GLORY II Chapter 7

Chapter 7

  Will started out on the main road heading south in the direction of the small town of Ripley.  However, after nearly running into two Union cavalry patrols in less than half an hour, he decided it was best to cut cross country rather than risk being recaptured.  Squirrel was indeed a fine animal, fit for a general, full of pep and energy.  It was all he could do to keep the energetic mare under control.

  Dawn was just beginning to break and the birds were now active, shattering the early morning with panoply of rich melodic sounds.  By dead reckoning and pure guess he figured he was about a mile north of Ripley.  He decided to cut left and intersect the road while keeping a sharp eye for Yankee patrols.

  No more than fifteen minutes later Squirrel started acting up, shying sideways and hesitating to continue forward.  It was an obvious sign.  Will knew that the animal's sense of smell and hearing was much sharper than a human's.  Evidently Squirrel sensed something that he didn’t something out of place, something unusual.

  Swinging down from the saddle, he held the bridle and slowly walked forward.  After about twenty yards he smelled pungent tobacco smoke.  Carefully scanning the scrub oak thicket to his front, within a few minutes he spotted the tell-tell fog of gray smoke coming from a particularly thick section of trees and vines a few hundred feet to his right front.  Leaving Squirrel in place and moving cautiously forward, he eventually spotted the owners of the silvery gray smoke.
A troop of Union cavalry was spread out in the thicket facing the road, no doubt an ambush patrol waiting for any unsuspecting Confederate scout or patrol to happen by.

  By a stroke of pure good luck, he had cut through at the exact spot where the patrol had set up.  A little north and he would have been recaptured or possibly killed.  Now he could backtrack and cut south around them then back over to the road.  It was doubtful the Yankees would have another patrol between here and Ripley.

  Just as he turned around to head back to Squirrel, the heavy clopping sounds of many horses could be heard coming down the road.  A muttered command came from the vicinity of the Union ambushers, then the clicking sound of rounds being quickly chambered into rifles.  They were preparing to hit whoever was coming steadily closer along the road.

  Rushing back to where he had left Squirrel, he quickly mounted and headed for a small rise nearer the road where he hoped to catch a glimpse of the riders bearing down on the ambush site.  From his vantage point he finally spotted the front riders of a Confederate troop of cavalry, their tattered battle flag blowing in the early morning breeze.  They were just moments away from certain death or capture.

  Will had no weapon, only the slim paring knife that Laura had packed among the provisions for his escape.  There was but one thing he could do.  Reaching down and patting Squirrel behind the ear, he muttered, "Come on girl, give me all you got," and then he dug his heels into her flank and let out a rebel yell.  Like a screaming banshee, he and Squirrel flew towards the Union ambush site.  Within seconds they were among the startled men, who thought half the Rebel army was attacking them.  So sudden and so fast was the unexpected appearance of the man and ferocious mare, that none of the soldiers thought of aiming their rifles.  Several rifles did go off, their rounds zinging into the sky or trees, the sharp noise alerting the Confederate cavalry patrol to the presence of the ambushers.  Seconds later, dozens of Confederate cavalrymen surrounded the would-be ambushers.  The Yankee lieutenant in command of the Union patrol wisely signaled for his men to surrender.

  After ordering his men to round up and disarm the prisoners, the Confederate commander rode over to where Will was still trying to calm the feisty Squirrel down.  Removing his hat, he then saluted and addressed Will.

  "Sir, we owe you our very lives and our utmost gratitude for the heroic deed you have this day performed.  To whom, should I ask, do we pay our homage?"

  Having finally calmed the nervous horse down, Will turned his attention to the man sitting before him.  He was surprised to see the wreath and stars of a general officer.  He also recognized the pudgy face of General Abraham Buford, one of Bedford Forrest's division commanders.

  Quickly recovering his senses, Will stiffened and saluted.  "Sir, Lieutenant William Welch, 8th Mississippi Cavalry."

  General Buford returned the hasty salute with a smile then asked, "What were you doing way up here all by yourself Lieutenant, although I'm certainly thankful that you are?"

  "I was captured after the skirmish just below Bolivar sir, and with help from a local family I managed to escape.  I was heading south to rejoin my unit at Tupelo."

  "Yes," Buford remarked.  "I remember now, Colonel Duff's command.  Rest assured young man both Colonel Duff and General Forrest will be made privy to your great deed done this day on our behalf."

