by Edward Gates
“Just relax, Charlie,” he said under his breath.
“I knew this was a bad idea. Maybe I should just leave.”
“Take it easy. Just remember to keep your head about you.”
“Like Dave said, I’m young and able and the only one not in a Confederate uniform. I stick out like a sore thumb.”
Charlie’s sightline to Ed and Dave at the bar intersected a table occupied by four soldiers. The soldiers would look at Charlie, talk among themselves, then look back at him. After a few minutes they all stood and walked toward Charlie and Walter. Charlie watched them and took a deep breath. Normally, in a situation like this, he’d be petrified of any approaching confrontation. He took a deep breath and remembered all that he had been through over the past six months. This era was now his home, and he’d better start acting like it. He was calm, a little annoyed at the soldiers, but in control. He felt he could handle this group.
“What the hell you lookin’ at, boy?” a soldier barked. He was the largest of the four soldiers and the only one with stripes on his sleeve.
Charlie shook his head. “I wasn’t looking at you. I was looking at two friends at the bar.”
“How come you ain’t in uniform?”
Charlie leaned back in his chair and didn’t answer. He dropped his hands in his lap and slowly and carefully slipped the hammer strap off his gun.
“Where you from? This here your pa?” the large soldier asked.
Walter leaned forward. “I ain’t his pa! Leave him alone. He don’t --”
“Button it, old man. I weren’t talkin’ to you!”
He turned back to Charlie. “I want to know why a strappin’ young man like you ain’t fightin’ for the great Confederate States of America!”
The last part of his comment was hollered so the entire bar could hear him. Charlie remained quiet and just stared into the soldier’s dark eyes.
“Boy! You sure don’t have much to say, do ya!”
“You haven’t asked me anything I felt like answering,” Charlie replied in a quiet, calm voice. Just then Ed and Dave returned to the table, carrying a drink in each hand.
“There a problem here, sergeant?” Dave asked the large soldier.
“I don’t need you buttin’ in here, old timer. Mind your own damn business.” He gave Dave a shove, spilling one of the drinks he was carrying. The sergeant then re-focused his attention on Charlie.
“Damn! Look what you made me do. I believe you owe me a drink, soldier,” Dave said, walking back into the sergeant’s view. Ed set his drinks on the table and stepped back closer to the other soldiers.
“You go to hell! You ain’t gettin’ no drink from me!” The sergeant made a move toward Dave but before he could do anything, Dave pulled his pistol, cocked the hammer and shoved the barrel under the man’s chin. It was such a fast and fluid motion that Charlie almost missed it. He was shocked that anyone could pull a gun that quickly. Before the other three soldiers could make a move, Walter stood and he and Ed pulled their guns. Charlie, stunned by the sudden movement of his companions, jumped to his feet and pulled his gun as well. The patrons siting at the tables near Charlie, seeing guns drawn, scampered away from the imminent danger.
“I’ll take my drink now, boy, or you’ll never get a chance to see a Yankee.” Dave spoke decisively. “It’d be real bad for you to die at the hands of an old Southern boy like myself. Shameful, don’t you think?
You understand what I’m sayin’ to you?”
The sergeant didn’t answer. He quickly nodded, his fear was apparent by his wide eyes and the sudden paleness of his complexion.
“That’s good. Now who’s your commanding officer, sergeant?” Dave asked.
“Cap’n Sherman,” the sergeant answered in a low voice.
“Who?”
“Captain Jackson Chester Sherman.” A voice hollered out from a few tables away from Dave. “And I’d appreciate your unhanding my sergeant.” A thin young man, clean-shaven with coal-black hair, stood and slowly made his way toward Dave. He wore a well-groomed captain’s uniform. When he reached their table, he stopped and looked at Ed and Charlie. He slightly bowed his head. “Captain Sherman at your service. Please put away your sidearms, gentlemen. I believe we can settle this amicably.”
Stepping back from the sergeant, Dave slowly uncocked his gun and returned it to his holster, never taking his eyes off the large soldier. Charlie and the others holstered their guns.
