Morning of November 23, 1864
Seven Miles from Macon, Georgia
Eli sat holding the reins of the supply wagon as his men ransacked food, clothing, household valuables and whatever else struck their fancy from the plantation. Scores of slaves stood watching from their quarters to his left, awestruck and apprehensive at seeing Yankees for the first time.
Their mistress, on the other hand, stood on the front porch of the plantation house screeching profanities so foul most soldiers would have blushed. Corporal John Dawson restrained her, but Eli observed she was doing a thorough job of beating poor John brutally about the head and shoulders.
Private Isaac Martin ran past the wagon chasing a rooster.
“Isaac, what the hell are you doing?” said Eli.
He pulled up short, breathing heavily. “Well, Sergeant, I’d sure like to have me some fresh eggs regular, and I reckon this here chicken could provide such.”
Eli shook his head. “Isaac, we’re not farmers, we’re an army on the march. You’re not going to have time to keep pet chickens.” He sighed. “Besides, you fool, you’re chasing a rooster. He can no more lay an egg than you can.” Damn city boys, thought Eli.
Isaac looked crestfallen at the news, his dream of fresh eggs for breakfast dashed. “So what should I do, Sergeant?”
“Ring it’s neck,” said Eli, “and we’ll have it for supper.”
The thought of eating chicken instead of salt pork raised his spirits again, and he resumed the chase.
The sound of gunshots sent Eli’s hand to his sidearm, but he relaxed seeing it was his own men shooting livestock, one cow already down just outside the barn to the right of the house. Eli jumped from the wagon and trotted to his men.
“Hold up there,” he called.
The knot of three soldiers turned.
Eli looked over the terrorized animals backing away from their slaughtered companion lowing fearfully. Eli counted twenty milk cows. “Shoot five, butcher them and load the meat in the wagon,” he said. “Leave the rest.”
“Why’d we wanna do that, Sergeant? Let’s kill ‘em all,” said a thin wiry boy named Iggy.
“We can’t use that much meat and it’ll just rot,” said Eli.
“So? Less a it for them rebs to eat.” The other two men nodded their agreement.
“I’m not worried about the rebs going hungry,” said Eli. “I’m worried about the slaves. They’ll starve, too. Let’s leave something behind.”
“Hell, Sergeant Craft, won’t none of these planters share so much as a lick a gravy with these niggers so long’s they’s short on food. I say let ‘em all starve.”
Eli gave him a long steady stare. Iggy was fully a head taller, but he set to staring at his feet to avoid Eli’s glare.
“I mean these colored folk,” mumbled Iggy.
“I told you before,” ground out Eli, “don’t ever call them niggers. I catch you doing it again and I’ll have you strung up by your thumbs from a tree for two days. You hear me private?”
Iggy nodded.
“I can’t hear you,” said Eli.
“Yes sir, Sergeant,” said Iggy.
The other two men snickered at his discomfort. Eli turned to all of them. “Now is there something about my orders you men don’t understand? Maybe the problem’s you can’t count to five and need my help?”
“No, Sergeant,” they said.
“Then do it,” said Eli.
He turned to walk to the slave houses, ignoring the crash of a dinning room chair thrown through a front window of the house to the intensified screeching of the plantation owner.
Eli thought again about how he missed the men of the 125th Ohio. They would have been easier to control on this mission, especially without the likes Steve Blue, who got his head knocked clean off by a cannon ball outside of Atlanta. There was not even a battle at the time, it was just a freak lucky shot by some Confederate gunner who did Eli one of the greatest favors of his life.
But then, a couple of days later Sergeant Hayes died of a fever, and Eli was named to replace him. It surprised him just how much he came to miss that old bastard. Hayes was a rock to the men, especially in a fight. Eli did his best, but their company just did not feel the same without Hayes screaming orders and insults in equal measure. Still, in Atlanta they licked the rebels in fine style.
After the fall of that city, General Sherman divided the army in two, and the 125th was sent north in pursuit of the Army of Tennessee, now under the command of General John Bell Hood, Bragg long gone after the defeat at Chattanooga. Going north meant marching in the wrong direction for Eli. So when he discovered Sherman himself would lead the rest of the army further into Georgia, through his connection to General Grant he arranged a transfer to the 46th Ohio Veteran Volunteers under the command of Lt. Colonel Isaac Alexander.
He arrived to find they were short a sergeant, and surprisingly Eli was again selected. Grant’s letter to Sherman might have had something to do with it, he supposed.
The men liked him well enough, or seemed to, although he thought they found him tougher than they expected of so small a man. They nicknamed him Sergeant McRooster. Short, but always ready to take on a man twice his size. They complained about his strictness, but the fact was Eli thought the men liked a tough sergeant. It gave them confidence. He smiled at the irony of that.
