“Now let’s go and catch up,” the corporal said.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Saturday, June 20, 1863
Russell and Barnard got to Durham, North Carolina and both needed a stretch. Russell took the wagon down the back alley of the building and stopped when he came to a large field to his right. There was another alley between the buildings that went back to Main Street and the front of the general store.
“What are you doing, Russell?”
“We need supplies.”
Russell got down, with Barnard right behind. Caring less about their cargo, they walked up the alley to the general store.
In the meantime, Sarah and Jenny were trying to figure out how to escape when they heard a man whistling as he walked by. “Help!” Sarah yelled out the small window in the side.
***
The middle-aged man was dressed in a brown jacket and hat. He stopped whistling when he heard a voice say, “Help!” from inside the gray paddy wagon. He noticed what kind of wagon it was and began to hurry past it when again he heard, “Is someone out there?” He stopped. “Please help us.” The voice came from within the wagon.
He slowly walked over to the high side window. He saw a lady’s white fingers around the bars, but the window was too high to see inside. “Please, let us out,” begged the voice inside the wagon. The gentleman walked around to the back door and saw that it was locked. He saw a beautiful woman at the back window, her hands holding the bars.
“Please mister, help us get out of here. We’ve been kidnapped,” she begged.
“Okay. Yes, I will. Hold on.” The man looked around and found a big rock to break the lock. He went back and started hitting the lock.
“Please, hurry,” the lady at the window said.
“This is a tough lock. It may take me a minute.”
He went back to pounding on the lock. Then a shot rang out and the man fell to the ground.
Russell and Barnard were back with supplies. Russell had shot the man. He walked over and unlocked the door. He opened the door and pointed his firearm at Valerie. He cocked the hammer and shoved the pistol against her forehead. “You listen to me, woman, and listen good. One more plea for help. One more peep, anything that comes out of your mouth. I will kill this girl here. Understand?”
Sarah and Jenny exchanged looks. Then Sarah turned to Russell, who was still pointing his pistol at Valerie and waiting for a response.
“We’ll be good, I promise,” Sarah said. “Please don’t kill her.”
Russell lowered his weapon and slipped it back in his holster. “Come on, Barnard. Help me with him.”
George and Anita grabbed their daughter, clutching her in their arms. Russell and Barnard, to the shock of Sarah and Jenny, picked up the dead man and threw him in the back of the wagon. Russell gave Sarah a menacing stare as he shut the door.
Russell and his apprentice, Barnard, climbed on board and moved out. All sat, quiet and appalled, in the back of the wagon. When Russell got out of town a ways, he pulled over and got down and walked back. Barnard met him at the back door. Russell unlocked the door and opened it.
“Barnard, take his feet.” Russell pointed to George. “You take his arms.”
George and Barnard carried the dead man into the woods and dropped him. Then they came back to the wagon.
“Go ahead—stretch your legs and relieve yourselves,” Russell said.
But the two women sat there, too scared to move. Remembering what happened the last time they relieved themselves.
“Barnard will behave himself, I promise.”
Sarah went past Russell nervously and walked to the woods. Jenny was scared, but tried not to show it. George helped Anita and Valerie down from the wagon. He looked at the ground, not moving his gaze.
Russell watched the women’s every move. Barnard was smiling.
While they all took care of business, Sarah looked back and saw the town from where they had come. When Sarah was done, she went to George. “Recognize that town back there?”
“Can’t rightly say, ma’am.”
“Come on. Get in there,” Russell said to the group.
“Have any more bread and water?” Sarah boldly asked.
Russell looked sternly at Sarah. “Get ’em another loaf,” he told Barnard. “And some water.”
Barnard got the bread and a canteen and handed it to Sarah. Sarah got in the back of the wagon with the others. Russell and Barnard climbed aboard. Russell took the reins and smacked his horses. The wagon jerked, and they started off. They followed the National Road east for the next four days, into Virginia. When they came close to Petersburg, Russell made a turn to the north. Following a dirt road in a north easterly direction, Ben crossed the state line into Virginia. He went around Petersburg and skirted Richmond.
On the afternoon of Saturday, June 27, they were a half-day’s ride outside the small community of Port Royal.
“Port Royal up ahead,” Russell said.
“’Bout time,” Barnard answered. “How much longer?”
“Be there for supper,” Russell said.
“Payday is a-coming,” Barnard said joyfully.
They both laughed.
Cramped inside, Sarah and Jenny heard the comments.
“When we get to Port Royal, we’ll make our escape.” Sarah whispered to Jenny.
“Sounds good to me,” Jenny said.
“What we going to do - run like always? Cause if’n we do that, we’re sure to get caught,” George said.
“Don’t worry. We’ll think of something,” Sarah said.
That evening, they got to Port Royal. The skies were overcast as Russell paid the ferryman passage across the Rappahannock River.
“They’re not stopping?” Jenny said.
“I see that,” Sarah said.
“Well, do something,” Jenny said.
“What’s their next stop?”