“Sergeant. Get these gentlemen another round of drinks. At my expense.” The captain pulled a chair over to Charlie’s table and sat down. He motioned for the teamsters to join him. They all sat without a word.
“You’ll have to excuse the sergeant’s manners. He has none at all. Rather barbaric, but he is a very able and anxious soldier. He is the one I count on to keep order here. I can’t afford to lose him.” The captain looked at Dave. “I hope you’ll forgive me for cutting in on your… disagreement with Sergeant Wolfe.”
The teamsters remained quiet. Charlie didn’t like this captain. He was too formal and too polite. He had encountered people like him in his past and they all seemed pretentious. The sergeant returned along with the bartender and set a round of five drinks on the table. The bartender returned to the bar and the sergeant stood behind the captain.
“Sergeant. In the interest of everyone’s safety, I think it best that you and the others head back to camp. I will deal with these gentlemen properly.”
On the way out, the sergeant cast a harsh look toward Charlie and Dave. A cold chill ran up Charlie’s spine. Dave looked at Charlie with a crooked smile and winked. Dave had no fear, and no apprehension. It appeared to Charlie that Dave had actually enjoyed this little bout. Charlie was now positive there was a lot more to this old team driver than just hauling freight.
Captain Sherman took a sip of whiskey. “Now then, gentlemen. Sergeant Wolfe may be terribly gruff, but he does bring up a very good point.” He looked at Charlie. “Who are you and what are you doing here?”
Before Charlie could answer, Dave leaned across the table. “Captain Sherman, before you get to askin’ a lot of questions that ain’t gonna be answered, suppose I explain some things to you.”
“By all means, Mister …”
“Rudabaugh. Dave Rudabaugh. This here is Ed Bass, Walter Holmes, and this young fella y’all seem so interested in is Charlie Turlock.” The captain nodded a greeting to each as they were introduced. “We’re freighters and we’re in the employment of Mr. Max Weatherby out of Fort Smith. Do you know him?”
The captain nodded. “I’m in charge of procurement here. It’s my job to find supplies and get them shipped to our boys back east. Yes, I am very familiar with Mr. Weatherby and his unending contribution to the Southern cause.” He raised his glass in a toast and sipped his whiskey. Again he looked over at Charlie. “But I am still interested in you, Mr. Turlock. You seem to be of conscription age and very able-bodied. Yet, I’m curious as to why you aren’t in the army.”
Before Dave could answer, Charlie spoke. “Captain.” Charlie leaned in to the table, imitating Dave’s mannerisms. “I was at the Battle of Cedar Creek back in August with the Alabama Fourth. Right now I’ve been assigned to guard these men and their cargo to the completion of their duty.”
“Which is?” the captain interrupted.
“Which is to deliver their cargo to Galveston and put it on a ship bound for our boys back east.” Charlie leaned back in his chair. “Which I intend to do to the best of my ability without interruption… from you or anyone.”
Captain Sherman appeared a little flustered. Charlie glanced in Dave’s direction and noticed a rather surprised look on his face. Charlie wrinkled his mouth into a crooked smile, and then looked firmly back at the captain.
The captain cleared his throat. “My apologies, Mr. Turlock. I meant no disrespect. Your service to our nation is greatly appreciated. Now what cargo are you gentlemen hauling?”
“That’s one of those question
s that ain’t gonna be answered,” Dave said.
“I don’t believe you have a need to know that information, Captain.” Charlie added.
The captain’s face flushed. “I have a need to know the answers to whatever questions I ask, Mr. Turlock. I also have the authority to seize any and all materials I deem necessary to the benefit of our country in this state of war.”
“I don’t think that would be a good idea, Captain. I guarantee that action would not end well,” Charlie said. He and the captain exchanged hardened glares.
Dave broke the deadlock. “Are you under the command of Colonel McNealey or General Magruder?”
“I am under the command of General Magruder. However, he is not in the vicinity. After his sterling victory in Galveston last month, he is setting up a provisional establishment there. Colonel McNealey is busy forming a frontier battalion to patrol and guard the western boundaries.”
