Sweetsmoke

by David Fuller

  You ain't lyin, never been up this way before.

  First time. Those mountains got a name?

  Them's just some itty bitty hills, couldn't name 'em if I tried. Blue Mountains are beyond, they bigger. But if you goin north, you miss 'em if you follow the army.

  So you're working for the Grays, said Cassius.

  Not so bad workin 'round the army. They call these the rear jobs so's the whites can fight.

  Why? If they're fighting to keep you slave, why do it?

  Why d'you?

  Cassius was trapped by his own story about traveling to be with his master.

  You ever been close to the Yankees? said Cassius.

  Close enough. They overran the cook wagons once, shootin and hollerin.

  Why not go along with them? Be a contraband.

  Freckles was offended: You lookin at a patriot, boy. I know the truth of things, South be our real friends. End of the war, whites'll be grateful we supported 'em and give us better rights and priv'liges. I am loyal, and all the ones I know think the same.

  Cassius thought about the man's words. He had met few blacks who thought like Freckles, and while Cassius did not believe the South was his friend or that his rights would improve after the war, he did wonder about his own loyalty in the face of his being a piece of property. Could a man be loyal when he was coerced into his situation? He thought it was a possibility, although he wondered about the idea of coercion for someone born into that situation. Maybe that meant he had coerced himself. He knew he had been unable to coerce himself out of it.

  Jackson's regiments took this train to Gordonsville, said Freckles. See them lights over there? Cassius looked, saw the lights, then looked above them at the stars. A cool breeze whipped into the freight car.

  Gonna be a cold one tonight, said Sour Eyes.

  The train stopped in Gordonsville, and Cassius was sorry to say good-bye to it. He slipped away in the darkness, after helping unload most of the pontoons. He heard Freckles call out after him, but he kept going.

  Cassius knew to spend no time in town. He found a road that skirted the main streets, but even from that vantage point he saw the effects of the army's bivouac. The town looked as if it had been scraped and shaken. He traveled beyond the outskirts of Gordonsville and kept track of the Drinking Gourd pointing out the North Star. Once he was far enough outside the town, he abandoned the road and crossed a field. Evidence of bivouac surrounded him, soldiers had cooked their meals here and trampled down grass. Cassius reached the far border of the field and entered a wooded area and set himself on the ground. The night was cold and clear and he slept well.

  He woke to a light frost that covered the ground as well as his shirt and trousers, and the fabric was stiff when he stood. He separated out a small portion of his provisions from the haversack and ate, then began to walk quickly through the field back to the road.

  Sometime in the afternoon he caught up to the tail of the supply train and walked alongside, moving forward among the wagons. He had removed his shoes and hidden them in his haversack so that others would not requisition them, as he was surrounded by barefoot men, both white and black, all dressed like beggars. He was mistaken for a member of the company, and as such no one paid him any mind. Someone offered to let him ride in one of the covered wagons; he did so, and his feet thanked him.

  He spoke to a white teamster in the covered wagon who told him they were following in the footsteps of Old Pete, who had taken his corps due north to White Plains. The teamster admired General Longstreet, and went into close detail about a battle that had just been fought at a place called Manassas Junction; a battle he could not have witnessed, yet spoke of as if he had been there killing the dirty Yanks himself.

  Cassius asked if he knew Captain Whitacre. The teamster spat into the dust alongside the wagon. Cassius took his response as an affirmation. Cassius asked if Whitacre was with the wagon train.

  "What do you think of his hat?" said the teamster, ignoring the question.

  You don't like his hat? said Cassius.

  "Ain't the hat I argue with so much as the man looks like he run into a tree, the way his brim got stuck up in front."

  Maybe got tired of scorching the underside lighting his cigars, said Cassius.

  The teamster laughed and said, "Whitacre gone on ahead of the wagons a week ago, maybe more."

  The supply wagons crawled forward. Cassius knew he could travel more quickly on foot, but these wagons were certain to find Lee's army, and he was not. Progress was pitiful. Wagons often became stuck or would throw a wheel, holding up whatever portion of the train was behind them until they could be repaired or dragged out of the line. Cassius pitched in to help free the immobile wagons, but never did the speed improve. After interminable days they reached Salem and the Manassas Gap Railroad, made a hard right turn to White Plains, and followed the tracks in the direction of Manassas Junction. The closer they moved to Manassas, the more the men bragged about the victory, which had caught their imagination because it was the second victory in the same location and it felt like a perfect bookend. The war should end on such a poetic note. The overall mood of the men in the supply train was high, as they assumed the Bluebellies to be demoralized. To a man, they sensed that the war would soon be over. With the South victorious, they would return to life as it had been, the way God intended. That Lee was about to take it to the Yankees in their own country became a certainty on a journey that rode on gossip, where a rumor could travel in one direction, wagon to wagon, for miles, and then come back again as something different. Men repeated the phrase "Carry the war into Africa," which Cassius understood to mean Pennsylvania. What excitement, what joy, what anticipation followed when it was decided, independent of actual proof or knowledge, that Lee's target was Harrisburg, a center of Northern commerce where supplies for the Union Armies were manufactured. Once the idea was confirmed by repetition, the men projected themselves in brand-new uniforms and shoes, carrying the good Yankee rifles and plentiful ammunition.