  "I was wondering, Sir," Will half blushed, "the family that helped me is about seven miles north of here.  With the size of your present force is there any possible way we could go and check on them, to see if they're safe I mean?"

  "Sorry son," Buford replied.  "Our scouts have reported a large contingent of Union cavalry at the Crowder Plantation about three miles north of here.  That's where we were headed when you so gallantly saved the day.  Evidently the Yankees followed our scouts back and set up this ambush hoping we'd send out a reconnaissance in force, which we did.  They almost succeeded in catching us too."

  Noting the disappointment on Will's face, Buford continued.  "I'm certain this family is safe Lieutenant.  I see your back is bleeding, were you wounded in our little skirmish?"

  "No sir," Will answered, suddenly feeling the warm wetness from his whip wounds.  "I was beaten by Yankee nigra soldiers during my capture.  Three other Confederate enlisted men were captured with me, two of my own men and one deserter.  I assume they are still in the Union camp."

  "Nigra soldiers, eh?" Buford muttered, plucking at the sparse mustache he sported.  "Come along young sir, and we'll have the brigade surgeon look after those wounds."

  The small town of Ripley, Mississippi resembled in setting and style that of a quaint New England village resting on a series of small hills and promontories.  The streets were unusually clean, and despite the ravages of war and the incessant occupation of the Union forces, the villagers took pride in their small homes and rich fertile gardens.

  The citizens themselves were fiercely patriotic to the Confederacy and were especially proud of and loyal to any forces under the command of General Nathan Bedford Forrest.  They considered him to be a native son even though he came from another small town in the county, Salem, to the northwest of Ripley.

  One of the more difficult problems they were faced with was the constant flow of military forces through their warm little town.  One week they may be showering food and sweet sun tea on the sons of the Confederacy, the next forced to entertain enemy units of the Federal army.  However, even the Union commanders admitted with pride, that when it came to caring for wounded or ill soldiers, the people of Ripley showed no favoritism.  The color of the uniform did not matter.  Any wounded soldier, north or south, received the friendliest, warmest, and best care possible without pretension on the part of the villagers.

  As they rode through the muddy streets, they were greeted with warm smiles and cheerful accolades.  Several pretty young girls paused in their early morning stroll to cast wistful and admiring glances at Will as he rode past.  He smiled back, but in his mind was the beautiful face of Laura, for she had not left his thoughts since his early and hasty departure that moonlit morning.

  He was more than concerned for her safety; he constantly worried about her.  You never knew what the Yankees would do given a certain set of circumstances.  The uncertainty was enough to eat away at his every thought, to continuously nibble at the back of his mind.

  "We'll be pulling out and heading south within the hour," General Buford stated, halting his mount in front of a large white house.  "We have orders to rejoin Bedford at Tupelo.  This is the home of Colonel Falkner," he pointed with a pudgy finger, "We'll have Mrs. Falkner prepare you a nice, hot breakfast and send for the surgeon to look after your wounds."

  The woman who met them at the door was a petite middle aged woman.  Her hair had just started its inevitable path towards turning gray but her bright blue eyes held a hint of eternal youth, her warm dimpled smile was disarming and her carriage displayed a high degree of energy and exuberance.

  Will was completely enchanted as her soft melodious voice said, "Come on in Abraham and bring that handsome young man with you.  I have fresh biscuits in the oven and more eggs than I know what to do with.  You know my cousin, Katie Sue," she continued, pointing at a larger woman near her age standing in the foyer.  It was considered improper for a southern lady to entertain guests, even generals, without the presence of other witnesses to the propriety.

  Turning to his aide, a weasel-faced lieutenant, General Buford said, "See to it that the Union prisoners are cared for and have their commander join us here, if that's agreeable with you ma’am?"

  "Certainly," Mrs. Falkner smiled.  "His presence would be most welcome."  The smells emanating from the kitchen were beginning to make Will's mouth water.  Habitually concerned with his manners, he looked down to check for mud on his boots before entering the impeccably clean and spacious kitchen.  They were shown to a very large oak table easily large enough to accommodate a dozen or more diners with room to spare.  Large mugs of freshly brewed coffee were placed in front of them almost before they were seated.

  "Good Lord, son!" Mrs. Falkner remarked, her voice full of unconcealed concern.  "I didn't know you were badly injured."  She had evidently seen the blood seeping through his borrowed uniform shirt.

