by Mikki Sadil
He had been walking for days, as Mack had been shot out from under him. Every time he thought about the horse, tears filled his eyes, yet he knew he had been more than lucky to get away without being killed himself. He reached out to ring the bell, but the gate opened before he could do so, and Danny stood before him.
“Mister Ben! What you doin’ here widout your horse? You look plumb tuckered out! You git youself in here quick-like, and I takes you to Mistress. Come on, now.”
The little boy reached out to Ben, but at that moment he collapsed on the ground. Danny stood looking at him for only a second before he ran up the road, calling at the top of his voice for Mistress Fenaway.
* * *
The next time Ben opened his eyes, he was in a dark room, lit only by a small stream of sunshine hitting the floor from under heavy curtains pulled across the windows. He tried to move, and groaned with the pain. He heard a voice say, “Master Ben, you awake? I goes to get the Mistress.”
“The Mistress”? Who could that be? His foggy brain wasn’t working, and his body certainly wasn’t, either. He could hardly move, but somehow, he realized he was in a house, and on a bed, covered up with heavy quilts. It didn’t much matter anymore where he was, but at least he was warm.
He was aware of a door opening, and a woman’s voice saying, “Ben, you’re safe now. You’re here with Puck and me, Lucy Fenaway. Don’t worry about anything, just sleep and rest. I will…” The voice faded into nothingness, as darkness once again overtook him.
* * *
Ben’s sleep was disturbed by images and voices of events that had happened. He lay in a coma-like state, but talked aloud, sometimes shouting, sometimes screaming in pain or in fear of his life. The memories of the past year or more became real as he relived them once again.
* * *
The ride to the garrison at Dover was uneventful, other than long and tiring. Once Ben arrived and delivered the weapons and messages to the commandant, he was again given a small room and told to rest, eat, and he would have new orders in a day or two. He took care of Mack first, brushing him down and giving him a couple flakes of alfalfa before closing the stall door. When he got to the room the young soldier showed him, the first thing he did was to throw himself on the bed and fall asleep.
By the time he received his next assignment, three days later, he and Mack were both rested and well-fed, and Ben felt energized once again to get on his way.
For the next few months, Ben’s assignments kept him on the move from one garrison to another. The War in Tennessee ranged from small, unimportant skirmishes to all-out battles designed for either the Confederates or the Federals to win. Once again, it was not a “winner-takes-all” situation, but back-and forth moves where Confederates would win one, then the Federals would win one. At this time, it was anyone’s guess as to who would actually win this war.
Ben moved secretly and cautiously between these skirmishes and battles, learning all he could about the movements of troops, observing the number and kinds of weapon the Rebels had at any one location, and reporting back to whatever garrison he was currently assigned to. Sometimes he was ordered to work with other spies to blow up bridges and tear up railroad tracks, and it was during these times his fear that he would never get home again became almost unbearable. But this was the life at the time he had chosen for himself, and he knew there was no turning back until this war was over…no matter who won.
Ben received orders to return to Virginia, and Mistress Henshaw. The journey back to Virginia was long and hard, and several times Ben found himself skirting along the edges of a full-blown battle. At last, dirty, hungry, and almost exhausted, he rode an equally dirty and exhausted Mack up to the front of Mistress Henshaw’s mansion. The same flirtatious young lady he met the very first time he and the Colonel had come here led him into the kitchen, and pushed him down in a chair.
She set a mug of hot coffee and a large hunk of hot, buttered cornbread down in front of him. “Here, eat something while I get the Mistress. I’ll have one of the boys take care of your horse, too.”
A few minutes later, Mistress Henshaw came into the kitchen and sat down across from Ben. “Oh, my goodness, Ben! You look exhausted, my young friend. I do have new orders for you, but I want you to go up to your room…and yes, it’s still yours…take a hot bath, and then sleep for as long as you can. I want you to rest up for at least the next twenty-four hours, and then we’ll talk. I’ll see you later.”
* * *
After sleeping for almost a full day, eating until his belly would not accept another bite, Ben felt normal again. The following day, he sat down to breakfast with Mistress Henshaw. She smiled at him. “Well, you look almost like yourself again. We haven’t seen each other in almost two years, Ben, and you have surely changed some. You must be, what, seventeen almost eighteen now?”
“Yes, I’ll be eighteen in November.”
“That’s good, you are just the right age for what I want you to do. I want you to go to Washington, there’s a family there who will take you in. They are involved in politics of both the Union and Confederate government. It will be easy for you to fit in, and to hear what I need for you to learn. No one suspects anything about this family, so you will not be in any danger. I have instructions written out for you, including an introduction, and you will leave as soon as we are finished here.”
* * *
His instructions were explicit, along with papers identifying him as a contraband merchant willing and able to sell weapons, ammunition, and even quinine, to Confederate troops. Quinine was in short supply to the Confederate Army, and was about the only drug available to treat the malaria and yellow fever that often ran wild through the troops. He was given the name and location of another Union spy, to whom he would give any information he gained from the Reed family, before he contacted the Rebel commander.
