A Deeper Sense of Loyalty (8 page)

He didn't know what to do and he had very little time to decide. If he went to the grove he would lead trouble directly to the slaves. If he kept going he wasn't sure what might happen. Whoever was behind him wouldn't keep following forever. Sooner or later they would figure they'd been spotted and that James was just leading them away. When that happened they would catch up and deal with him. He could never outrun them in a wagon, so he could not lose the pursuit and then double back. Quickly, he made his plan, and it was a poor one at best.

When he recognized the grove of trees, he drove off the road and crossed the field as fast as he could. Reaching the edge of the grove, he pulled to a stop, grabbed a lantern from the back of the wagon, lit it, and jumped down calling Darnell's name. The storm was raising the devil and it had started to rain. James quickly explained the situation to the slaves and told them what he wanted them to do. Then he hung the lantern from a tree limb so that it would illuminate the tiny clearing surrounded by the trees.

About one minute later, two men on horseback came through the trees and into the light. As James had figured, it was the rough man from Greenville and another man who, even in the dim light, looked every bit as unkempt and uncouth as the first. With their pistols drawn, they dismounted and stood menacingly before James, Darnell, and the two women.

“Now ain't that a sight, Henry,” said the man in buckskin.

“It sure is, Virgil. Black gold,” said the second man.

“Maybe you'll have more respect for my hunches after this,” Virgil told his partner. To James he said, “I knew you was lying, boy. You ain't no slave catcher, no sir. Looks to me like you're tryin to help these niggers escape. Check that boy to see if he's armed.” James stood still; biting his lower lip while the miscreant called Henry searched him, located his revolver, and jerked it from his waistband. Then he walked back to his spot beside Virgil. Then Virgil said, “What do ya think we oughta do with him, Henry?”

“I think we should lash that boy to a tree, tie our horses behind that wagon, and head for Georgia with these here niggers.”

“Mighty good thinkin, pard—wait just a damn minute. Where's the other one?”

“Other one?” said Henry.

“Yeah, the other one. It's supposed to be two bucks and two bitches. Where's that other black son of a bitch?” From behind them, two things happened at the same time. A voice hollered, “Here!” And a club came down on Henry's head, driving him to the ground. Virgil swung around and fired a shot into the darkness. Darnell, Tisha, and Emmy scampered back out of the light, James dashed across the clearing, drove his right shoulder into Virgil, and knocked him flat on his face. Quick as a cat, he gathered himself and found Virgil's pistol, which had fallen from his grasp. Then he backed up a few steps and said, “On your feet, Virgil.”

Cursing as he got up, Virgil faced James, pointed a finger and said, “You got the guts to use that thing, boy?” James cocked the hammer and replied, “One step will answer that question for you.”

Virgil took the warning seriously and stood still. With the danger thwarted for the moment, Buck walked into the light and the others came back and stood behind James.

“Good job, Buck,” James told him. “I'll cover these fellas. Look them over and take every weapon you can find.” Buck did as he was told, finding a total of three pistols and two knives. Then James told Virgil to stir his partner and get him to his feet. It took a couple of minutes before Henry moaned and struggled to stand up. “Darnell,” said James. “There is some rope in the wagon under the seat. Get it.”

Darnell was back in a hurry, and while James kept the revolver trained on the two ruffians, he instructed Darnell to tie Virgil's right wrist to Henry's left.

“Now walk over to that tree,” he told them, motioning with his gun. “Face it on opposite sides and wrap your arms around it.” This done, James said, “Now tie their other wrists together, Darnell, and make sure you tie them tight.”

By this time, the storm was going full force. The rain was falling heavily, dripping through the trees, soaking everything underneath. “We have to move,” James told the slaves. “Go out to the wagon and spread that piece of canvas over the supplies and get under it yourselves. I'll be right there.” He took the reins of the villains' horses and Virgil growled, “You gonna leave us here to starve?”

“I'll tie your horses to a tree out there where they can be seen from the road. I'm sure they'll be spotted some time tomorrow and somebody will cut you lose.”