“How do I know?” Jenny said.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Saturday, June 20, 1863
That evening, the squad took a cut-off north toward Mt. Airy. Following the tree line until it started to get dark. The captain found a clearing to stop for the night.
“We’ll make camp here,” the captain ordered. “We’re just south of Mt. Airy.”
They secured a rope around two trees, unsaddled their horses, and tied them to the rope. Mike and Ray dismounted.
As they walked, Mike whispered to Ray, “Tonight is the night. When they all fall asleep tonight, we’ll make our escape.”
They both hitched their horses to the rope.
“Sergeant, post a guard on the horses,” the captain ordered.
Mike and Ray kept their heads down and moved rather quickly to the campfire.
Meanwhile, someone started coffee, while the other men were taking their bedrolls from the backs of their saddles. The sergeant gave Mike and Ray saddle blankets for the night.
The cook had a fire made and started some salt beef while the coffee was brewing. The men finished up laying out their blankets for the night then settled down around the small cook fire.
“We’ll need to get you boys fixed up. You’ll like the cavalry when you see how the womenfolk flock to ya,” the captain told Mike and Ray.
The men laughed and one cavalryman nudged another. “Got a match?”
“Sure, pard,” he said, and handed him a match.
The guy struck the match and lit his pipe. Between pulls on the pipe he said, “Thanks.”
“Coffee’s ready,” the cook said, and poured his four men a cup.
The corporal, an average-sized man with shoulder-length auburn hair, was one of the few men who was clean shaven.
“You seem to be riding better,” he told Ray.
“Thanks again, corporal. It really helped with my leg,” Ray said.
“Staying upright is easier with a saddle,” Mike jibed.
“Yes, it is,” the corporal laughed.
“What’s your name,
corporal?” Mike asked.
“Sam Lookingbill,” he said proudly.
“What are you, part Indian?” Ray asked.
“One-quarter Lakota.”
“I’ll be,” Mike said.
After they got their fill of salt beef, the men sang their favorite song, “Goober Peas.” Followed by “Camp-town Races.” Their last song for that night was, “Tenting on the Old Campground.”
About midnight they all settled down for a night’s sleep.
Mike dreamed about Sarah. He was anxious for her safety. He feared the worst. He hadn’t had a sense of her since she had been taken. This portion of the journey had been better than expected, and he wondered if Sarah had a hand in it. Then the dream went nightmarish. What if she was dead? He woke up sweating and heaving, trying to catch his breath.
“You okay, Mike?” Ray whispered.
“I can’t feel Sarah,” Mike said.
“Maybe we’re too far away from her,” Ray said.
“Maybe.” Mike lay back down for a spell.
Time passed and the camp got real quiet. “Ray, you ready?”
“Ready as I can get.”
Mike and Ray sneaked over to the horses. Mike grabbed the guard and put him in a chokehold and knocked him out. Ray grabbed a saddle.
“Show me how I put this on.”
“Put that back. We don’t want to give them any more of an excuse to come after us. We’ll just take our own horses and go.”
Mike jumped on the back of his horse and watched Ray jump and push, making the horse spin in circles. Then he jumped and climbed on, making him whinny with each kick, which stirred the camp.
“What’s going on?” the captain asked, waking up.
“The horses!” the sergeant yelled.
“Get your weapons,” the captain said.
Mike and Ray rode hard out of camp. They steered their horses in the same direction they had come from. Galloping down the trail when shots were fired.
Ray was following Mike, hanging on with all his might, when he felt a bullet strike the heel of his boot. It didn’t hurt, so he went on. They rode hard until Mike felt they were out of harm’s way. Then he pulled up his horse up and walked until morning. Suddenly, Ray’s horse dropped to the ground with Ray on him. Mike heard a yelp and turned around to see Ray and his horse lying in the middle of the road. Ray was rolling around in pain, holding his left leg.
“What happened?” Mike asked.
“Don’t know. He just fell,” Ray said.
Mike examined the horse and found that he had been shot in the rump right where Ray’s foot had been.
“Bullet wound,” Mike said.
“That’s what I felt,” Ray said.
“He bled out until he dropped dead.”
“Are you okay?” Mike asked Ray.
“Yeah, more startled, than hurt.”
Mike helped Ray get on the back of his own horse. Mike realized they were back on the National Road. He looked in the direction of the sunrise and rode. By late Monday night they made it to Durham, North Carolina.
After some much needed rest, they rode another four days in a northeasterly direction, going around Richmond they foraged on berries, while the horse grazed on the grass along the dirt road.
They were exhausted, but pressed on into the night. With the aid of the full moon’s light, Mike spotted a farm down in the valley. “Down there, Ray.”
They rode by a modest, two-story frame house with a wide front porch and a brick chimney at either end. They made their way through the apple orchard and a grove of locust trees. They passed a few outbuildings, including a corn crib. They came to a large barn with open slats for drying tobacco.
“We’ll stop here for the night.”
“Sounds good to me,” Ray moaned.
Mike pulled the horse up next to the barn. Ray was half asleep, lying on Mike’s back.
“Time to get off, Ray.”
Ray slid down from the horse and Mike dismounted.
