowered his arms. “Please, I’m not going to hurt you. And I’m not going to steal the logs or anything from you. I just need help, that’s all.” He was not above a little playacting, himself.

  She pulled the musket up from her arm, and kept it on him. “Humph. What kinda help do ye need? Ye look pretty hale and healthy to me. Ye not goin’ to steal them logs, huh. So why ye need a raft to float the river on, anyways?”

  “Uh, can I sit down? I’m awfully tired.” When she nodded, Ben slipped down to the ground and leaned back against the cabin wall. He decided to trust her a bit further. “I’m on a mission. I’ve got to get down to Evanston, and there’s a big Confederate camp that I have to get by. The only way I can do that is to build a raft, and use it on the river.”

  She stared at him for a minute. She lowered the musket and set the butt end on the ground. “So, ye be a spy in this here war what’s goin’ on? Them Union jackanapes against the Confederate jackanapes, or somethin’ like that?”

  He couldn’t help laughing at her description of two armies wrangling back and forth, neither one at the moment seemingly gaining momentum on the other.

  “I guess that’s one way of describing it. My name’s Ben, what’s yours?” He figured if he was going to be stuck with her for a while, he might as well know what to call her.

  She stuck out a dirty hand, so rough and cracked he would never have known it was a woman’s hand. “Me name’s BellaRee, used to be Bella Marie Regina, but that’s a long-ago time. Now, it’s jest BellaRee. Come on in to me parlor, said the spider to the fly.” She winked, then cackled in what Ben reckoned was supposed to be a laugh.

  She opened the unlocked door and ushered Ben inside. The cabin was small, with two rocking chairs and a small table set in front of an open fireplace, which was obviously where she did a lot of her cooking. A coffee pot and several pots and pans sat along the edges, more mired in place by grease than just sitting there. A blackened iron spit, used to roast meat, ran across the middle of the fireplace, with a hand crank nearby. A neatly made up bed and a small dresser were in the far corner, and in the other corner was another larger table, and an open cupboard with a few dishes and some staples in it. Nestled into a third corner was a narrow table with a metal basin and a large earthenware pitcher. The bottom of the table was concealed by a white ruffled curtain, curiously out of place in this old cabin.

  BellaRee strode over to the rockers and settled herself carefully in one of them. She nodded to Ben to take the other. “Now, young sir, tell me why ye be needful of my logs. If I’m of a mind to give ye a few, how’d ye plan to make this here raft ye speak of?”

  “Uh, well, I’ve never made a raft before, but I guess I’ll just tie the logs together until I’ve got enough space for me to sit on. Then I’ll put it into the river, and hope for the best, I reckon.”

  “Humph. I can see ye knows nothing about this. Well, I be hungry, so we’ll eat first, then I’ll show ye how to build a raft.”

  * * *

  Several hours later, Ben had a full stomach and a large raft ready to float down the river. BellaRee had shown him that cutting logs from downed trees were the best, as they would have the least amount of water retained inside. She showed him how to tie the logs together, and then how to cross mount three other logs, one on each end and one in the middle, and tie them to the bottom logs, so the raft would float without falling apart. Finally, she trudged back to her cabin, and returned with a piece of canvas, a short paddle, and a small bucket of trash.

  “BellaRee, what’s all this for?” Ben was totally bewildered.

  “When ye start down this river, ye’ll have to paddle somewhat, so here’s what ye need for that. The canvas and bucket, well, we’re gonna add to that.” She turned around and began collecting bunches of weeds, loose soil, pieces of small branches, and leaves. She spread out the canvas on one part of the raft, and threw everything on it, including the trash in the bucket, before wrapping it all up in the canvas.

  “Iffen ye gonna pass by them Confederates, ye might wanta crawl under this here canvas, and anyone who sees it will think it’s jest some ole’ raft what broke away from its moorings. Ye don’t wanta give them jackanapes any reason to try to stop ye.”

  She went back to the cabin once more, and returned with a small packet of food, which she stuck into his satchel.

