Sweetsmoke (41 page)

    What
boys, who are they?

    "Slaves,
Cassius, like you."

    On a
train?

    "Work
for the Confederate Army."

    Cassius
was surprised to learn such men existed. A body servant going to war with his
master, yes, but slaves working for the army?

    "Godspeed,"
said Ralph, as he turned Carolina and was off the way he came. The dust from
the buckboard gradually settled against the road and Cassius was alone. Cassius
listened to the afternoon insect song, a unanimous chorus from the meadow that
built in tone and volume until the entire meadow trembled with sound. Then it
ended in a great inhale of silence, only to begin all over again starting on a
low note that gradually began to swell. He watched cows in a distant field, and
for a time watched a dog sleeping on his back in the shade of a thatch of
fountain grass alongside a fence, pink- spotted belly visible, rear legs bent
up in the air, front legs and head rolled to the side. He envied the dog's
leisure.

    Cassius
stood in the sharp sun for a time. Within his unknowable journey, his situation
had taken yet another unanticipated turn. He had thought it would be easy to
track an army, a creature so massive as to leave a conspicuous trail in its
wake, but no such army had even glanced off this town. He stood enmeshed in
uncertainty, seeing his grand plan evaporate before his eyes. He was not even
clear from which direction the train would come.

    Someone
emerged from the shade and walked along the tracks toward him. At first he
thought it was a boy, but the pitch of his amble betrayed mileage and age. As
he got closer, Cassius saw he was indeed old and tiny, hands tucked into the
top of his trousers. Cassius fingered the pass hidden in his pouch, but did not
bring it out. When the old man reached hailing distance, Cassius called out:
I'm a friend of Ralph.

    "Whyn't
you get out the sun, y'damn fool."

    Cassius
nodded and moved to sit in shade provided by the water tower.

    The
man set about working the pump. Cassius heard water rush into the tower above
his head, and understood the man was there in anticipation of the train. Coming
out of the southeast, he saw the familiar billow of smoke, as he had seen it on
the trestle the day he met Morningside the telegraph man. He was again thrilled
by the sight of such a commanding beast. He felt its reverberation and heard
its bell clang out a warning. He hoped to get close enough to touch it. He was
on his feet and as the train came closer he instinctively took a step back, not
knowing what it would be like to have it pass close to him.

    The
train decelerated and the horizontal connecting rods that drove the large wheels
slowed, their long oval motion hypnotic. Sand dropped out of a small pipe onto
the tracks directly in front of the wheels, and the wheels ground to a halt.
The locomotive stood massive and majestic before him and he admired each part
of it, the pleasing triangular shape of the cowcatcher carried his eye from the
tracks up to the long thick cylindrical gray body. Rising over the front of
this drum was an enormous smokestack, expanding from a narrow waist up to a
proud full chest, shaping the emergent smoke as it entered the air. A noise
over his head spooked him and he looked to see the tiny old man lower the end
of a long pipe from the water tower. The engineer came out of his cab to open
the steam dome and help guide the pipe into position. Cassius was enthralled,
with the train, with the operation, with every part of this moment. He wanted
the men to yank on the rope and ring the bell again. He walked closer to the
looming engine and reached to feel the metal with his palm, but the searing
heat forced his hand away. Water poured through the chute to the steam dome and
splashed over the boiler, exploding into a cloud of vapor, ripping the air with
its harsh sound.

    Cassius
walked toward the rear of the train, trailing along the line of boxcars until
he came to one with open doors. A group of five blacks sat in the car with
their legs dangling. None wore shoes and their clothes were filthy and
tattered. He had heard whites call poorly dressed slaves "tatterdemalion
negroes" and these men certainly qualified.

    I'm
going north, to meet my master, said Cassius.

    'Course
y'are, said a high yellow man with prominent freckles across his nose and
cheeks.

    He's
with the army, said Cassius.

    Freckles
and his friends laughed, all but one who scowled at him with half-lidded sour
eyes.

    Not
enough food for you since out of the five of us, we got six hangin on, said
Freckles, and the others laughed at his joke.

    You
got the wrong railroad, boy, we don't cater to no runaways, said Sour Eyes.

    Already
got your quota? said Cassius, and immediately regretted his smart mouth. He
tried to recover by saying: You don't got to feed me.

    You
got that right, said Sour Eyes.

    Look,
I'm just trying to get north, Ralph left me here and went off—

    You come
with Ralph? Whyn't you say so, brother, climb aboard, said Freckles.

    Owlcrap,
said Sour Eyes, shaking his head. 'S all we need, one more broke darkie.

    Cassius
climbed in and looked around the boxcar. He tried to disguise the pleasure he
felt in anticipation of riding on the train. Sun slanted in through the
vertical slats, falling on the stacks of some unidentifiable wooden objects
that resembled boats.

    What
are those? said Cassius, pointing them out.

    Pontoons,
boy. Goin to the front, ain't that where you say you goin? said Freckles.

    Where's
the front?

    Darkie
gets on board, don't even know where he goin, said Sour Eyes. And he say he
ain't no runaway.

    Never
been this far north.

    Owlcrap.

    Don't
matter if you believe me, but I'm going after Lee's army, said Cassius,
resigned to the hazing.

    Well,
you on the right train. This here the Virginie Central and we goin stop in
Gordonsville. Army been through there couple weeks back, kicked up some shit
with the bluebellies, said Freckles.

    What're
you boys doing here? said Cassius.

    We
the loaders, said Freckles.

    The
tall meager one cleared his throat.

    All
right, three of us loaders, them two is unloaders. We just ridin along, back
and forth, army feed us sometimes, and this here better'n most roofs, said
Freckles.

    Noisier,
too, said the tall meager one.

    Now
you a loader, too, said Freckles. Till you ain't. 'Less you want to be a
unloader. But I'm warnin you, that job be crap.

    The train
lurched and Cassius was thrown against a pontoon. The loaders laughed, and the
tall meager one offered him a hand up.

    You
git your train legs soon enough, he said.

    The
journey was a jerky stop-start ride that, around sharp curves, threw him against
the boxcar's walls and would at one point have thrown him out the open door if
one of the men hadn't caught him. Smoke blew into the boxcar, his eyes and
throat burned and he struggled to breathe, but even that did not diminish
Cassius's pleasure in the ride. They approached a bridge that spanned a deep
ravine and he leaned far out the door, holding on with one hand to look
straight down, and it was a very long way to the distant ground. He had never
before been at such a height, and the experience frightened and exhilarated
him. The river below appeared small, the trees minuscule, and, impossibly, a
flock of birds flew beneath his feet between the girders. Something inside his
chest urged him to leap into the air and join them in their flight. He shouted
aloud with pleasure, not at all aware that he was making the noise. In time, as
his initial enthusiasm waned, he watched the now flat landscape roll by with
great curiosity. The land passed swiftly. He saw straight rows of crops stretch
out and, by a trick of the eye, seem to repeat in a pattern so consistent it
was as if the rows moved along with them. He sat there for hours, watching the
world change, mile by mile. He had had no conception that the world was this
large. They traveled so far that he expected to run directly into the army at
any moment. In the evening, they approached Gordonsville, and he watched the
setting sun drop behind mountains running south. Freckles sat down beside him.

    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.