“I guess you know ifn I ever see you again you're as good as dead, you nigger lovin son of a bitch.”

“I figured as much,” James replied. Then he took the lantern and left the two of them cursing in the dark.

He tied the horses as promised; put on the rain slicker he'd purchased in town, then climbed into the wagon and started off. It was hard not to let Virgil's threat bother him, but it was also a huge relief to have escaped. “This,” James told himself, “is what it will be like from now on.”

Greenville was very quiet when they passed through. It was pitch dark and the rain had driven everyone inside. The piece of canvas covered the back of the wagon, concealing the slaves underneath. All was peaceful as he drove on through the night. He wondered if Virgil and Henry would make a point of trying to follow. But the rain would wash away James's tracks almost as soon as they were made. If the two of them had no chance of trying to pick up their trail until the next day, James and his companions would already be many miles away.

By eleven o'clock that night, they had left South Carolina behind and were rolling through Asheville, North Carolina. The rain had stopped and the sky overhead was clear. If they didn't run into any trouble they could reach the eastern tip of Tennessee in a few hours more. From there they would travel along the foot of the Appalachian Mountains into western Virginia.

They had covered nearly two hundred miles since leaving Turner's farm, and James was pleased by their progress; but he had pushed very hard and the miles had taken their toll on the mare. If he wanted her to hold up she would need a long rest soon. He made up his mind that when they reached Tennessee he would find a suitable site in the foothills of the mountain and they would all rest for a day.

By three o'clock in the morning, James had let the horse slow down to a walk. She was tired and he was famished. All he had eaten since the previous morning was some dried beef, and the slaves had had the same.

When the sun finally came up over the mountain James was sure that they were in Tennessee. The road had long since become more of a path and the going was rough. At length, they came to a little valley nestled between two grassy knolls. Where the valley sloped upward to the tree line there was an area inundated by thick undergrowth. James got the wagon under cover as best he could and came to a stop. He climbed down from the seat and stretched his aching muscles. His passengers were awake and he could see that they were equally happy to get out of the wagon. Immediately they busied themselves with setting up camp while James tended to the weary mare. He told them to use whatever was necessary to prepare a hearty breakfast. Then he retrieved a bucket and an empty canteen from the wagon and started off in search of water. He was hoping to find a mountain spring or a stream nearby.

When he was halfway up the far knoll that formed one side of the valley they were camped in, he looked back and noticed that he could not see the wagon. He was glad of that. He figured that they should be safe there until they were ready to move on. James's legs got heavier with every step he took. Perhaps he was learning another lesson: not to push himself to the limit, thereby dulling his senses to the point of vulnerability. As he stumbled to the top, to a spot where he could see into the next valley, he was dismayed to find what was there. Down below him was a small army camp comprised of about two dozen tents.  He could also see a picket line holding thirty or forty horses and at least four supply wagons. In front of one of the tents, which was situated a short distance from the others, he could see a Confederate flag and a flag with a symbol that he didn't recognize.

Before he could react, he heard a galloping horse approaching from his left. His first instinct was to run, but he knew he'd already been spotted, so he stood still, holding onto his bucket and canteen. His revolver was still in the waistband of his trousers, but this did not appear to be a situation that he could fight his way out of. When the horse pulled up in front of him the soldier already had a pistol pointed at James—a scenario that was fast becoming routine, he thought. The man in the saddle was not much older than he was, and from the look of the homespun uniform, James knew that he was being confronted by a Confederate cavalryman. “Who are you?” asked the soldier. “And what the hell are you doing here?”

“Name's William Mason,” said James. “I'm looking for water.”

“So you're out in the middle of nowhere carrying a bucket and a canteen?”

“I have a camp back yonder a little ways,” said James, pointing behind him. “My wife and I are heading to Lynchburg, Virginia.”

Then James could have kicked himself. Inventing a fictitious wife could prove to be a big mistake. If he were forced to go back to the campsite, he may not be able to talk his way out of a hanging. He had only wanted his explanation to sound as innocent as possible so as not to arouse suspicion. “We don't mean any harm,” said James.