  "I've asked that the brigade surgeon be sent here post haste to look after him ma’am," General Buford replied.  "He wasn't wounded during the ambush attempt.  Quite the contrary, were it not for his fortuitous intervention, I, myself may not be safely seated in your august presence.  The young lieutenant was sadistically brutalized by his Yankee captors, a despicable act I must say, one which General Forrest will no doubt strongly protest through channels."

  "Barbaric," Mrs. Falkner muttered, a sympathetic and protective look on her face.  "Utterly barbaric."

  A few moments later they were interrupted by the arrival of the Union officer, the commander of the captured Yankee patrol.  He was a young man in his early twenties, of medium height, slender build, and dark wavy hair, neither handsome nor comely.  He spoke with a pronounced New York accent and a slight hint of Irish brogue as he introduced himself.

  "Lieutenant Robert Patrick Carney," he stated, bowing slightly to Mrs. Falkner then to General Buford.

  "Please join us, Lieutenant," Mrs. Falkner said, pointing to an empty chair next to Will.

  Although in the presence of a General officer and among enemy civilians, the young officer did not appear worried or apprehensive.  In fact, he displayed open curiosity and congenial warmth, quite remarkable for someone who had recently tried to kill two of those present, in the line of duty of course.

  "From where do you hail?" asked Mrs. Falkner, as if the man was a casual wayfarer just stopped in for tea and biscuits.

  "New York, Brooklyn to be exact," he replied.

  "You're a long way from home young man," General Buford cut in.  "I spent time in New York, up at West Point.  Beautiful country, very fine people.  I didn't know there were any New York units stationed in this military department?"

  "None that I know of, Sir.  I was living in Pennsylvania with friends.  When they signed on, I decided to join them.  We're assigned to the 19th Pennsylvania Cavalry under the command of Colonel Hess."

  Katie Sue had just taken a pan of fresh, hot biscuits from the oven and plucked crispy pieces of crisp fried bacon from a frying pan.  She was now cracking eggs into the hot bacon grease, her movements sure and automatic as if she lived in the kitchen.  The table was already laid out with fresh butter, jams, fried ham, a large platter of flapjacks, and a jar of molasses.

  Will could not help but think of the irony of the situation.  They were casually talking and complimenting each other on the beauty of their respective states, preparing to dine on fine food and warm southern hospitality, yet ready, if called upon, to kill each other at the slightest command.  He could even tell, given the time and opportunity that he and Lieutenant Carney might easily become friends.

  "I've know some fine Yankee officers and gentlemen," Mrs. Falkner stated, sitting down to join them at the table while they ate.  "But I cannot possibly conceive of any reason that any one of them would be so barbaric as to whip another officer even if he is the enemy."

Lieutenant Carney looked at her with a perplexed expression on his face, then turned to General Buford seeking an explanation.

  "It appears that young Lieutenant Welch here was severely whipped during his short period of captivity," General Buford offered, biting eagerly into a butter-smeared biscuit.  "A revolting act sir, completely uncivilized."

  After swallowing a tasty piece of ham, Will added, "They were nigra soldiers, sir.  However, the white officers present did nothing to halt their depredations."

  "Well," Katie Sue spoke for the first time, "That clearly explains it.  Why you Yankees insist on arming ignorant niggers and then turning them loose on innocent God-fearing white folks is beyond me."  Her tone of voice was filled with contempt and spitefulness.  "My friend in Charleston said they've been burning homes, stealing anything they can carry off, and other more dreadful things, if you get my meaning'?"

  "In all honesty I would never allow such a thing to happen," Lieutenant Carney replied.  "I've had no particular dealings with the Negroes and cannot judge them either way, but I also cannot condone slavery.  I think it's morally wrong, ethically wrong, and wrong in the eyes of God."

  "What you've just said, young man, is also the way that ninety percent of the people in the south believe," Mrs. Falkner stated.  "Believe me when I say I've entertained that same question with officers of both sides in this conflict and have found very few who truly condone slavery or servile indenture in any shape or form.  We are both intelligent enough to know that slavery is not, nor has ever been the principal reason behind this uncivil war."

  "Economics, states’ rights, federal insurrection, politics in general, those are the fiery triggers that lit the fuse of war.
Pride, arrogance, ignorance and intolerance is the fuel that keeps it burning.  Neither side will admit to being wrong until one or the other gets the upper hand and destroys the weaker one.  And, as terrible as this war is sir," Mrs. Falkner emphasized, "it's not the war itself I fear, it's what will come to the looser after the fighting is over.  One or the other, and I truly fear it will be the South, will cease to exist as a culture and will become servile to the victor for years to come."

