Spake As a Dragon (17 page)

“
Yes sir, that’s him. He
writ me a letter tellin’ me my darlin’ wife Elsa had been kilt. My
son Nate Junior was kilt too, he said them Yankees wuz shootin’ off
their cannons and hit my farmhouse. When I gets the news, I could
never labor for them murdering rascals no more. Don’t know how
Mister Isaac knowed about my family.”

“
Running the Mill, I
reckon he must have heard the word from one of his customers about
your family.”

“
That Yankee bunch I was
with left Frederick and headed west to jine up with the main part
of the Army y’all fought against at Gettysburg. The more furtherest
they went, the more furtherest I was getting’ away from Carolinny,
so I figured then was the time to skedaddle. I up and deserted them
blue-bellies.”

Nate adds, “I knowed I couldn’t go
directly south, there wuz too many Yankees twixt Pennsylvania and
my farm in Carolinny. I figured sooner or later I would meet up
with the Ohio River and I reckoned I could float downstream till I
reached the big old Tennessee River.

“
Nate, one question, when
you reached the Tennessee what was you going to do
then?”

“
I don’t rightly know
Luke, I figured since I had swapped that Yankee horse and wagon
with one of them river mens at Pittsburg, I might be able to barter
myself onto one of them riverboats headed toward Alabam to see
Mamma, Pa and Tom Jefferson. I did have this here Army musket and a
few shots that I might be able to trade, if need be. Do you have a
better idee?”

“
Dadgum Nate, that’s a
good plan, I had one but yours is better. Can I tag along with you
on your raft?”

When Luke found the unattended raft,
Nate had pulled ashore a day earlier to forage the surrounding
countryside for provisions. He was just returning from his day of
separating some of Kentucky’s farmers from their possessions when
he discovered Luke attempting to ‘borrow’ his raft. Nate lowers his
Yankee knapsack to the ground. He pulls out a frying pan, coffee
pot, a pouch of coffee, a lantern, a box of wooden matches, two
candles, a cherry pie, and three oilcloth slickers. Luke begins to
laugh as Nate removes the last item... a live chicken.

Luke looks at Nate’s ‘loot’ lying in
the sand, shaking his head he speaks to Nate, “Nathaniel, I’m not
even going to ask how you came about this stuff, but right now that
chicken and pie looks pretty good!”

It was getting dark they needed heat
and light. They moved back into the dense underbrush and dropped to
their knees. Using sticks and their hands they dug a hole about a
foot deep and started a fire. Buried deep within the ground the
flames could not be seen by passing boats – the fire was warm and
it illuminated the wonderful, brown-crusted pie sitting on a flat
stone nearby. Once the chicken had roasted they couldn’t wait;
using their dirty hands they finished off the chicken and began to
scoop out the cherry pie.

Luke, already practically starved,
thought this must be the best pie he had ever eaten, bar none. He
and Nate shoved the pie into their mouths so fast they barely
chewed. Cherry pie encircled both their mouths. They didn’t care –
this had to be heaven, if not, it was running a close
second.

As his appetite was being satisfied he
licks his fingers and speaks to Nate, “How long have you been on
the river?”

“
I reckon about twelve
days getting’ from Pittsburg to Columbus, then another six gittin’
down here. I could’of made better time if I hadn’t been hidin’ so
much from them Yankee gunboats. I figure without all the layin’ low
and stayin’ hid I might’of made fifteen miles each night. My raft,
under good conditions, would make about two miles an hour, I’s
guessin’.”

“
Each night, you say. What
about traveling during the day.”

“
Nah, Luke you could make
a good twenty, but it’s way too dangerous. Them Yanks are
everywhere. Theys even got them big old cannon guns aimed down on
the Ohio at practically ever bend in the river. No, floating in the
daylight is sure death.”

“
All right, from
Cincinnati to Louisville is about a hundred miles, give or take, so
we’re looking at ten to twelve days. What do you think
Nathan?”

Nathaniel said he didn’t know how far
it was to Louisville, but if Luke was right in the mileage, then
ten to twelve days was about right.