  Ben started to thank her for all she had done for him, but BellaRee brushed his words aside. “We gotta do what we gotta do, so ye take care now, ‘specially goin’ past them Confederate mopes. ‘Twas a pleasure sittin’ with ye for a while.” With those words, she faded back into the forest once again.

  * * *

  Ben had been on the river for a long time. He wished he had a watch to know what time it was, but all he had was his compass. The river was running fast, and he’d only had to use his paddle a few times, mostly to steer around clumps of rocks that protruded from under the water. The sunlight was rapidly fading, and dampness was beginning to chill Ben to the bone. He tightened his jacket, but that did little to help. As darkness fell, a mist rose up from the water, and the moonlight that fell between the trees on either side of the river made it sparkle. He was tired, and the lapping of the water against the raft made him drowsy.

  A noise startled him, all drowsiness gone. He could hear laughter floating across the water, and up ahead, the river turned golden with reflections from a flickering fire somewhere close to the water’s edge.

  Ben knew the Confederate fort was not this close to the river, so the voices he heard could well be from renegades from either the Confederate or Union side. Either way, he could be in big trouble if they saw him, or tried to bring the raft to shore. He reached down and pulled the canvas over him. Bits and pieces of the trash and forest refuse rattled around on the raft, and he prayed they didn’t fall off.

  The river had been running swiftly, but as he heard the noise from the camp fast approaching, it seemed to him it had suddenly slowed down. The raft continued to float, but his blood ran cold when he heard voices loud and clear.

  “Hey, what’s that out there on the water?”

  “Dunno, hold up that there torch, and let’s see what’s what.”

  “Aw, it’s nothin’ but an old raft. Lookit all that trash and stuff on it. Musta broke away from some hunter’s camp upstream.”

  “Yeah, I’m thinkin’ ye be wrong. Lookit that trash, don’t it look like it be on somethin’ other than the raft? I be thinkin’ there’s somebody on that there raft.”

  “Think we oughta go out and catch it up?”

  Laughter came across the water, as another voice said, “Man, that water’s colder than ice in winter. You wanta go out and catch it, go ahead. Me, I’m staying right here by the fire. ‘Sides, nobody in his right mind gonna go down this here river all covered up with trash on a raft. You wanta get mixed up with some crazy mutt you don’t know nothin’ abo
ut? You be crazy ye’self, Buster.”

  Ben’s heart jumped into his throat, and he carefully reached for his pistol, when he heard splashes coming from the river bank.

  “Well, I be gonna find out what’s on that raft.”

  Another loud splash brought more laughter from the men around the fire. “Hey, Buster, you gonna swim in that current?”

  The man’s rough voice came through the catcalling. “All right, I’m back. Have ye fun, but git outta my way so’s I can get dry. Me clothes are soakin’ wet.”

  “Too bad, Buster, we warned ye. We gonna have enough trouble wit’out you bring some crazy person on a raft outta the river. Ye shoulda know better. Besides, tomorra bring bad news enough, with us havin’ to git on into Fort Nelson…”

  The soldier’s voice faded out, and Ben realized the raft had continued to move downstream. He was now too far from the small camp to hear the men. He heaved a big sigh, and cautiously put aside the canvas and sat up. All sounds from the camp had ceased. The river took a sudden turn, and he realized he was completely in the clear. He reached for the paddle and began to paddle vigorously. The sooner he came to the Union camp, the sooner he could get off this raft and continue his mission.

  Chapter Fifteen

  A First Skirmish, A First Hand Look at Death

  March, 1862

  The night was cold, dark, with heavy fog and mist swirling through the trees. Occasionally, a half-song from a night bird could be heard in the distance, but inside the forest even the smallest creatures seem to have retreated into their boroughs to keep warm and dry. The only sounds were the ones Ben made, as he worked his way through the woods. He was tired, cold, and hungry. For months, he had been a courier for the Union army, now too old at almost seventeen and too tall to use ‘newsboy’ as a cover for his spying. Since becoming a courier, he had been sent back and forth across Virginia carrying messages from one Union encampment to another. In between times, he learned as much as he could from the Confederate soldiers he came in contact with. He was amazed at how freely they talked about troop movements, the number of soldiers in each regiment, and the number and kind of large artillery they had.