by Mikki Sadil
The last dangerous assignment he’d had was the journey down the river on the raft, when he had come very close to being caught by renegade Confederate soldiers. From then until now, his missions had been more a matter of endless travel boredom than anything else. Well, with the exception of Thanksgiving. He laughed to himself, thinking about that mission.
Thanksgiving wasn’t quite as boring as the rest of the time. I barely escaped that time, too.
Ben had reached his assignment in the late afternoon on Thanksgiving Day. He was supposed to give his information to a Colonel Howard, and he had been directed to the Colonel’s home to do that. The housekeeper had let him in, and directed him to the kitchen. Supper was already being sent to the dining room, and the smells of roasted turkey, sweet potatoes, fried corn, and the rest of the sumptuous meal made Ben’s mouth water. The Colonel’s wife came in, and invited Ben to join the family for the Thanksgiving supper, telling him that business could wait. Towards the end of the meal, however, loud pounding on the front door interrupted everything. Confederate soldiers were demanding entrance, claiming they knew a spy had come into the house.
Confusion erupted, the Colonel’s children were frightened at the noise and intrusion of men in uniform they didn’t know, and Ben sat frozen to his seat. Mistress Howard pulled him out of the chair, and pointed him to the kitchen. There the housekeeper silently led him up the back stairs to the bedrooms. She led him into a very feminine room, opened the door to a large closet, and pushed him inside. She whispered to him to remain there until she came again, and closed the door.
Ben hated dark closed-in places. This closet was not only one of those places, but was full of women’s dresses, all complete with large hoops. He sat down on the floor, and prayed the soldiers would soon leave. Before long, he heard loud footsteps coming into the room. He stood, and quickly pushed aside several dresses at the end of the closet. He stepped behind them, and hoped the hoops would keep him hidden.
The door opened, and he heard a man’s voice say, “Aw, this must be the lady Howard’s closet. Lookit all them dresses and big hoops. No wonder it takes women so danged long to get dressed. Ain’t nobody here, Captain, couldn’t even wedge a cat inside this here closet.”
He slammed the door, and the footsteps receded.
Ben wiped the sweat from his face, and sat down again near the closet door. What seemed like an eternity later, the door opened, and the Colonel himself helped Ben up and out into the room.
The Colonel had explained that this ‘raid’ by the Confederates was not unusual, and he and his family had realized the easiest way to deal with it was to allow the men in to search the house. They had never found anything or anyone, so he believed that sooner or later, the raids would stop. In the meantime, what information did Ben have for him?
Ben dug the encrypted message out from his belt, and handed it over to the Colonel. Without looking at it, the man thanked him, and said, “Sorry our dinner was interrupted. My wife prepared some food for you to take with you.” He went to the bed, and picked up a small package for Ben. “Now, the best way for you to leave is to climb out this window. There is a big tree right outside. You can climb down, and it’s only a short ways to the first barn. That’s where your horse is.”
The escape that time was easy, but Ben didn’t make the mistake of thinking that all future escapes would be the same, if he ever again came this close to being detected.
* * *
Now, Ben had reached the end of the forest. He sat down to rest on a fallen log, pulled the fur collar of his heavy jacket further up around his ears, and adjusted the long folds of the jacket so they covered the tops of his legs. At least his hands were warm inside the fur-lined winter gloves, but his pants didn’t do much for his legs.
He rested his arms on his knees and thought about what he had been doing for so long. He knew the coded messages he carried from one place to another were important, and that in some instances, that information had proved very valuable to the Union Federals in preparing for skirmishes and battles against the Confederate Rebels. But he was tired. He wondered how long this would go on, and when, or if, he would ever get home again.
His thoughts were interrupted by another sound coming from below the hill he was on. He stood up quickly, and looked around. The forest behind him was still and quiet, but this time, the silence was ominous. He moved back behind a tree, and his heart began to race. Below him, soldiers and horses moved slowly and quietly. Mules pulled the caissons and several cannons. He could see that the horses and mules had their hooves covered, to muffle any sound that might come from stepping on loose rocks in their path. The fog was thick enough to distort the colors of the soldiers’ uniforms, but as a young boy came into view, struggling with a large flag, Ben saw the Stars and Bars of the Confederacy, and realized this was a Confederate movement.
He watched as soldiers reined in their horses to the slowest walk possible, while others pulled back on the mules, so the sounds of their artillery were muted even more. Ben knew there was a Union camp close to the Little Kanawha River, because that was where he was headed. He wondered now if these Confederate troops were headed there, too, for a surprise attack. At this pace, though, they couldn’t possibly get there that night, so why were they traveling so slowly, and so quietly? Obviously, they didn’t want to take a chance on anyone hearing them, but out here? On the edge of a forest, in the middle of nowhere? It didn’t make sense.
Ben froze. Other sounds were coming through the forest now, sounds of men pushing their way through the heavily snow-laden trees. Their footsteps crunched as their boots slipped through the snow and ice-encrusted ground, and he could hear low voices muttering angrily. He eased cautiously back further into the trees, and hoped his own footsteps weren’t out of sync with the others. As they approached, their voices were louder, and Ben recognized the manner of speech that told him these, too, were Confederates. Suddenly, he knew exactly what was going on. The Confederates were going into the small town he had passed by, take it over, and wait for the Union soldiers to come through. There was a narrow valley just before the forest began, and right outside of the town of Provinci. The Federals would be coming that way in about three days, and the valley just outside of the town would be a perfect place for them to be ambushed.