“Did you say Galveston?” Ed interrupted. “Magruder took Galveston?”
“Why, yes. New Year’s Day. I suppose you hadn’t heard about it. It was quite a rout, from what I hear.”
Ed looked over at Charlie with a surprised, yet confused look about him. Charlie nodded and smiled.
“I’ve dealt with the colonel in the past, Captain,” Dave said. “Before anything gets out of hand, I suggest you contact Colonel McNealey and tell him who we are. I think you’ll find he will insist on safe passage for us… with our cargo intact.”
The captain stood and shot back the remainder of his drink. He turned the glass over on the table. “I will do that directly.” He slightly bowed. “It has been my pleasure.” Then he left the bar.
Ed, Dave and Walter all stared at Charlie.
“How the hell did you know about Galveston?” Ed asked.
“I didn’t. I just said I thought it would be a good idea. You know, it’s the westernmost harbor in the Gulf. The Union wouldn’t be as concerned about it as they might be about the others. I thought it made perfect military sense. Him attacking on New Year’s Day was genius.”
Ed shook his head. “I’ll be damned. Sometimes I just don’t understand you.”
“The Alabama Fourth?” Dave questioned with a smile. “What kind of hogwash was all that?” They all laughed. “Well, best we get back to those wagons.”
Charlie raised his whiskey glass. “To the Alabama Fourth!” and then drank down his shot of whiskey as the other three shot back their drinks. The whiskey burned his throat and Charlie thought for a moment that it would come back up. But he swallowed again and then coughed.
A few other patrons at tables nearby, overhearing Charlie’s mock toast, raised their glasses and drank a toast to the Alabama Fourth as well. Charlie laughed out loud.
42
Crockett
The next morning, as Charlie and Walter walked into the lobby, Ed and Dave entered the front door of the hotel.
“Good timing,” Charlie said. “You come to wake us up?”
“Came to get some breakfast,” Ed answered.
They all entered the dining room and ordered breakfast.
“Any trouble last night?” Charlie asked.
Dave shook his head and Ed let out a chuckle.
“What’s so funny? Is anyone watching the wagons?”
“A funny thing about that,” Ed said. “After we got back to the wagons last night, four sentries showed up and stood guard around those wagons all night long.” He chuckled again. “They’re still there, courtesy of Captain Sherman. I guess the colonel set him straight about us.”
“That’s great,” Charlie replied.
They ate in silence for a few moments, surrounded by the background noises of tableware and the low murmur of conversations at other tables.
“I gotta say,” Dave said, finally breaking the silence. “You handled yourself pretty well last night, Charlie. But where in the hell did you come up with that blasted story about Cedar Creek and the Alabama Fourth?”
Ed and Walter stopped eating and stared at Charlie. They all seemed to be waiting for his reply.
Charlie swallowed his mouthful of biscuit and took a drink of coffee. “Well, to begin with, I really was at the battle of Cedar Creek on August ninth.”
“Well, I’ll be hogtied! You told me you didn’t want anything to do with this war or either side of it,” Dave said.
“And I still don’t. I said I was there. I didn’t say I fought. I happened to be on Mr. Slaughter’s farm when that battle began. I sort of ran into a young man from the Alabama Fourth who had… lost his way.” Charlie lowered his head and took another sip of coffee, remembering the corpse of the young man he had exchanged clothes with. “I watched the battle for a while. Most barbaric thing I ever witnessed in my entire life. It was senseless.”
No one said anything. Charlie took a deep breath. “So, I figured I’d tell that story to the captain and maybe he’d get the impression that I was already in the service of the Confederacy.” Charlie smiled. “I guess it worked.” He paused. “Anyway, I got tired of listening to that phony, overly polite captain spit out those sweet, slimy words. I’ve run into men like him before. They’re usually salesmen or scam artists who use their words to mesmerize their customers. I thought I’d raise the conversation to another level. I got him flustered, though, didn’t I?”
Dave snickered. “That you did, boy. That you did. I thought he was going to choke on his whiskey when you told him you weren’t gonna let him touch that cargo.” They all laughed.
