Antebellum BK 1 (20 page)

Robert Van Buskirk dismounted and held out his right hand. “Good to see you again, Sam.”

Grant rushed forward and gripped Robert’s hand in both of his. “Oh Lord how glad I am to see you.” He pumped Robert’s hand, then released it suddenly and looked around to see if they’d been noticed. “Damn. I forgot myself. Here you are a colonel and here I am acting like a fool.”

Robert chuckled. “I don’t care if you don’t.”

“
I’m just so happy to see a friendly face,” Grant said. “What brings you to Humboldt?”

“
I was in Eureka for a meeting with Bob Buchanan. He said that you were stationed here, so I bummed a cavalry remount and rode down here to see you.”

Grant motioned toward a rough cabin. “That’s my quarters, such as it is. Do you have time for a drink?”

Robert looked toward the tiny house. “Is Julia here?”

“
No. She and the kids are living with her parents. I can’t afford to bring them out here on a lieutenant’s pay.”

“
In that case I’ll be glad to have a drink with you.” He took his horse by the reins and fell in step with Grant.

“
I thought you liked Julia,” Grant said.

“
Of course I do. What makes you say that?”

“
You said ‘in that case you’d have a drink’ after I told you that she wasn’t here.”

Robert chuckled. “Your quarters seemed a little small and I wouldn’t have wanted to crowd your family.”

“
Oh, oh. I see. Yeah. You’re right. The place would be too small for a family. It’s the only place I could find that’s cheaper than the BOQ. If I could afford a bigger place, I’d bring them out. I sure miss them.” He pointed to a porch rail. “Tie your horse there. It’s stronger than it looks.” He unlocked the door as Robert tied the horse. “Are you married?”

“
No. Never found the girl.” Robert followed him into the cabin and had to duck to avoid bumping his head. “You doing a lot of drinking or are you collecting whiskey bottles, Sam?”

“
Both. The empty jugs are like making a mark on my prison wall.” He pointed to a dangerous looking chair. “Have a seat. I need to wash a glass for you.”

“
Is it that bad, Sam?”

“
What’s that?”

“
You said it’s like a prison?”

“
Oh. No, it’s really not that bad. I’d probably like it if Julia was here. I’m a family man at heart.” He put two chipped glasses on the table, then poured whiskey into both before sitting down. “Here’s to better days.” He raised his glass.

Robert clinked his glass against Grant’s, then took a sip and made a face. “Good stuff. Aged three days in the keg.”

Grant chuckled. “Good for starting fires too. Saves on the kindling. Where are you stationed?”

“
San Francisco. My brother Jack and his wife are there. My mother was too for a while, but she’s gone off now to Arizona to settle her brother’s estate.”

“
Did she recover after Chapultepec?”

“
Yeah. Well, I guess so. She never said anything about it one way or the other and if you ask her anything personal, she bites your head off.”

“
Tough woman, your mother.”

“
Women don’t get much tougher. Except maybe my sister. She’s frightening.”

“
Did you ride up here or come by boat?” Grant asked.

“
I went to Eureka by boat but came down here with a cavalry company. They do regular patrols along the coast and have extra remounts.”

“
Don’t suppose you could stay awhile.”

“
No. Wish I could but I need to start back today.” Robert looked at his watch. “In fact, they’ll be looking for me soon.”

“
Too bad. I sure would enjoy the company.”

“
Maybe you could come down to see us.”

Grant shook his head. “I send most of my pay to Julia.”

“
How about I loan you…”

Grant was waving his hand. “Now, don’t insult me, Professor.”

“
It wouldn’t be any burden.”

“
Thank you. Really. But no.”

“
Okay.” Robert swallowed the rest of the whiskey, made a face and banged the glass down on the table. “Well, Sam.”

“
Yeah. I know. Sure wish you could stay.”

“
Me too.” Robert stood up and bumped his head on the rafters. “’Til next time.”

“
Yeah. Hope it’s soon. I get lonely here.”

May 9, 1852

Van Buskirk Point, New Jersey

A
braham Van Buskirk awoke abruptly and struggled to recall the sound that had disturbed his sleep. Outside, somewhere beyond the open second-floor window of his bedroom, a horse stamped and another nickered. Abraham slipped out of bed, retrieved his prized Sharps rifle and cartridge pouch from above the doorway, then padded barefoot into the hallway.

“
Abe? What is it?” Abraham’s sister, Ginger, was standing inside her dark bedroom door.

“
Somebody’s in the woods behind the house. Wake Samuel and tell him to load his shotgun and cover the front door. I’ll go out the back.”

“
What about me?”

“
Arm yourself, but stay up here.” He slipped silently down the stairs and to the back door, praying that the hinges wouldn’t squeak.

