The Mountain

by David L. Golemon

  Thomas looked from his young friend to Claire.

  “Report anything unusual from our British army friend immediately or you may find yourself off this train also.”

  “I will,” was her curt and angry reply.

  “Good, dismissed.” John Henry watched them leave and then turned to Gray Dog. “You’re reverting back to old ways. I need you to speak in terms I can understand.”

  “There is no understanding of this, John Henry. Men will die if we continue.”

  “Ask Sergeant Major Dugan to bring in the artifacts before he beds down.”

  “John Henry, we must not go to this black place.”

  Thomas watched Gray Dog leave and wondered if every person he knew had gone off the proverbial cliff as far as reality was concerned. With the country killing itself in a war that should have been fought a hundred years before, he didn’t need fairy tales to keep him busy.

  He would discover the truth behind those ancient petrified wooden relics.

  16

  Jessy sat at the wood-burning stove, allowing his feet to feel the warmth they had been seeking since the winter of 1862. The second year of the war had seen one of the coldest winters on record and his feet did not come out of the conflict well at all. Taylor was well aware of a soldier’s right to complain about his feet, and he utilized that right by making his men keep constant vigil on the stove. He sat in his stocking feet as he propped them as close as possible to the stove without actually setting them on fire.

  Mess steward Grandee was moving through the car with a tray of coffee and his version of a sweet bun most of the men had never eaten before. Both marine guard and Rebel soldier had been pleased to get the treat from the giant black man. Even Taylor accepted the coffee.

  Inside the car there were twenty-two prisoners and ten marines. Thus far they had kept separate company with only an occasional glance that relayed the men’s distrust of one another. Most of the Rebels were gathered near the back of the car around a single table, leaving their wooden bunk areas for the marines. The accommodations supplied by the Turks had surprised both Union and Confederate soldiers.

  The soft melody of “Bonnie Blue Flag” permeated the train car. The harmonica was slow and bold. The song was normally an upbeat and rollicking tune sung by the troops in the South. The chorus would usually be a blaring Hurrah, hurrah, the boys are home, hurrah, but instead it was just the harmonica playing a sad refrain instead of the patriotic, inspired verse. Taylor was hearing the sadness as the tune came home to roost.

  As the car moved along into the night, a single note sounded from the area where the marines sat. Then another was sent into the sad refrain of the Rebel contingent. It was a slow start to the tune “Battle Hymn of the Republic.” It was another harmonica, only this was used by a marine corporal. The music got louder, interfering with the Rebel tune. In turn the Confederates became louder. Soon a few words to both songs sounded and Taylor grimaced as he foresaw what was coming.

  “Shit,” he said as he sat up and started pulling on his boots as the harmonicas gave way to pounding and louder lyrics from both sides.

  Suddenly Taylor was saved the bad experience of breaking up a fight between factions when a louder tune started filtering through the other two. It was loud and played with spirit. It was another harmonica, and as the men all stood their words and rhetoric started to dwindle down to nothing. They saw the man who had come into the middle of their songs with one of his own. It was Grandee and the steward was playing the old tune that all American men knew—“Yankee Doodle.”

  Taylor had to smile as the men, both marines and Rebels, didn’t know what to do or say. It was Corporal Jenks who started singing the words to the old American folk tune. Soon others joined. Both marine and Reb started caterwauling to the song as loudly as they could.

  The door opened at the back of the car and Taylor turned and saw John Henry with a drawn Colt as he stood in the doorway after hearing the loud voices erupt. Jessy smiled as he once more kicked off his boots. He looked at Thomas and then his smile grew and he shook his head. John Henry holstered his weapon and then nodded, leaving the car as it erupted with both sides singing the same song.

  For both Taylor and Thomas, that was a start—again.

  * * *

  John Henry closed the door with a mild sigh of relief. The men were not brawling as he’d suspected they would. He smiled and shook his head as he started back to the private car at the back of the train.