Eli stopped before the cluster of slaves. There were about 40, including some very young children clutching their mothers’ legs and staring at him wide eyed. Just by looking at them, Eli knew they were all field hands, dirty and dressed in rough cut linens. The house slaves were probably hiding out somewhere in the mansion. One of the older men, frail and watery eyed, stepped forward to face Eli.
“Is you a Yankee, Massa?” he asked. There was fear and hope on the faces of the others, but on his there was no fear. Eli saw only hope in eyes that had most likely not known much hope for a very long time.
Eli reached out a hand and grasped the shoulder of the man. “What’s your name, father?”
“They calls me Titus, Massa,” he responded.
“Titus,” said Eli, “don’t call me master.”
Eli looked to them all and said, “Don’t call any man master ever again. President Lincoln of the United States of America has declared that all slaves in Georgia, that all slaves in all the Confederate states, are henceforth and forever free.”
Immediately Eli found himself mobbed, many falling on their knees before him weeping for joy and screaming praise to the Lord. Others eagerly touched him, as though only through contact with him could they really become free people. Most of the small children just wailed in fear and confusion.
It broke Eli’s heart to see them. He felt intense pride that he, Eli Craft, had come to this day when he could strip off the bondage of not just himself, but of all his people. It was the culmination of his fondest dream to be, like Moses of old, letting his people go. But he also knew all too well how hollow the moment really was. Yes, as long as he and his men stood here these people were free, but as soon as Eli rode off they would be slaves again. That bitch on the front porch would see to that, or try to. The sad truth was that right now, they were mostly free to starve to death if left on their own. Eli raised a hand and the pandemonium subsided. When they were listening, Eli said, “I know this is a grand day, one you’ve prayed for all of your lives.”
“Praise God,” one of them shouted. “It be the day a Jubilation!”
Many shouted agreement, but Eli waved them down and they were quickly silent again.
“This is a day of jubilation, and I feel all the joy you feel, but you must understand this is only a beginning. Freedom, real freedom, will come slow and hard. You know the planters. No one knows them better than you. They will not give you up without a fight. When my men and I leave, they are going to try to hold you. If you think they were harsh before, they will be a hundred times worse. Most would rather kill you than see you free, and they will do all in their power to keep their foot on your necks and crush you.”
“Then we will go with you,” said Titus, his eyes burning, the others murmuring their agreement.
Eli shook his head, sadly. “I wish you could. You don’t know how much I wish that, but you cannot.”
“Why?” said Titus bitterly. “Why won’ts you leave us come?” The rest of the men and women shifted uneasily, looking confused.
“If it was just you, you could. But we are an army on the march, and there are millions of you. If all the slaves in Georgia come to our army, it’s more than we can do to help you and still fight this war.
“Understand me,” shouted Eli, so they all heard him clearly, “the South is losing. In fact, they’ve lost the war already and the Confederacy is dying. But like a poisonous snake that’s cut in half, it can still bite you before it dies. My men can’t stay, and you can’t come. If you do, there’s more of you than we can feed and you’ll starve.
“Your parents and your grandparents and their grandparents before them have waited and prayed for this day, and we can all thank God Almighty it’s finally come, but it’s only the beginning. In fact, the hardest days are ahead of you. You’ve been brutalized and you’ve been robbed. But worst of all, the planters tried to make you into animals.
“Freedom won’t feed you. It won’t buy you land. It won’t bring you your rights. These are things you will struggle for, because they won’t be handed to you, much as you deserve them. And the whites will make it as hard as they can. They will hate you for the guilt they feel for enslaving you. They will want you to fail so they can say they were right to have enslaved you. All of your successes will be an affront. They will despise you and blame you for the war they started and lost at such a great cost. They will hate you for wanting to be their equals. They will hate and blame you for your ignorance and your lack of education, which they themselves inflicted upon you so they could keep you like beasts. They will hate you because every day they see you they must either blame you for what happened to them, or face the terrible truth of the evil they committed, and then beg your forgiveness for it.
“And I can tell you it is easier to blame you than to admit to a crime, and that’s what they’ll do. And not seeking your forgiveness, their cruelty and hatred towards you will only grow. It is their nature.”
Eli felt tired. He looked out over the faces of the men and women standing silently around him, fear and anguish in their eyes.
“Den what’s we poor folk ta do?” said Titus. “Lay down and dies? What’s we goan do?”
Eli sighed. “Be patient, if you can. The war’s almost over. We can’t stay now, but we will come back, and the next time we will stay. Then it will be safe for you to move. Then you’ll have choices. While you wait, think about what you want to do. Share the skills you have, teach each other and work together. I hope when the war is over they’ll give you land. Then you can farm. You know how to do that. Use and share with each other the trades you have. Build schools if you can.” He looked at them. “But stay together. Work together. Together you are strong and can protect yourselves. Alone you are weak.”
“Well I doan know nutt’n ‘bout you, but I ain’t stay’en on dis here farm if I’s a free man,” said a strong looking young fellow, shaking his head vigorously. “I goan walk tall wid my head up is wud I’s goan do, and I ain’t sit’en here no how.”