  "I sincerely believe, ma’am, if President Lincoln gets reelected, and I'm certain he will, the South will retain most of its autonomy and be allowed to rejoin the Union as equal states," Lieutenant Carney stated, his voice sincere and his manner honest.

  "But our future destiny will be decided in Washington young man," she returned, "Not here in the South where it should be."

  "I must agree with Mrs. Falkner," General Buford cut in, talking around a mouth full of flapjacks.  "If the Union wins this war the federal government will eventually run every small fact of our lives, from what we can safely eat or drink, to the very money we save.  Even the freedoms that the constitution supposedly guarantees will be at risk.  It may not manifest itself over night, but I guarantee you, sir, that within time a man will not even be allowed to own a gun to protect himself and his family.  The federal government will be a dictatorial power in all but name only.  No Confederate citizen has ever had to fear their government, but mark my word, you Yankees will one day awaken to the realization that the federal government can and will take away every God-given right you thought you had.  Like the
English Kings of old, they will decide what is good or bad for you; they will place uncivil servants above you to pry into your very lives, to enforce laws which you had no part in making, all in the name of freedom.  I fear, young man, that if the Union wins this war, they will create a federal monster, which they will eventually be incapable of controlling.

  "With all due respect, Sir," Lieutenant Carney replied.  "I do not think the people would ever allow such a thing to happen."

  "It will happen without their even knowing it.  The federal government is so distant from the people it supposedly represents, and the people so concerned with every day survival, they will not even know when they have given up their freedom and liberties until it is far too late."

  "As with religion, we could argue politics forever without a consensus of opinion," Mrs. Falkner cut in.  "There are many who will leave the South if we lose this war.  They would rather give up home and hearth than live under federal imperialism.  Please, let us enjoy the remainder of our meal without this gloomy topic."

  Will had never given a lot of deep thought to politics or to the political arena.  He simply believed that freedom meant to be left alone, to live your life the way you saw fit, providing you neither hurt nor cheated another person.  Laws to him were simple rules of behavior agreed upon by your community, and if any one broke those agreed upon rules, like children, they should be chastised or punished.  The fact that the Union government sent military forces into his homeland to force him to abide by another set of rules was the only reason he was fighting.  No man or government should have the power to invade another person's home or take away what that person had earned through hard work and honest sweat.  His thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of the brigade surgeon, an elderly bespectacled man with a full white beard.

  "You may use the drawing room, Doctor," Mrs. Falkner stated, rising from her seat to show them the way.

  Two hours later and feeling a lot better; Will was back in the saddle riding to the left of General Buford heading south towards Tupelo.  He was pleased to see that Squirrel had received a good rubdown and a regimental Sergeant Major had assured him that she had eaten more than her share of oats and grain.  He was also happy to note that the captured Union cavalrymen had been fed and allowed to perform their personal toilets prior to departing for Tupelo.

  "At least one side is adhering to the civilized tenants of warfare," he muttered to himself, automatically correcting his thoughts because he knew very well that the majority of Union soldiers were just as kind and civilized as their Confederate counterparts.  Obviously, the colored soldiers had been reacting to the alleged abuses that had been inflicted on their kind at Fort Pillow.

  Mrs. Falkner had soaked his blood stained shirt in a concoction that smelled heavily of vinegar, but it had done the intended job of removing most of the new blood stains.  Once again, he wore a clean, borrowed shirt, but this one a simple cotton civilian shirt.

  The roads were passably dry but it was still late in the day before they reached a small bridge over the Tishomingo creek.  Will had almost fallen from the saddle on several occasions, having not slept for over three days.  The column was halted by the sudden arrival of a messenger who galloped across the wooden bridge and brought his tired mount to a halt in front of General Buford.  "Dispatch from General Forrest," the Corporal stated, handing a worn sheet of paper to the general along with a tired salute.

  "I am directed to go to New Albany," General Buford stated, turning in the saddle to look at Will.  "That means I must take that road over there," he pointed to his right.  "I want you to spend the night at Mr. Brice's home about a half mile past this bridge.  You're only a few hours north of Tupelo and tomorrow you can take your time reporting in, after you've had a good night's rest."