Luke checks his pocket watch – “Nate
it’s near onto seven o’clock, daylight will come on around six
tomorrow morning, so we better get going.”

“
Hold on Luke, we’s got to
build us a shelter on our raft, that’s why I ‘borrowed’ these oil
skin slickers. I found out it rains jest about ever day on the
river. We needs sommers to git in outta the wet.”

They spend another hour outfitting
their raft using the slickers to make a pup tent, and finally shove
off toward Louisville a little over a hundred miles downstream. The
moon is in the first quarter phase – the half-lit moon will be
highest in the sky at sunset, then set about six hours later, they
will be limited to a little more than a few hours of
moonlight.

The vast amount of troops stationed in
the Cincinnati area insures the river will be crowded with
gunboats, troop transports and boats delivering supplies.
Cincinnati serves as the headquarters for much of the Civil War for
the Union’s Department of Ohio.

Moving out into the big Ohio River,
Luke is worried. No, he is scared, how could they help but not get
captured. The little raft is but a cork floating in the vast ocean
of the big Ohio.

They cannot fire up the lantern. For a
few hours they can silently drift past the boats, going unseen,
using the small bit of light the moon provides; however, once full
darkness descends on them they can easily bump into one of the
boats and be captured.

Until the moon sets they drift
quietly, unobserved down the river. The river was becoming dark,
jet-black dark. Occasionally, they would see a light on one of the
Yankee boats, the light allowed them to bypass the vehicle unseen.
Without the light, they were adrift without knowing what was in
their raft’s path. The only noise made is the water of the Ohio
lapping against the side of their craft.

It is around 2 a.m., the river pitch
dark, every now and then they catch the glimpse of a Union boat.
Suddenly from behind they hear the sound of a paddle wheeler
churning down river coming in their direction. They hold on
tightly; a collision seems imminent. The noise from the boat’s
paddle slapping the water is approaching faster.

“
Turn left Nathaniel!”
Luke yells. “Left! Nathaniel left!” To say the raft is rudimentary
is overstating the obvious, the rudder is even worse, if it is even
worthy of the name, is nothing but a broken wooden oar.

Nate is steering with the makeshift
rudder trying his darndest to make the sluggish raft move out of
the oncoming steamboat’s path. He isn’t fast enough; however, the
steamer did not smack the raft a direct blow, Nate had moved the
raft just enough to allow the bow to miss them by inches. The wake
from the near collision washed over the tiny raft. Nate tries hard
to hold on, but over he goes into the water. Luke grabs a line and
holds on for dear life.

The side-wheeler continues on down the
river, never realizing it has just caused a mishap in the middle of
the Ohio River.

Peering out into the dark waters,
Luke, not worrying about being heard yells, “Nathaniel! Nathaniel!
Where are you? Nathaniel! Talk to me! Nate! Nate!” He knows there
is hardly any hope that Nate survived.

Behind Luke and slightly to his right
he hears someone say, “Hush up Luke! Here I is, don’t wake up the
whole river! I’m coming, jest hang on, I’ll be to the raft in a
minute.”

Back on the raft, Luke nearly hugs the
breath out of Nathaniel before suggesting they move back to the
riverbank, to continue on tonight is futile; they need to dry out
and inventory their contents of the raft. They know the musket is
gone, but Nate still has his bullet pouch slung over one shoulder
the other carries his powder horn; however, it is soaked with water
and the powder useless.

Arriving at the river’s edge they
discover there is an eight to ten foot bank leading from the sand’s
edge into the woods above. There are a number of tree roots hanging
down, but in the darkness they cannot attempt to climb
them.

Sitting on the wet sand both men are
wet and dishearten. Luke, shivering, is the first to speak,
“Nathan, I’m afraid our estimate of reaching Louisville in ten to
twelve days was a little optimistic. You almost drown tonight,
granted we can only travel on the river at night, but we have to
have, at lest, a little light to avoid being rammed again. You were
just lucky on your trip from Columbus, but we can’t afford to take
any more chances. From Cincinnati south, the river is going to
become filled with Yankee riverboats. Right now each day we only
have about six hours of moonlight. I suggest we leave a little
after sundown and put ashore around midnight, or so. We’ll just
have to hideout all day until sundown.”