  Cassius had mixed feelings about the news. The Confederates fought for their way of life, which included slavery, but he had learned from newspapers that the Federals were no better. They fought to keep the South as part of the Union. If they won, Cassius did not see how things would change for blacks. Their President Lincoln had said he was against equal rights for negroes. Lincoln was known to dislike slavery, but his ambition was to keep it out of the territories, as the country expanded west, not eradicate it altogether.

  The supply wagons turned north around Manassas Junction, then ground to a halt yet again, and this time they were stopped for a full day. Cassius saw that the army had been in the area recently and thought that he could now follow it on his own, so he climbed down from the wagon in which he was riding and set out alone. He walked past wagons for what seemed like miles, until he was in front of them. Once out of sight, he returned his shoes to his feet, and his speed of travel increased.

  He came to the outskirts of a town that he learned from a local black was close to Leesburg. The army had camped at Leesburg, and had crossed the Potomac into Maryland only a few days before. Lee was in the North. The optimism that had infected the wagon train haunted Cassius, and he saw the inevitable: Lee would now win the war for his country. This thought depressed him more than he had thought possible. The overcast day brought rain, and he traveled more slowly.

  Foraging for food was difficult and time-consuming, although he was less likely to be challenged in the rain. The Army of Northern

  Virginia had blanketed the area around Leesburg and consumed what there was to consume. In an orchard near a farmhouse, Cassius found a crock of peaches that looked as if they had been rejected, growing soft gray fuzz. The rotting slick flesh slid out from under thick peach skin and turned to dripping mush in his hands. He dug down in the crock until he found portions of peach flesh that were almost firm and not overly infested with insects, and those bits he ate ravenously, finding the fruit both overly sw
eet and bitingly sour. The juice ran off his chin and he stood in the rain and wondered why he was there, cold and wet and miserable, until he remembered his vow.

  The rain stopped and night fell. He again deserted the road to cross a field, again choosing a clump of trees for sleep. Patches of ground under the trees were dry, and he was nodding off when he heard someone or something in the field coming directly to where he lay. He raised his head to see only one man approaching, but the man carried a rifle. Cassius watched him inspect the area in the dark. Cassius was not afraid of one man, unless he proved to be a scout at the head of a unit. The man kicked the ground in the dark, and in a moment would have located Cassius's ribs. Cassius came to his feet, his hand grabbing for the man's rifle, but he caught only night air, as the man hurled himself to the ground with a squeal. The rifle went out of his hand.

  What the hell you doing? said Cassius.

  "Jesus, I was just looking for a place to sleep, you didn't have to scare me like that," said the man in a high-pitched voice.

  You almost kicked me.

  "I didn't see you there, can't see nothing in this place."

  The man patted the ground around him for his rifle. Cassius stepped to where the rifle had fallen and put his foot on it. He bent to pick it up.

  "Okay, all right, listen, I don't know you and I can just get out of here, you found this place, it's yours."

  Cassius set down the rifle where he intended to sleep. When the man said nothing, Cassius lay down beside it, watching the man's silhouette.

  Do what you want, said Cassius.

  "Well, then, if you don't mind, I think I'll just rest here for the night. I am mighty tired, and this ground is mercifully dry and I don't much wish to drag my sorry self through the wet grass again. These sad trousers are heavy enough."

  Up to you, said Cassius.

  "Name's Purcell. James Purcell. With the Nineteenth Georgia."

  Cassius merely grunted.

  "Little behind my unit. Wasn't feeling well. Fell behind. You know how it is."

  Cassius said nothing.

  "Not that they miss me. I ain't much for fighting. You'd probably like to go back to sleep. I'll just shut my mouth, I been known to talk too much. Still feel my hands tingling after you stood up like that, whoo-ee, never been so scared in my life, 'cept maybe facing those goddamn Yanks."

  Cassius rolled over to face the other way; anyone who talked so much was probably harmless.

  He woke in the morning with the man looming over his legs, admiring his shoes. Cassius sat up quickly, coming face-to-face with him.

  "Now now, friend, you only get to do that to me once," said James Purcell.

  Cassius felt the rifle, which the man had not taken back, then looked to see that they were alone.

  "I did not know last night that you were a negro. That was a secret you kept, wasn't it? Handsome shoes."

  Cassius saw that James Purcell was barefoot, in threadbare gray trousers and a shirt that had once been green. He was emaciated, and appeared to be in worse overall condition than the loaders on the train. They were alone, and Cassius was glad to see, in the light of a day that promised to warm up, that the road was far away. Cassius thought he could easily snap this man in half like a toothpick. He did not feel threatened, but remained on his guard.

  "Not that I'm interested in your shoes, my feet are too small for those, no sir, those would hurt my feet something terrible, worse than walking barefoot, and by now, my feet have calluses thicker than your soles. You look hungry. Are you hungry? I was just going to look for something, you want I should find something for you?"