The Union troops were going almost half way across the state to reach Allentown, where they would join up with another regiment. Ben knew that Virginia was being racked by battles between Union and Confederate forces, so he assumed the Federals were gearing up for another one. Now, Ben had to get to the Union camp faster than ever, to tell them what he thought. In order to do that, he had to keep from being captured, as he had papers that would reveal him to be a spy.
The way the soldiers were crashing through the brush told him they felt no need for stealth, in contrast to the troops he had been watching, whose silent demeanor indicated they were approaching the little town in the utmost secrecy.
Ben had no other option but to fade quickly and quietly back into the forest. Just as he moved a bit further behind the trees that had been shielding him, an arm encircled his neck and he felt the cold, hard muzzle of a gun next to his head.
A voice whispered in his ear. “Move an inch, and you die.”
Ben’s heart dropped into his boots. His breath caught in his throat, and icy sweat broke out on his forehead. The arm tightened around his neck, and he struggled to breathe. The voice said, “Drop the rifle. Now.”
Ben let the rifle fall. His fingers felt so lifeless it was hard to hold on to, anyway. The soldier behind him kicked his feet apart, making Ben slump against this faceless figure. The soldier dragged him back into the woods, and another voice came through the fog.
“Dustin! What in bloody blue blazes are you doing? Who’s that with you?”
“Sergeant, this here is somebody I caught watching what was going on downhill. I ain’t asked him who he is yet.”
The sounds of men coming through the woods s
topped abruptly. For a few seconds, the eerie silence continued, until the second voice said, “All right, Dustin, bring him here.”
“All right, stand up and walk straight ahead. You fixen to do anything crazy, you best recollect I got a gun in your ear.”
Ben walked as best he could a short distance through the woods, until a shadowy figure rose from a small group of men seated on the ground. He stopped and looked around. It seemed amazing that such a small number of men could have created the noise he heard coming through the woods, but other than these, there didn’t seem to be anyone else around.
The soldier approached Ben. “I’m Sergeant Wilson. Who are you, and what are you doing, skulking around here?”
“I’m not skulking around here or anywhere. I’m a Confederate, just like you, and I’m trying to get to some relatives. They live in Parkview, about ten miles from here.”
“Yeah? Then why weren’t you just getting on your way, instead of hiding out in the trees and spying on what was going on downhill?” The Sergeant’s voice was quiet but distinctly unfriendly.
“Well, uh, all those soldiers and stuff down below…I didn’t know if they were Union or not. The fog makes their uniforms hard to make out.” Ben was trying to keep his voice steady and matter-of-fact, but inside, he was deeply afraid.
“Yeah, well, we’ll let the commanding officer decide just who and what you are. Corporal, tie his hands behind him, and march him down below. The Captain can do with him whatever he wants.”
“Wait! I’m not a soldier, I’m just trying to get to my relatives. Why can’t I just go along, I’m not going to hurt anyone.” Ben was close to panic.
“You have a pistol and a rifle. That means you’re probably not just ‘anyone.’ Corporal, tie him up like I said. That’s an order, so get a move on.”
A few minutes later, the Corporal was shoving Ben, with his hands tied behind him, down the hill into the midst of the Confederate troops.
The Corporal pushed Ben into the middle of the men, keeping time with all of them. There was no talking, and the quiet thud, thud of the horses’ and mules’ covered feet, instead of the brisk clip clop that Ben was used to, was unnerving. As he walked along, even though this could not be called ‘marching,’ he could still feel the rhythm of two hundred or more feet. His heart was beating so fast it was hard to get his breath. He couldn’t afford to be searched. The message he carried was not in an obvious place, but that didn’t mean it couldn’t be found.
A hand came out of nowhere, and snatched him out of the troops. He looked up into the craggy face of an older man, one whose face and stance suggested many years of an Army life.
The Captain pulled him away from the silent troops. He looked him up and down before saying quietly, “Who are you, and why are you here? I suggest you not lie to me.”
Ben’s heart did another flip flop, but he tried to keep his voice steady. “I’m from Kentucky, and I’m looking to find some relatives in Parkview. The Sergeant didn’t like it that I’m carrying a rifle and a pistol, but, Captain, I’ve been on my own for a while now. Sometimes I’ve had to shoot my own food, and…”
“All right, that’s enough. Corporal, untie the boy’s hands, strip him down, and if you find nothing, let him get dressed, return his weapons to him, and let him go. That’s an order. I do not want any more nonsense brought to me, is that understood? Fine, then get a move on.” The Captain strode off to the front of his men.
The Corporal muttered something unpleasant about uppity officers, before yanking the ropes from around Ben’s hands. “You heard him, strip down, and hurry up. I gotta catch up to them men, and that’s gonna mean I run. I hate to run. So hurry up.”