  Noting the hesitation on Will's face, General Buford added. "And that's an order young man.  You'll find that ol’ Bill Brice is a fine man and agreeable host.  I'll see to it that the courier delivers a message to Colonel Duff advising him of my order."

  "Thank you sir," Will replied, giving the General a sharp salute. "I look forward to serving under your command on any occasion."

  "And I, young sir, would be honored to have you," General Buford replied.

  Will cut back through the column to retrieve his drying shirt from the supply wagon then headed across the sturdy bridge and up a small incline.  Less than half a mile up the road he reined in before a large two-story house sitting on the northeast corner of a crossroads. Across the road, on a sign nailed to a small frame building was written, “General store.”  Dismounting, he walked over and tied the reins to a post in front of the store, then after patting Squirrel affectionately on the shoulder, walked up the rickety wooden steps.
  On the small porch an elderly woman sat in a rocking chair, churning fresh butter.  She looked up at him with a toothy grin and twinkling blue eyes as he removed his hat and approached her.

  "Afternoon ma’am," Will said, bowing slightly to the elderly woman. "I'm looking for Mr. Bill Brice, perhaps you know him?"

  "Mayhap," she replied.  "He's in the store with Parson Agnew.  Go on in, I'm too old to be a-fetching him."

  Nodding his thanks, Will opened the noisy screen door and entered the gloomy store.  His nose was immediately assaulted by a wide variety of smells, from fermenting apple cider to lye soap, to stale crackers and kerosene lamps.  The small store was a one-room affair with only two small windows to let the bright sun light filter in. Standing face to face over a small counter were two men, one fiftyish the other in his mid-thirties.  Both had generous beards, the elder's turning gray, the younger man's, a rich dark mahogany.  They turned in his direction as he walked up and asked, "I was told I would find Mister Brice here?"

  "I be William Brice," the older man replied, looking quizzically at Will.  "Who ye be?"

  "Lieutenant William Welch," Will stated.  "General Buford said I might find quarters here for the evening.  I'm in route to Tupelo to rejoin my unit."

  The older man continued to give him the once over, then replied, "Shore, I take in borders on occasion young man, but ain't ya outta uniform Lieutenant?"

  "A long story, sir," Will answered, "a long story."

  Both men looked at him as if they fully expected him to outline the details of his lengthy adventures.  After an uncomfortable silence, Will relented and told them the barest highlights of the past thirty-six hours, the men eager for every small detail.  Eventually satisfied, it was Parson Agnew who spoke first.

  "I know Reverend Tyree quite well, Lieutenant," he sounded quite proud of this fact.  "He and I are very close friends.  You say you left his home without even thanking the Reverend for all he did for you?"

  Uncomfortably aware of the agonizing thoughts he had fought against after leaving the Tyree home, Will replied, "That I did, sir.  I realized it was a mistake afterwards, but when I sought to return, General Buford advised me that a large Yankee unit was between us and the Tyree farm.  Their fate at the hands of the Yankee General Sturgis still worries me, but, I now have my orders, sir.  As much as I would like to return and apologize and see to their safety, I must first report to my commander in Tupelo, Colonel Duff."

  "Heck, Sam, if the boy had stayed until the damn Yankees come for him, he would’ve been kilt by them nigra soldiers," Brice cut in.  "I know big Jim Tyree, too and iffen he knew all the facts he would’ve insisted the boy leave also."

  "Reckon you're right, Bill.  Gimme that box of candles and I'll be getting on back to the house, got a lot of thinking to do on that sermon for tomorrow.  Reverend Young wants to go over it with me tonight.  Take care of yourself, young man," Parson Agnew added, then patted Will on the shoulder as he headed for the door, the noisy screen door slapping hard behind him.

  "The Lord be with you," Will replied.

  "Sounds as if you and Big Jim's girl got a might friendly," Mr. Brice asked, in an attempt to coax more details out of Will.  It was not asked in such a way as to sound lewd or insulting.

  "I mean to go back for her someday, sir," Will replied, her soft image forming in his mind.  "Go back and make her my wife if she'll so honor me."

  "Well, knowing Big Jim as I do, I'm sure he talked his way outta the mess.  Been said he could charm a snake if he had to.  Got a small room right here behind the store you can stay in, son.  Ain't nothing fancy, just a room with an old bed, but my wife keeps it nice an’ clean.  Won't be no charge, not to one of our fightin' men.  You go on and put your things away.  Supper'll be ready in a short spell.  I'll go tell Mamma we got company."