“
Luke, you know what’s
best. I’ll follow whatever you sez.”

“
It’s the middle of
November, I thought we would be in Louisville by the end of the
month. Now I’m looking at the middle of December.”

“
That’s fine Luke, we’s
not in no hurry. I druthers be slow than gets caught up by them
Yanks.”

The sky in the east is beginning to
lighten. Luke and Nate must get off the shore and hideout in the
woods. They pull the raft upon the sandy beach, pile some brush
over it, and use the tree roots to climb the bank to reach the
woods above.

“
Oh no!” Whispers Luke to
Nate as they reach the woods. “A Yankee cavalry troop is camped
just three hundred yards from us.”

Luke can see the Union campfires and
the Yankee cavalrymen around them beginning to prepare breakfast.
He further realizes that this encampment of horsemen is more than a
roaming scouting troop of cavalry. He figures this must be the
Headquarters camp of a Company or maybe a Regiment of horse
soldiers. In the dim light, he missed seeing the flag flying
outside one large tent – it bore one single white star on a field
of blue, the rank of a Brigadier General. This was the Headquarters
encampment of a Union Cavalry Brigade! Somewhere scattered out
beyond Luke’s view are another 1,200 to 3,800 cavalrymen. Luke and
Nate have stumbled onto a major fighting force of the Yankee
Army!

As Luke and Nate lie in the bushes,
barely breathing watching the Yankee encampment, Nate has another
idea.

“
Luke what if we uns wuz
to seize a couple of them Yankee hosses and instead of goin’ down
river, what if we jest skedaddle south on ‘em?”

“
You mean ride south
overland instead of floating down the river? Let me think for just
a minute – let’s see if we manage to ‘borrow’, as you say, the
horses and flee south we might get to Lexington, Kentucky. Cutting
across country, we could negotiate the Cumberland Mountains to
Knoxville. We could then follow the Appalachians south, cut across
Sand Mountain and from there it is but a hop, skip and jump home.
Of course, the easiest route would be from here to Louisville, then
to Nashville, and from Nashville to Huntsville, but that way will
be swarming with Yankees. It’ll be hard not to get caught by them
Yanks.”

“
How longs we talkin’
‘bout Luke?”

“
I figure it’s roughly a
little over four hundred miles, as the crow flies. We might average
twenty to twenty-five miles a day, so about two weeks, more or
less.”

“
Luke, how fer is it if’en
that crow has to ride a sway-backed hoss on a hard Yankee
saddle?”

Chapter
Twenty-Two

HARK THE HERALD ANGELS
SING

Christmas 1863 was just a few days
away. Robert and Ben have been imprisoned at Point Lookout close to
four months. After their lucky meeting with Private Luther Street
that first morning at breakfast they have had a number of good
things happen. If anything in Point Lookout could be called
‘good.’

Their immediate need back then was a
place to bed down. Another night sleeping on the wet ground with no
blanket was going to be like the night before – miserable. It was
early fall, and the winds blowing directly off the Chesapeake Bay,
from the north, brought dampness, producing a bone-chilling,
wretched night.

Robert had mentioned their situation
to Luther with the chance he might know where they might spend the
night. Luther answered, “Alabam’ you be in luck! Two of my tent
mates were taken to the hospital this morning – I doesn’t believe
theys will be coming back.” Winking, he said, “You get my
drift?”

Robert, although sorry for the two
men’s misfortune wasn’t sorry enough not to take their bunks in
Luther’s tent.

The next morning, before sunup, both
Robert and Ben found themselves in a mass of human debris waiting
and hoping their names would be called for morning duties. Nothing
in this so-called prison was done for free. Unknown to Robert and
Ben Luther had traded hardtack and tobacco to the duty assignment
Sergeant insuring they would be picked for the morning’s
detail.