  Cassius handled the man's rifle. It was poorly kept, and unlikely to fire. He tossed it aside.

  "Not much of a weapon, is it? I only carry it to scare away pests."

  Where you say you were going? said Cassius.

  "Back to my unit, but not on an empty stomach, I can tell you that." James Purcell looked over his shoulder at the field behind him. "You see any hint of food around here?"

  Army been through, picked it clean like a plague of locusts.

  "We got hit bad by the cicadas couple years back. Right now I'd gladly roast up a pan of cicadas and eat for a week. Been living on a steady diet of pickled doorknobs and candied tenpenny nails."

  Cassius did not mention that he was hungry as well.

  "Tell you what, you seem like a decent fellow, we'll go into town together, see if we can't find ourselves a meal," said James Purcell.

  Cassius looked at him suspiciously.

  "You wonder why I'd make such an offer."

  Cassius waited.

  "If you saw the officers in the Army of Northern Virginia, you'd know most of them look a whole lot like me in their uniforms. Sure, there's fancy ones still got decent clothes, but they are few and far between. No sir, we done walked right out of our shoes and our uniforms ain't far behind. So let's say I walk into some kitchen with my 'body servant,' maybe people think I am somebody and show me a little respect. You play along, and we'll both get to eat."

  Cassius considered the man. He did not trust him, but his proposal was not unreasonable and Cassius might well benefit from it. His thoughts must have played out on his face.

  "Listen, I got no weapon, I'm a long way from my unit, you think I care what you're doing out here?"

  James Purcell assumed he was a runaway. A reasonable assumption.

  They followed the road back to the town near Leesburg, an easy walk, and Cassius noticed that James Purcell's feet were split on the bottom, and he walked with pain.

  See much action? said Cassius.

  "Feel like I've been fighting my whole life. Been in it since the beginning, Manassas last year."

  My people lost one of theirs at Manassas.

  "A lot of fine men gone," said James Purcell.

  They walked a little farther, and James Purcell began to laugh.

  "Who am I fooling? I not only don't have my musket, it wasn't working anyway. I ain't no soldier. I'm nothing but what they call a parlor soldier. I mustered in at the start, but I've been ducking the fight ever since. Found myself staring at Yankee guns and the minute the first bullet buzzed my cheek, I was up and running like a rabbit with a bayonet poking its tail. Found myself a spot back in the rear, and put my head in the ground. Surprised they didn't shoot my cheeks off."

  You don't say, said Cassius.

  "The God's truth, every word."

  Hard to disbelieve a story like that, said Cassius. He relaxed somewhat. If the man was being truthful, and confession to cowardice made him appear veracious, he was on the road to earning Cassius's trust.

  "I have turned being yellow into an art. Once I smell a battle, I get the sublime urge to wander off to forage, or maybe find a private place to evacuate. Sergeant, got the dysentery bad this morning, you mind if I go over there and set a spell? All right, Purcell, but get back here 'fore the shootin starts. And I skedaddle, always finding my way back once things are clear again. And I ain't alone. Others doing it too. Boys up front, they tough sons a bitches, they good at fightin, they know how to kill. Found themselves a comfortable place with it, inside." He tapped his chest. "How they do it, I couldn't say. I'm what you might call one of those nervous types."

  What you do for a living?

  "Ain't you listening? I run yellow for a living."

  I mean before, your profession?

  "Hard to remember anymore, but I guess I was a teacher. College in Tennessee."

  Cassius nodded.

  "Was up in Maryland not two days ago. Said we'd be welcomed like liberators, Maryland being a slave state and all, forced to stay with the Union by that bastard Lincoln. And here comes the Army of Northern Virginia to set you free and you can join up with us because once we come into the North, those Yanks are going to throw their hands up in the air and ask us to kindly go home and the war will be over. Well, if there was a welcome, I missed it. And the order come down, No looting, boys, because we want all them Mary- landers
out there to like us. Pay for everything, boys, show them respect. Well hell, what if you got no money? There we are surrounded by crops, none of it harvested, a whole damned state full of food and we can't touch it. You imagine that? Sure, some of the officers bought up whole fields of corn, or apple orchards, out of their own pockets, and the Marylanders even took Confederate money, but how much corn can you eat without your insides turning to rusty water? Speaking of which," he said and scampered off the road, pulling a newspaper out of his haversack, going out of sight. Cassius sat down on a rock and waited for him to finish, and when James Purcell came out of the woods, he was carrying what was left of the newspaper he had used to clean himself. The front page was still intact, and Cassius saw it was the Baltimore Sun, dated September 4.

  Mind if I look at that? said Cassius.

  "You read?"

  No, just never did see a newspaper before.

  James Purcell handed him the newspaper. He pointed to the top and said, "That says Baltimore Sun, that there's a newspaper from the North."

  Cassius looked at it as if he were amazed to see something so fantastic. But he read quickly, learning that all of Baltimore was in an uproar, people fleeing into Pennsylvania with their belongings because Lee was rumored to be coming. James Purcell took the newspaper back and folded it into his haversack.

  "Maybe I'll read some of it to you later. You doing all right? Feet feel good? Not too hot?"