“See anybody?” Mike asked.
“No.”
Mike walked to the door, opened it, and went in.
Ray followed him. “You’re getting way too comfortable breaking into barns.”
Tobacco hung from the ceiling and piles of straw were stacked in a stall. Ray walked over and plopped down.
“I’m gonna lie here and die now. Just leave me be,” Ray said, as he lay on the straw.
“I heard that,” Mike said.
“I’m cold, tired, and hungry. Dying would be easy.”
“Dying would give us some rest.”
“I think I have a blister on my ass,” Ray said.
The two collapsed on the straw exhausted.
Suddenly, the barn’s doors opened.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Friday, June 26, 1863
Standing at the front door were a tall man and two young companions. The tall man wasn’t armed, but the two younger men had shotguns and they pointed them at Mike and Ray.
“What are you two doing in my barn?”
“Don’t shoot us, we mean no harm,” Mike said with his hands in the air.
“What’s ya’ll names?”
“I’m Mike and this is Ray.”
“Not stealing are ya?”
“No. We just need to rest. We’ve been riding for days,” Mike said.
“You boys Christians?”
“Yes. We’ve been trying to get to Baltimore, where our women were taken,” Mike said.
“Taken? What do you mean by ‘taken’?”
“They were kidnapped.”
The man’s demeanor relaxed. “You must be hungry?”
“Yes,” Mike said.
“Boys, go get them something to eat.”
“Yes, father,” the oldest boy said, and went toward the house. The younger boy kept pointing the shotgun at them.
“May I ask your name?” Mike said.
“Richard Garrett, the owner of this property.”
Mike was wowed. “As in the Garrett Farm?”
“That’s the second time you’ve have a gleam in your eye, what’s up?” Ray asked.
“Tell you later, Ray.”
The boy lowered his gun when the door opened and in walked the older boy with ham, hard cheese, and bread.
He handed the plate to Mike. While Mike and Ray were eating, the boys interrupted and asked questions. They wanted to know all about their visitors.
“What’s your name?” Mike asked.
“Robert,” the older boy said.
“And yours?” Mike continued.
“Richard,” the younger boy answered.
“Are you criminals?” the younger boy asked.
“No, no. We’re not,” Mike said with a laugh.
After they finished eating, Mr. Garrett turned to the boys. “Time for bed, boys. Leave them be and go to the house. You two can stay the night, but be gone in the morning.”
“You got my word on it,” Mike said.
Mr. Garrett shook Mike’s and then Ray’s hand.
“You’ve got a deal.”
***
In the morning, Mike woke Ray. “You ready?”
“Guess so.” Ray rolled and got up.
Mike got back on the horse and gave Ray a hand getting up. He gave a slight kick to the flanks and the horse started up the road. Mike put some distance between them and the farm.
“Do you know what historical event took place where we stayed last night?” Mike asked.
“Not really,” Ray said.
“That was the Garrett Farm. The same farm, that in two years, John Wilkes Booth will run to after shooting Lincoln. We slept in the actual barn where they shot and captured Booth.”
“Wow, that’s something,” Ray said.
“You’re not that big into history, are you, Ray?”
“Not really.”
A few miles up the road Mike halted the horse. “We need to get down and let the horse walk for a while.”
Ray
slithered off the horse’s back, followed by Mike.
“My ass is killing me.” Ray moaned.
“So is mine, but we need to hot-walk the horse,” Mike said, rubbing his backside.
Mike walked the horse slowly up the road.
Ray got curious. “How you know so much about horses?”
“Remember, my father owned horses when we were kids. I was the one who was expected to take care of them.”
“That’s right. I forgot all about those days. Seems so long ago.”
“The biggest job to remember after a long ride is to hot-walk the horse,” Mike said, as he walked along.
“What’s that mean?”
“Hot walking allows the horse to cool down. He’d get sick if you don’t.”
“How long do we walk him?”
“About a half hour.”
As they strolled up the road, Mike began to think about the predicament they found themselves in.
“Not only do we have to stop the gun and save Gordy, we have to save Sarah and Jenny.”
“I know, and it’s driving me crazy,” Ray said.
“Hopefully, we’ll find them in Baltimore.”
After about 20 minutes Mike couldn’t take the slow pace any longer.
“Let’s go,” he said.
“You mean back on the horse?”
“Yeah.”
“Has it been a half-hour yet?”
“Close enough,” Mike said.
“That’s okay. I’ll walk.”
“No time for that. Get on the horse.”
Mike threw himself back on the horse.
Ray understood there was no sense in arguing. He gave Mike his arm and got back on the horse. Mike went around most towns they came to during their journey.
One fine morning, they came to a town with a river behind it. There was no avoiding this one, the river was too big.
“Wake up, Ray. There’s a river up ahead.”
Ray woke up and looked around.
“There’s the ferry straight ahead.”
“Good. Can we get down?” Ray asked.
“Yeah. We’ll let the horse take a break.”
Mike stopped the horse and Ray slid off. Mike got down, stretching his legs.
“There’s a signpost up ahead,” Mike said.
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