Ben stripped to his underwear, but didn’t remove his boots. The Corporal shook out his pants, shirt, and jacket, took a quick look at Ben’s shivering body, and slapped the clothes back into his hands. “Get dressed.”
By the time Ben had pulled on his jacket and buttoned it up to fight the cold night, the Corporal had returned with his rifle and pistol. He handed them to Ben without a word, turned, and began a shaky run towards the end of the troops that had gotten ahead of him.
Ben stood quietly, watching the Confederate troops fade into the fog. He breathed a sigh of relief, as he holstered his pistol. If the Corporal had been more diligent in his search, he just might have found the tiny papers folded inside the heels of Ben’s boots.
* * *
Two days later, Ben walked into the Union camp shortly after sun-up. The soldiers were in the midst of tearing down tents and packing up supplies. Several men looked up as he passed, but no one stopped him. He walked up to one of them, and said, “I need to speak to Captain Billby. Can you tell me where I can find him?”
“Sure, he’s right over there, where they’re packing up the cook tent.” The soldier pointed a short distance away.
Ben thanked him, and headed towards the field where half of a large tent was laying on the ground, along with a large assortment of pots and pans. The Captain was standing with his hands on his hips, and a very obvious expression of annoyance on his face. As Ben walked up, the Captain was saying, “…a bunch of dunderheads. You were supposed to take down the cook tent, not tear it down, and tear it up in the process. You think I can get another one of these tents just because I want one? From now on, you’ll be cooking and eating in the weather, hot, cold, rain, or snow. Your buddies are going to love you for that. Now quit standing around with your faces hanging out, and get that equipment packed up and stowed in the wagons. Now!”
The Captain turned away with an expression of disgust on his face. He saw Ben, and said harshly, “Yes? Did you want something?”
“Uh, yes sir, Captain Billby. I have some papers for you, and some information I just found out.”
The Captain moved away from him, saying over his shoulder, “Follow me, we can speak privately in my tent. Or what’s left of it, anyway.” He strode briskly over to a partially open tent, and motioned for Ben to sit in one of the two chairs left. His desk was already gone, and two soldiers were packing up papers. The Captain dismissed the men before turning to Ben. “All right, young fella, what do you have for me?”
Ben took off his boots, and worked the heels around until they opened. He took out the small papers tucked inside the heels, closed the heels, and put his boots back on. He handed the papers to the officer. “These papers came from Major Arnold. He said they are in code but that you would know what they meant. Sir, I have knowledge of a Confederate troop movement that is setting up to ambush you just outside of the town of Provinci. I wanted you to know.”
Captain Billby settled his bulky frame more solidly into the small tent chair. “I know what these papers are, that’s right. I can look at them later. Tell me what you know about the Confederates’ movement, and what they are planning.”
For the next fifteen minutes, Ben told the Captain all he had seen and heard about the Confederates. He told him about the little town of Provinci, and the small valley just outside that the Union troops would normally pass through. “It’s a perfect place for an ambush, sir, and they have the fire power to do it, with all those cannons and caissons I saw.”
“What about man power? About how many troops did you see?”
“I think it was only a company, sir, a little over one hundred men. But even that few could do a lot of damage, in that valley. There are so many places for men and guns to hide, and your soldiers would be marching straight through, all out in the open.”
“Hmm. Yes, you’re right. Well, there’s more than one road to Allentown. The one through Provinci is the one everyone usually takes, because it’s not a hard ride, and the townspeople are very accommodating. But I can see we will not be going that way. No need to put my men in harm’s way unnecessarily.” The Captain let out a heavy sigh then reached into his jacket pocket for a cigar. He offered one to Ben, who shook his head. Billby lit the cigar, and threw the match on the ground. He stared at it for a moment, took in a d
eep puff of the cigar, and let it out in a long, blue curl of smoke which made Ben’s nose twitch.
“I thank you kindly for this information, son. What is your name?”
“Ben McKenna, sir.”
“McKenna of the Kentucky McKennas? Are you from the Tate Plantation?”
Ben hesitated. “Uh, yes sir, I am. Elizabeth Tate is my grandmother.”
The Captain burst into laughter, almost choking on his cigar. “Well, now, that’s a fine kettle of fish. I’ve heard about you, back when you were just a kid, and you helped some slaves escape. Now you’re spying on the Confederates, and helping out the Union? Why is that, Ben?”
He shrugged. “I hate slavery, Captain. I’ve always hated it. My grandmother is an Abolitionist, and I learned from her. I hate going against my ma and pa, but my pa taught us boys when we were young to stand up for what we believe in. My beliefs just happen to run against theirs, but I’m still following what my father taught me.”
The Captain looked at him with shrewd eyes. “Good on you, boy, good on you.” He sighed, took another puff, blew out the blue smoke, and said, “This war is only going to get worse. It’s too bad the institution of slavery is so dang ingrained in most of you Southerners. You’re a good case, you know…son against father, brother against his brothers. It’s sad, but there’s no way around it, the South has to come into the Union, and that’s the end of that story. Well, Ben, you check around, see if there’s still some coffee and food to be had somewhere. Food tent’s gone, thanks to those dunderheads taking it down, so supper will be interesting.”