  “Is everything all right?” came the voice from behind him.

  John Henry turned and saw that Claire had left her sleeping berth, the only occupied one in this car, to see what the shouting and singing were about. She was in a white dressing gown and her long, flowing red hair cascaded around her shoulders. Thomas looked down and the dressing gown was not the only item to catch his eye. Claire was holding a small Derringer in her right hand. John Henry looked from it to the woman’s green eyes.

  “Expect to bring down many a Rebel with just that?”

  “No, just you for exposing my cover story. We could have discussed my orders in private.”

  “Well, you can put that away for now. I’ll answer your challenge after this is all said and done.” He started to turn and then thought better of it. He smiled. “If you really want satisfaction, of course?”

  Claire grimaced and then she lowered the Derringer. She half-smiled and then looked at the colonel in his long-underwear top and blue pants.

  “Are you going to tell me what that is all about?” she asked as she nodded toward the forward train cars.

  “Just a few men remembering who they are.” He shook his head and turned away. “Or were.”

  Claire listened to the rousing tune coming from the men who had been joined by others, both naval personnel and Confederate, as they came together to remember something from their shared past. She understood why that was significant.

  “Sometimes it’s the simplest solutions that stump you, isn’t it?”

  “Sometimes,” John Henry said as he opened the door and without looking back he stepped inside the private car.

  Claire stood and watched the closed door for the longest time. Then she jumped as she felt someone behind her. When she turned she saw it was the Comanche, Gray Dog. He nodded and stepped past her to Thomas’s closed door, where he sat. He watched her until she turned back to her berthing area.

  When she climbed inside and pulled the thin curtain, her thoughts turned to Thomas and she wondered what made a man so resentful of being alive. She got a strange sensation that the colonel would rather be laid low in a grave than be among the living. She suspected she knew why, but for some reason could not understand why it was she cared.

  Her thoughts were still on John Henry as she closed her eyes for sleep.

  * * *

  In the dim lamplight Thomas once more unfolded the waterproof cloth covering the two artifacts. The strange symbols were highlighted as darker etchings as the lamp did not fully expose them to light. He ran his fingers over the deep-cut etchings and then he felt the coldness of the petrified wood. He removed his fingers and rubbed them together. He could almost feel the frost as he wanted nothing more than for the feel of the wood to leave his skin.

  John Henry reached out and swallowed the last of his whiskey, and then as he reached for the decanter found that it was empty. He pushed both the decanter and empty glass away from him as he felt his eyes growing heavy. His attention was again drawn to the two pieces of artifact and the strange symbols on the one. His fingers almost touched it again and then he pulled them back. His eyelids drooped as he again rubbed the tips of his fingers together. It was as if the cold was extending outward now and he could feel it without actually touching the stone. Finally his eyes closed and he felt the gentle touch of sleep as it claimed his conscious mind.

  Outside the door, Gray Dog’s eyes also closed, but not before he pulled the blanket given him by Grandee up around his shoulders as subconsciously he fel
t the cold as it claimed the car.

  Claire was deep asleep in her berth but still managed to pull her quilts and blankets more securely around her.

  The two small lamps inside the railcar started to dim as John Henry embraced the sounds of the train as even they fell distant inside his sleeping mind. The soft tinkling of the whiskey glasses and decanter settled to a mournful tune that only added to his deepness of sleep.

  Just before the lamps expired to nothing, a large shadow detached itself from the rear section of the car. As the light died it took a giant’s form as its wings spread wide and engulfed John Henry Thomas. The entity spread and then after feeling the thoughts of the American, the shadow slowly dispersed.

  * * *

  Jessy opened his eyes at the same moment John Henry started screaming in his dreams. He hurried from his car and made it through the windblown opening between. As he approached Thomas’s car he saw Gray Dog as he had never seen him before—asleep and not moving. It was as though the boy had been drugged. He pushed aside the sitting Comanche and tried to open the door, but it refused to budge.