Ben was tired and hungry when he finally rode up to the Curtis family home. It was a broad, sprawling mansion, mostly hidden behind huge trees. As he tied Mack to the hitching rail in front of the porch, a soldier clad in Rebel clothing approached him, pistol in hand.
“You there, stop where you are, and show me your credentials. Who are you, and what business do you have here?”
“I’m Ben McKenna, from Kentucky. Here are my credentials.” He pulled out the papers Mistress Henshaw had given him, identifying him as a contraband merchant. The soldier looked them over, nodded and handed them back. “Fine, you may go on up to the house. You’ll be met there by someone who will introduce you to the family.”
A few minutes later, Ben stood in the luxuriously appointed library. Before he could get a good look around, Mister Reed walked in, his hand held out. “Good morning, Ben! It is nice to meet you. Elizabeth Henshaw is a family friend, so you are very welcome here. Come, we are just sitting down to supper, and you must join us. Just one thing: please do not discuss anything in those documents, and follow my lead when I introduce you. When you enter the dining room, you’ll understand why I say this.”
Much to Ben’s surprise, the people around the large dining table did not include just the Reed family: there was Madam Reed, sons Luke and Cyrus, daughters Amy, Rose, and Pricilla, and also three men dressed in Confederate uniforms, two majors and one captain. They were introduced as Majors Kerbey and McLoyd, and Captain Leroy. Ben sat down next to the oldest boy, Luke, and across from the three officers.
Mister Reed introduced Ben as the son of a long-ago friend who had moved away before the war started. Madam Reed smiled warmly at Ben, and held out her hand to him. When he took it, she squeezed his hand strongly, all the while smiling at him. Yet, he knew the squeeze was a reminder to follow their lead.
While supper was very good and filling, Ben was uneasy. The three Rebel officers kept asking him questions about what he did, why he was not in uniform, and what business did he have so far from Kentucky.
“Sirs, as to what I do, I do whatever I can to help this war. I’m not in uniform because of a
health problem that disqualifies me from becoming a solider, and I’m this far from Kentucky because this is where the Reeds live, and I am here to visit them.”
Despite different members of the family speaking up for him, he had the distinct feeling in his gut they didn’t believe him. Finally, Madam Reed intervened.
“Gentlemen, enough of this. Ben is here as an invited guest, and I for one don’t appreciate you haggling with him. Let us discuss something else, please.”
A request from the lady of the house was comparable to a command, so from that moment on, the soldiers ignored Ben. Mister Reed asked a few questions that got the soldiers started talking about their next move, and Ben sat quietly, drinking his coffee and letting all the information settle in.
* * *
Not far from the Reed home, and close to the Virginia border, sat an old farmhouse on pasture land that once was green with grass and covered with horses, but which now was bare land pockmarked from shell fire. It was to this farmhouse Ben conveyed his information, both the intelligence he learned from listening to the Confederate officers who were posted with the Reed family, and the contracts he made with Mister Reed for contraband. Soon he was asked to carry dispatches to different parts of Virginia where Rebel forces were concentrated. Before they were delivered, they went to the farmhouse, where the Union agent copied them and sent the information on to the Union forces. Since the Confederates housed with the Reeds spoke freely about the different assignments for the Rebel forces, Ben learned much about Confederate movements upon Union forts, how many troops would be involved, and what kind of artillery would those troops have. This was invaluable intelligence for the Union. At the same time, every deal Ben made for delivering contraband to Confederate forces was honored by the Union, thereby increasing his credibility and making it safe for him to continue to live in the Reed home.
But then one day, everything changed.
Ben was on his way to the farmhouse, riding Mack at a leisurely canter, when he smelled smoke. As he came up on a small rise, he saw the farmhouse was not only on fire, but now almost reduced to nothing but a pile of smoking rubble. He slowed Mack to a walk, and cautiously approached, but even from a distance, he could see a body laying out on the ground, covered with blood. It was the Union agent.
Without a second thought, he turned Mack around and headed back into the woods at a gallop. He heard other horses behind him, and knowing they would be Confederates, he spurred Mack on to a flat-out run. But the soldiers behind him were not letting him get away, and as shots rang out, Mack fell to the ground, pinning Ben under him. The horse was dead, and Ben could not move. Another few shots, and Ben felt something as hot as fire pierce his shoulder and arm, and then…nothing.
* * *
Ben awoke to savage pain in his left shoulder and arm. He tried sitting up, and fell back, moaning in pain. He looked around, and realized he was in some kind of cell. He was on the floor, his shirt stuck to it by dried blood. There were other men in the same cell, but they were not paying any attention to him. As his mind and vision cleared, he saw the men were almost grotesque in appearance, their clothes, or what remained of their uniforms, hanging off of them in rags; their hair and beards were long, rough, and stringy; their bodies were dirty, and most had open sores on their legs and arms.
A few were lying on cots or on the floor on blankets, made filthy by vomit and human waste. As Ben shifted his vision around, he saw the cell was just one long narrow room, with a few windows almost completely covered by iron bars on the outside. The smell inside the room was overpoweringly fetid and putrescent.