“Ain’t you jus heard what da man said?” replied Titus. “Dem slave catchers’ll hunt you down ‘n shoot you like a dog, if’n dey catches you off dis farm. We got to wait, like he sez.”
The young man looked scornfully at Eli. “Shucks, he ain’t nutt’n but a white man his self. What he know, fool? You can’t never trust no white man. ‘Course he sez stay.”
It cut Eli to his soul to hear this, but kept silent and turned to Titus. “Father,” he said, “some will go, but some will listen to you. Lead them and hold them together as best you can. I’m leaving as much as I can behind on this plantation, so you shouldn’t starve. Take this,” he added, pulling a spare pistol from his belt and offering it to the old man. “You might need it.”
Titus backed away a step from the gun like he though it might bite him.
“I got me no use fer dat. I’s jus as likely ta shoot myself if’n I tries ta use it. I doan know nutt’n ‘bout no guns.” He shook his head. “Mebbe if’n we all had ‘em, mebbe den it wud help. But jus me? Dey’ll kill a old nigger like me wid a gun fast as dey sees me. Dat ain’t nutt’n but trouble.”
Eli knew he was right, and reluctantly put the gun away.
“Take care of your people,” said Eli. “We’ll be back to help. It won’t be much longer.”
“Bottom pole goan be on top?” smiled old Titus.
“I hope so, father, I hope so. God bless and keep you.”
Eli turned and walked to the house. On the porch, poor John still struggled with the woman.
“You bastard cowards,” she raged at him. John had hold of her arms, so she stomped her heel into his foot. He winced in pain. His face had been scratched several times.
“That’ll be enough of that,” said Eli.
She turned on him, dark haired, young and slim with evil green eyes. “You’ll pay for this, you Yankee shits. I swear, just you wait,” she spat at him, her eyes blazing with hatred. “When our boys get done with you, I’ll be wearing your liver for a hat.”
Eli saw John still had considerable pain in his foot. “You all right, John?” he asked.
John grimaced. “I think she might a broke a toe,” he said.
“That’s not all I’m going to do,” she hissed. She broke free of his grip and as she reared back to slap him, Eli caught her wrist. He twisted it, forcing her to look at him.
“Listen to me, and listen good,” said Eli in a calm but deadly tone. “I am authorized to burn to the ground the home of any and all rebel sympathizers. By your actions and words, I take it that you are such a sympathizer.”
To Eli’s satisfaction, he saw a shadow of fear cross her face for the first time.
“You wouldn’t dare,” she hissed.
“In an instant,” said Eli, staring back into her eyes. Her face showed she understood he meant it. For a moment, her expression of rage and frustration was so intense it looked as though her head might explode, and then it collapsed into complete desolation. Her head fell forward and she was wracked with sobs.
“Don’t burn my home,” she choked out. “Take what you want, but don’t burn my home.” She fell slowly to her knees, burying her head in her arms and weeping. “I was born here. It’s all I have left.”
How Eli loathed her. She was exactly the kind who screamed loudest for this war, had cheered the bloodshed and death and proudly asserted her “rights” against the Yankee invaders, and now here she pleaded with Eli to spare her the consequences of her monstrous passions. Asking for mercy from him was obviously the most difficult and humiliating act of her life. If she had known Eli was a Negro and a former slave, it would have been even worse. He wished he could tell her.
Yet Eli also knew the moment he and his men left, she would go right back to hating them with an intensity that would haunt her the rest of her days, and any act of mercy on his part would go unappreciated. She would never be reconciled to this defeat, and the bitterness of it would poison her. She would never understand this was a humiliation of her own making, and that what she suffered was nothing short of justice.
She fell forward, her face pressed to the floor. “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? What’s to become of us now?” she wailed.
And despite everything, despite all the reasons he had for hating her, pity touched his heart. She would never understand the wrongs she had done, and all she would know was that her world was undone and gone forever, gone with the wind. It was beyond her limited capacity to comprehend why.
He set slaves free today, he reflected with pride, and he brought one of the slave masters low. All in one day.
And yet it brought him no satisfaction. All he ever wanted was to live free. And to accomplish that, all this misery had had to come to pass. It was suddenly very sad to him, very sad indeed.
“Shall we burn the house?” said John, relieved to be free of the woman but still wincing from the pain in his foot.
Eli shook his head. It might make him feel good to do it, but it would accomplish nothing, and would probably just make things harder for the slaves. “No,” he said. “Just see to the loading of the wagons. Also, check the barn for horses. I need two good ones. Have them saddled and stock the saddle bags with three days rations each.”
John looked puzzled. “Why you want that?”
“Just do it,” said Eli.
He walked into the house to find most of the furniture cleared out. Eli called over his shoulder, “And tell those fools to take the furniture out of the wagons. How do they think they’ll get that home when we still have half of Georgia to cross, and then who knows where we’ll go after that?”
“Yes, sir,” John called back.