  “What is it?”

  Jessy turned and saw Claire standing behind him. His eyes told her everything. Their gaze was punctuated by a scream inside the darkened railcar. As Claire pulled her dressing gown tighter around her, she realized that it was freezing inside the car. As she passed between the cars she’d felt the night was brisk, but not as cold as it was inside once she entered the second-to-last car. She heard John Henry yell something incoherent.

  “Break it down!” she cried as she feared what was happening inside.

  Taylor battered the door. Then another body slammed into it from the side as Gray Dog had finally awakened from his unnatural sleep. Both men pushed with their shoulders and the door cracked. Again they pushed as the air rushed by in between cars. The door finally gave, but both men came to a startled stop. Even Claire could see the entity as it stood over John Henry. It was large and it was blacker than the darkness of the car. The giant shadow turned toward them and they saw its mouth widen. They were struck by the sounds of thousands of dying and distressed voices. They were mixed women, children, and men as the maw widened farther. The sounds of slaughter—ten thousand years of man’s crimes against men sounded in all of those terrified and pain-filled voices coming from the blackness.

  “Oh, God!” Claire screamed as the entity turned fully. The blackness was complete, but they could all swear they saw things moving in that blackness. It was like a shadow covered with millions of moving insects.

  Suddenly with a last scream from John Henry the shadowlike darkness closed and then opened the massive mouth wide and out came a roar of an animal the likes of which had not roamed the world in its existence. Then the shadow vanished and the two oil lamps slowly came up in intensity.

  “What in the hell was that?” Taylor said as Claire rushed past him and into the railcar.

  “Death,” Gray Dog said as finally he too went in to see about Thomas.

  Jessy watched as they slowly coaxed John Henry to come around. As for Taylor, he stepped back into the cold night air and closed the door as he realized what it must have been that made John Henry scream the way he had. They were the same screams he had heard the day he had come upon John Henry cradling his sister’s headless body on a burning porch. John Henry was reliving the past.

  He moved his head into the slipstream of the moving train and looked eastward. In the moonlight he saw the range of mountains for the first time. He shivered in the night as he spied the snowcapped summit.

  “Gray Dog is putting him to bed. He says the colonel has never been this drunk. I suspect that had something to do with his vivid dreams,” came the raised voice as it reached him through all of the train’s noise.

  Taylor turned and saw Claire standing outside in the cold air.

  “For a spy, you don’t seem to be very observant, Miss Anderson, or Madame Richelieu, whatever you prefer,” Jessy said as he turned fully to face her. “I’ll tell you what I saw. I saw a large shadow standing over John Henry with an outstretched hand touching his head as he slept—that’s what I saw.”

  Claire didn’t respond as she started to turn away. Jessy took her arm and spun her back around.

  “Now, tell me you saw different.”

  “I told all of you, something is attached to that artifact that’s not natural. I can’t explain it, and the colonel doesn’t want to hear any theories about it, so I suggest you leave it be.” She angrily shrugged out of Taylor’s grip.

  Taylor reached out and took hold of her arm again and pulled her to the opening of the section between cars. The wind caught her hair and it flew back. She saw the mountain range and she froze.

  “I think you’d better explain it to us before we reach that!” he screamed against the noise of the tracks.

  She saw the mountain range and she wanted to turn away but her head wouldn’t move.

  “Because, my dear, we are fast arriving at our destination.”

  Claire finally managed to turn back to face the Rebel colonel.

  “That,” he pointed harshly, “is Mount Ararat!”

  * * *

  The blackness of the mountain range became visible long before the dawn light of morning illuminated the barren landscape.

  Only the peak of Ararat looked down upon the approaching Americans with silent scorn. For this was not the first incursion the mountain had faced.

  History would never record the truth that the summit of Ararat had claimed more lives than were lost at the American Battle of Gettysburg.