After breakfast, Charlie and Walter settled with the innkeeper and the four walked up Houston Street to a general store for supplies. They returned to the wagons, thanked the soldiers, hitched up the teams and headed out on their weeklong excursion south to the town of Crockett. They planned on a quick, one-night stopover in Crockett before going to Houston and finally to Galveston.
Crockett, Texas, was named after Davy Crockett, who supposedly camped at that spot on his way to the Alamo. Other than the story being passed down from one generation to the next, there was no proof that Davy Crockett stayed anywhere in the area. However, it was highly likely that he at least passed by that point since, at the time, it was the only trail leading to San Antonio.
The actual town of Crockett wasn’t very large, but the Confederate encampment surrounding the town seemed to go on forever. When the teamsters reached the outskirts of the camp, they stopped and took in the endless rows of tents that blotted out the town.
“Holy --! Would you look at all that?” Dave said.
“I take it that wasn’t here the last time you were.” Charlie remarked.
“Not a single tent.” Dave looked over at Ed. “What do you think?”
Ed looked out at the camp and shook his head. “Don’t like it. I think it looks like trouble.” He talked with Walter for a few moments.
Dave turned to Charlie. “How ‘bout you?”
“Well, if Ed thinks it’s trouble, then I have to assume he’s probably right. But I’m with you. Whatever you decide.”
“Walter thinks we should move on. He’s fairly sure we’ve got enough supplies to get us to Houston,” Ed said.
Dave looked at Charlie, who nodded in agreement. “Okay. On to Houston, then.”
They drove the wagons around the outside of the encampment, heading southwest toward Houston. When they got a little way past the camp, a squad of eight Confederate soldiers on horseback quickly approached from their rear and surrounded the two wagons, forcing them to stop.
“What’s your business with us?” Dave asked.
A lieutenant walked his horse up next to Dave and leaned forward on his saddle horn. “I was about to ask you that same question, mister.”
“We got a load of farm tools that are due to be put on a boat in Galveston,” Dave reported.
“Farm tools, huh?” The lieutenant smiled. “We’ll see about that.” He looked over at Charlie and then back to Dave. “I’m gonna have to ask y’all to accompany us back to Crockett.”
“What for?”
“On account of the Confederacy needs your wagons and teams.”
Dave straightened his back. “I’m sorry, Lieutenant, I’d like to oblige ya, but I have to meet a boat in Galveston. I think we’ll be movin’ on now.”
“Not likely,” the officer said. He gestured to his squad, who all pointed their guns at the teamsters. “This ain’t a request. I don’t care much about your tools. It’s your wagons and teams I need. I have the authority to seize them for the good of the Cause. Now you turn them wagons around or I’m gonna have them moved for ya.”
Charlie moved his hand toward his gun, but Dave grabbed his arm and shook his head.
“Not the right time,” he said under his breath. He looked around at the eight soldiers with their guns leveled at him, and then back at the lieutenant. “Looks like I ain’t got much choice here.”
Ed and Dave turned their wagons around and headed back to the encampment, escorted by eight mounted soldiers.
“Why do you need our wagons?” Walter asked.
“Cotton. We have to move vast amounts of cotton. We can’t ship it fast enough,” the lieutenant explained.
“Cotton? Why is the army in the cotton business? What the hell does that have to do with anything?” Walter asked.
The lieutenant smiled. “Right now, it’s funding our war. Cotton prices are so high that all the farmers around here stopped growing food and started growing cotton. We sell it to Mexico for a lot of money.”
“Cotton. Well, I’ll be.”
They were led to a large tent with a wooden floor where three officers sat around a small camp desk.
“We’ll see what the commander wants to do with you,” the lieutenant said.
Two colonels and a captain came out of the tent and looked over the wagons.
“Sir! We confiscated these two wagons for the good of the army. Awaiting your orders,” the lieutenant proudly announced.
“At ease, lieutenant,” a colonel said. He looked at the four teamsters. “Sorry for the inconvenience, gentleman, but we are in desperate need of outfits like yours. I’m afraid you will have to surrender them. We will make arrangements for you all while you are here.”