“I reckon that will be up to the captain to decide. Now you just hand over your pistol and walk on down that hill ahead of me.” James surrendered his weapon, and then started down the hill with the soldier following so close that he could feel the horse's breath on the back of his neck.

When they reached the camp, he was taken to the tent with the flags, told to drop the canteen and bucket, then to remove his hat and step inside. Sitting at a field desk was a Confederate officer with coal black hair and a long black beard. His wire rimmed spectacles rested on the end of his nose as he labored at a ledger with a quill pen. When James entered the tent with the soldier and his drawn pistol behind him, the officer stopped writing and looked up with an inquisitive expression. The trooper saluted and said, “I found this man all alone on top of the hill, sir. Says his name is William Mason and he's headin to Lynchburg with his wife. Says he was huntin for some water.”

The captain returned the salute and told the trooper to wait outside.

“Yes sir, Captain. Here's his pistol,” he said, handing the weapon to his superior. The soldier withdrew, and James was left standing alone before the captain.

“Well now, Mr. Mason, is it?”

“Yes, sir,” James replied.

“I am Captain Robert Blackwell, commanding a detachment of the 1
st
Virginia Cavalry. No need to explain our presence here but I would like to know about yours.”

“Well, sir, as I told the trooper, I was out looking for water. My wife and I are traveling to Lynchburg and we are camped in the valley over the hill where he found me.”

“I see,” said the captain. “May I ask why you are heading to Lynchburg?”

“Certainly, sir. I am from Atlanta and my wife is from Lynchburg. I met her last summer when she came to Atlanta with her father on a business trip. I guess you could say that it was love at first sight. We married just two weeks after we met. We've been living in Atlanta, but now that we're at war with the North, I intend to join the Southern army.” At this, a pleasant smile crossed the captain's face. “So I am taking my wife to Lynchburg to stay with her parents and I will enlist there.”

It was obvious that James had made a wonderful impression with his story. The captain seemed very pleased, even telling James that if he considered joining the cavalry, he would be most welcome in the 1
st
Virginia. But just when it looked as though he might get through the tight spot he was in, the captain said, “I guess you should be getting back Mr. Mason, before your wife starts to worry. You may help yourself to all the water you need from the supply wagon, then my orderly will escort you back to your camp.”

The captain's last remark cut him like a knife. He knew that it would be dangerous to protest, but if the slaves were discovered, and no wife, there would be serious consequences. “I thank you for your generosity, Captain.” The officer waved his hand as if to say that thanks were not necessary. Then he handed James the confiscated revolver and shouted for his orderly. The trooper entered the tent, stood at attention, and saluted. “See to it that Mr. Mason gets the water he needs, Sergeant; then escort him back to his camp. And before you leave, pass the word that we'll be moving out in two hours.”

“Yes, sir.” The sergeant saluted again and held the tent flap open so James could leave. “Good luck, Mr. Mason,” said Captain Blackwell. “Perhaps we'll meet again.”

“Perhaps we will, sir. Good luck to you.”

James left the tent and picked up his bucket and canteen. “This way,” said the sergeant. When James had gotten the water, the sergeant mounted his horse and said, “I'd give you a lift but you'd lose most of your water along the way.”

“It's OK,” said James. “I don't mind.”

James prayed hard as he made his way up the long hill. Once again, he thanked God for listening. When they reached the top where they had first met, the sergeant stopped his horse. “You're camped down there?” he said, pointing to the valley. “I don't see your wagon.”

“It's hidden in the bushes,” James replied.

“Well if it's all the same to you, I'll just head back from here.”

James wanted to shake his hand and recommend him for a promotion. “Certainly, and thank you, Sergeant.” With a nod, he turned his horse and galloped back to his camp. James heaved a sigh of relief. If not for the bucket of water, he would have been on the horse with the sergeant and they'd have gone the whole way back to the wagon.