  * * *

  It had been more than twenty-four hours since the incident in the private car with John Henry. Most had noticed the dark circles under his eyes as he moved past them inside their berthing cars. The Rebel prisoners raised their brows when they saw the silent way he moved about. It was Claire who cornered John Henry as the train pulled into their last water stop before they hit Talise. The sun was bright but the morning had grown cold as the weather took a turn for the worse. Claire bundled herself as best she could without breaking into the cold weather gear. She saw the men milling around as the colonel had ordered most off the train to stretch their legs. She waited at the bottom step of the private car until John Henry and Jessy made an appearance.

  “Colonel Thomas, do you have a moment?” she asked as John Henry pulled on a pair of leather gloves. He nodded his head and then looked at Taylor.

  “Would you excuse us?”

  Jessy took his time lighting a cigar and then looked up as the tobacco caught. He smiled and then looked at Claire. “Careful now. I just glued him back together.” He smiled even wider and then tipped his hat and moved away, humming a tune she couldn’t place.

  “He is one complicated man,” she said as she followed the easy gait of the Confederate officer.

  “Not exactly the word I would use to describe him,” John Henry said as a little of his old self shone through for the first time in a full day.

  “Colonel, about the other night, I just wanted to say—”

  “Look, I don’t know what happened. I only have what you people say. I had a nightmare about the death of my wife. It happens quite often, I assure you,” he said and then started walking toward the edge of a small road as the train took on water. He turned and saw the men, even their guards, relaxing on the wild grass that grew on the Turkish plains. The area somewhat reminded Thomas of the Llano Estacada in North Texas in its bareness.

  “Colonel, I assure you, there was a presence in that car with you. It was touching you as you slept.”

  “That is what Colonel Taylor has been saying. All I can say is that I was dreaming.” He turned away in his stubbornness.

  “Listen, I understand that you dream, but I was informed that you never act out in your nightmares. You were screaming. It was if you were watching the event right in front of your eyes. It was terrifying.”

  “And you came upon this information how?” he asked as his a
ttention was brought back to the beautiful woman questioning him.

  She stood silent, knowing she had betrayed a trust.

  “I’ll be having a talk with Sergeant Major Dugan, I can assure you.”

  “He’s as concerned as myself, so I’m sure the sergeant major will bear up. I have a feeling he does it quite often anyway. I understand you are plagued by nightmares.”

  “You have me there. Yes, and Dugan needs to keep quiet.”

  For the first time in what seemed like days they both laughed.

  They saw Gray Dog approach. The boy was eating an apple. It was something the Comanche could not get enough of. Grandee had also introduced him to the banana and he found it to be a magical fruit of wondrous taste. John Henry had felt bad for depriving the boy of such simple pleasures in their time in the west. He knew he had been lost for the past five years and how badly it had affected those around him.

  Gray Dog chewed on his apple.

  He watched the two stop laughing and then John Henry looked at him, waiting to see what Gray Dog had to say.

  “We are being watched, John Henry.”

  The two of them became still as the colonel slowly turned and looked at the low-slung hills surrounding the train line. He failed to see anything.

  “Where?” he asked.

  “A mile south of us. Four mounted men. They sit upright in their saddles. Soldiers.”

  John Henry looked at the spot Gray Dog had indicated. He was surprised when he saw how far off the Comanche had spotted their guests. He could barely make out the shapes of men sitting upon horses.

  “Perhaps they are just Turkish drovers. They’re quite abundant in this region,” Claire said, failing miserably at spotting what the men described.

  “Maybe we ought to mount up and go see who they are,” Thomas said as he started to turn back toward the train.

  “No,” Gray Dog said as he tossed his apple core away into the tall, dry grass.

  “Why?” Thomas asked as he stopped next to the Comanche.

  “Because they come,” Gray Dog pointed south.

  John Henry turned and saw that the riders were indeed headed toward the stopped train.