Abraham’s house was situated on high ground with the front door facing New York Bay, across a broad expanse of sloping lawn. The right was also cleared of trees all the way to the small peninsula of Van Buskirk Point where the boathouse and storage buildings were clustered near the small dock. The barn, corrals and stable were behind and to the left of the house, nestled in the woods that separated Abraham’s land from the mansion at the Van Buskirk Home Place.

Abe moved silently through the shadows and stopped near the corner of the house. He swore under his breath when he heard the click of the front door latch. He had told Ginger to have Samuel cover the front door with his shotgun, not to go outside. If Samuel was out here, Abe would have to be very cautious before firing at anyone. His straight breech Sharps rifle, converted to fire metal cartridges, had been a gift from Yank and, as such, it was always kept in the place of honor above his bedroom door. It was too much gun for any practical purposes. It would shoot through a wall and even a flesh wound would severely maim a man. Abe was considering going back inside for a smaller caliber weapon when a flash from the woods followed by the flat report of a rifle made his decision for him.

He aimed at the flash, fired and then dropped to the ground, rolling to his left. Three musket shots sent every remaining bird to flight, but the bullets impacted harmlessly into the house where Abe had been standing.

Reloading quickly, he put three additional cartridges between the fingers of his left hand and stood up. He fired at where he’d seen the rightmost muzzle flash, took three quick steps to his left, reloaded and fired again at the center flash’s position. Only one musket returned fire. Abe stayed where he was, reloaded and fired at the spot. A scream of agony followed.

“
Samuel! Don’t shoot me, Samuel!” Abe ran around the corner of the house and through the moonlight to the front of the house.

Samuel was on the porch in a spreading pool of blood.

Abe opened the front door. “Ginger,” he shouted. “I need you.” He dragged Samuel inside, then went back out for the weapons.

“
I’ll get something for a tourniquet,” Ginger said as she reached the bottom of the stairs.

“
No.” Abe looked out the open door. “We don’t dare light a lamp yet. Put your finger in the wound, find the artery and hold it.”

“
I can’t do that alone,” she stammered.

“
You must.” He picked up the shotgun and ran out the door, then zigzagged toward the grove from which the first shot had come.

The shooter was dead. He had been hit a bit to the right of his navel and the heavy bullet had nearly torn him in half.

Abe moved into the brush to his left and toward the sound of a man calling for help. The wounded man was gut shot and unable to walk. Abe took the man’s musket and moved on. The other two were dead. Abe returned to the wounded man. “Who are you and what are you doing on my property?”

“
Get me some help,” the man groaned.

“
I might. After you answer my question.”

“
I don’t answer questions for niggers.” Blood and spittle ran from the man’s mouth. “You better get me some help or it’ll go real bad for you.”

“
You better answer this nigger or I’ll send you to hell.” Abe poked the man’s wound with the musket barrel, then waited until the man stopped screaming and poked him again.

“
We was after runaway niggers,” the man gasped.

“
There aren’t any slaves here.”

“
There’s niggers here. They fetch the same price in Richmond, slave or free and the little red-headed bitch is worth a bundle.”

Abe shot him in the face, put the musket in the corpse’s hand and then went back to help Ginger.

~

“
This one was shot at close range with a shotgun,” the sheriff said in an accusatory tone. “Damn near blew his head off.”

“
I came back to help him and he pointed that musket at me,” Abe replied calmly. “So I shot him.”

“
This musket’s not loaded,” the constable observed. “Not even cocked.”

“
It was dark. He pointed it at me and I shot him.” Abe turned toward the sheriff. “Are you going to post some men here or not?”

“
Just keep your shirt on, Abe,” the sheriff replied. “You killed four men last night. We gotta investigate.”

“
I killed four armed men who were on my property with the intention of kidnapping me, my sister and her son.”

“
Says you,” the constable replied.

Abe stepped toward him. “I’ve lived right here on this land all my life, paid my taxes and…”

The sheriff moved between them. “Hold on, Abe.”

“
Me?” Abe bristled. “Your man just accused me of lying.”

“
He didn’t exactly.”

“
Is that how it’s going to be now?” Abe asked. “I’m black, you’re white. I’m wrong, you’re right?”

“
This has nothin’ to do with color,” the sheriff insisted.

“
It has everything to do with color,” Abe replied. He pointed at the corpse. “Crackers like these aren’t coming to steal your family and sell them like cattle, because you’re white. They’re coming after mine, because we’re black.”

“
I’m gonna leave some men,” the sheriff said in a calming tone. “Can they use one of those little buildings down on the point?”

Abe nodded. “The boathouse has bunks and a wood stove.”

“
Fancy,” the constable muttered.

“
Are we finished here?” Abe asked. “I need to go to the hospital and see if the white doctors are going to try to save my black nephew’s life.”

“
There’s no call to talk that way,” the constable said.

“
Says you.” Abe turned away and trotted toward the stable.

“
Uppity nigger,” the constable said in a tone that only the sheriff could hear.