Oh my God! I’m in a Confederate prison. And I’ve been shot. What do I do now?
His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the heavy cell door being opened, as two soldiers came in. They walked over to Ben, leaned down, and pulled him roughly to his feet. Pain shot through him again as the soldiers dragged him out the door. They propelled him across a long area of dead grass and weeds, and into another building. The hallway was cold, with wind whistling through cracks in the wooden walls. They stopped in front of a door, knocked, then pushed him into the office and shoved him down in a chair.
When he looked up, he was face to face with Major McLoyd, one of the two Majors who were routine visitors at the Reeds. Ben sat up as straight as he could, and cradled his left arm in his right hand.
He sat silently, as did the Major who simply stared at him. At last, the Major said, “Well, Ben McKenna, you are a spy. And for the Union Army, no less. But I give you credit, you had us all fooled for a while. Do you have anything to say for yourself?”
Ben remained silent, fear consuming him. I don’t know how he found out, but anything I say will probably only make things worse. If he is going to hang me, I guess that’s what will happen. Maybe it’s better this way, at least I won’t die like those poor men in that cell.
“Well, I see you aren’t going to offer excuses. Hmm. Frankly, that’s more than I gave you credit for. Sergeant, take him back to the cell and have the doctor take care of his wounds.”
* * *
Back in the cell, the doctor came in, cleaned the shoulder wound and the two to his arm, poured some Listerine liquid into the wounds, and then bound them up with rags. At some point they moved him into another room. The windows still had bars on them, and the door was locked, but now he had a bed, and only two other roommates. His arm seemed to be healing but his shoulder wound hurt constantly. His roommates were both older men who tended to him better than the doctor. They fed him the meager food the prisoners were allowed, changed his bandages, and gently cleaned his wounds. They talked to him, but he didn’t remember what was said. At least he was getting better.
A week later, a soldier came in and pointed to Ben. “Get up, you’re coming with me. The Major wants to see you.”
* * *
The soldier pushed Ben down into a chair, and once again he was face to face with Major McLoyd. This time, the Major wasted no time in silence. He glared at Ben. “I want some straight answers from you. Who sent you to the Reeds, and how deeply is that family involved in spying?”
Ben remained silent. After a moment, the Major nodded to the soldier standing behind Ben’s chair. The man leaned forward and dug his fingers deep into Ben’s shoulder wound. He almost passed out from the pain.
“All right, that will do, Curtis. McKenna, that’s only a sample of what I can do to you. Now answer me, or do you prefer to suffer?”
Ben breathed as deeply as he could before replying. “I wasn’t ‘sent’ to the Reeds by anyone, I came to visit them. I’m not a spy, I know nothing about spying, and to my knowledge, no one in the Reed family is involved in any way with espionage. I don’t know why you would think that, you are there so much, you should be able to tell for yourself that they are just what they say they are, a Confederate family.”
The Major sneered. “Appearances deceive, just as you deceived everyone, including the Reeds. But you are right about one thing, and that is they could not be involved with spying right under my nose. You have one more chance…are you going to tell me who you really are, and what you are doing in Washington?”
“I’ve already answered that question, Major McLoyd.”
The Major nodded to the soldier standing behind Ben, who pulled him roughly out of the chair by his wounded arm, and walked him out of the room.
This time, the soldier pushed him through another door and outside. He walked him away from the building, out across an open space, and up to a huge wall, built entirely of thick logs, at least twelve feet high. A gate opened slowly, and the soldier marched Ben inside the wall and stopped. “All right, spy, this is where you be stayin’ until we done win this here war. If you be still alive, you’ll be hung then.” He laughed as released Ben’s arm and gave him another push. “Might be, you’ll wish for a hangin’ sooner.” He left through the gate, which four armed soldiers slowly closed behind him.
Ben looked around and saw nothing but men walkin
g aimlessly, men sitting huddled together or lying on the ground. In the background was a large dormitory-kind of building, but between the building and where Ben was standing was nothing but dirt, rubble, tents, and make-shift sleeping places. There was a stench in the air, one of fear, disease, hopelessness, and even death. As he walked slowly around, his own fear began to mount.
* * *
Time passed slowly for Ben. He had made friends with several of the Federal soldiers who had been recently captured, and who were still in fairly good health. They had stolen a large canvas tarp from a stockpile at one end of the barracks, and constructed a make-shift tent from it and large pieces of wood found lying around on the grounds. They made their living space at the opposite end of the prison grounds, away from the one gate. When Ben asked why, since most of the tents were closer to the gate, the soldier named Robby replied. “Yeah, most of these guys think the closer they are to the gate, the more chance they might have to escape. But first, that just ain’t gonna happen, and second, if you walk around there, there’s more sickness and filth at that end of the prison than way down here. If you’re where them guards can notice you, the more chance you have of getting’ beat up, too. So we stay down here, mind our own business, and hope to stay alive until this crappy war is over and we can go home.”