Jerusalem's Landing, Vermont, 1865
The morning chill forced me to turn up the collar of my coat, and the fallen leaves, coated with a heavy frost, crunched beneath my feet. I had taken a seat on my front porch to wait for Josiah when a wagon laden with cut timber passed along the main road on its way to the sawmill. Three men were seated on the back of the wagon, cant hooks laid across their laps, and as they passed one of the men turned his head away and pulled down the brim of his hat.
Josiah rode up minutes later and climbed down from his horse.
"Bobby Suggs just rode on by with a wagonload of Billy Lucie's timber," I said.
"T'was kind of 'em," Josiah said. "Saved us a long ride."
Josiah put his horse in our barn and we walked down to the sawmill. I went inside the shack that served as the main office and told Jesse Barton, the yard manager, that I needed to talk to one of the men unloading Billy Lucie's wagon in the rear yard. He glanced at my half-empty sleeve and told me to be careful, that those big pieces of timber could roll off the wagons without warning. I wanted to tell him that my legs could still move as fast as they ever could, but knew it would be a waste of time, so I just smiled and thanked him.
I had a set of handcuffs in my jacket pocket and I took them out and tucked them into my belt so they were visible. I had little hope of using them, and they were more for intimidation than anything else.
"You gonna lock his ass up?" Josiah asked.
"If he gives me a reason. Right now I just want him to know I can, and that I'm thinking on it."
"I wish ya would," Josiah said. "I'd ride alla way ta Richmond wit ya if ya done it."
Josiah hated Suggs as much as I did, but why shouldn't he? He had been with me at Spotsylvania and had seen what Suggs and Johnny and the others had done.
"Betta yet," he added, "ya oughtta jus' take 'em out ta the woods an' bury the sumbitch. Snow's comin' soon, so's the varmints won' find 'em till spring."
Bobby had his back to us so he didn't see us approaching, and when he finally turned we were standing only five feet away. The sight startled him, bringing a smile to Josiah's face.
Suggs glared at Josiah. "What you smilin' at, nigger?"
Josiah took a step toward him. "White trash is always makin' me smile," he said. His body was coiled and waiting for Suggs to make a physically aggressive move.
Suggs turned quickly to me. "What do ya want? Ain't ya bothered me enough?"
"I haven't even begun to bother you," I said.
Suggs was holding the long handle of his cant hook in both hands, and I knew it would take little effort to swing it toward me and stab me in the chest.
"Put your hook down and come over to that stack of lumber behind me. I want to talk to you privately," I said.
"You kin talk ta me right cheer," Suggs spat.
His hands tightened on the cant hook and I pulled my coat back to make my pistol more accessible. It also gave Suggs a good look at the handcuffs tucked into my belt. "Last chance, Bobby," I warned.
"You gonna arress me?"
"Depends on you, Bobby. You do as you're told, you might be back to work in ten minutes. You don't, I promise you your day's gonna be one long misery."
Suggs cursed and dropped his cant hook to the ground, then walked past me, stopping again at the stack of cut lumber.
Behind us the heavy saw started up and began to chop the first of the tall pines from Billy Lucie's wagon. It was a high screeching sound, and sawdust floated into the air as the raw timber was cut into long white boards.
I gestured for Bobby to go to the other side of the lumber stack to cut down on the noise. He hesitated at first, but finally complied. He seemed to realize that I was just looking for an excuse to hand him a bit of the misery I had promised.
"All right, what do ya want?" He shouted out the words to be heard over the high-pitched wail of the saw.
"I didn't like the little games you were playing yesterday, Bobby."
"Wha' games?"
I took a step in, bringing myself close enough to grab him. "Following us around." I turned my hand into a gun and pointed it at him. "Trying to intimidate Abel's sister."
"'At girl was the fat boy's sister?"
I lashed out with the back of my hand and struck his face as hard as I could.
Suggs staggered back, his hat flying off, and Josiah grabbed his hair and yanked his head back. He had pulled a hunting knife from the sheath on his belt and had the blade pressed against Bobby's throat.
"Lemme cut this sumbitch's head off," he hissed.
Bobby's eyes widened in terror and, afraid to turn his head, he desperately tried to watch Josiah out of the corner of one eye. "Git him off me," he begged. "This black bastid's gonna cut my throat."
"I expect he will, you keep calling him a black bastard," I said. "I happen to know for sure that Josiah's momma and daddy were married.Are we going to have any more of your games?"
"No, no games." He again tried to look down at the blade pressed to his neck. "He's cuttin' me. He's cuttin' me! I kin feel the blood."
I peeked at Bobby's throat and saw a line of sweat running down his neck.
"You're just sweating like the pig you are, Suggs." I took his shirt front and Josiah moved the knife away, but kept it ready in his hand. I brought my mouth close to his ear, taking in the rank odor that came off his body. "And you smell like one," I added. I straightened up, holding him at arm's length. "I'm going to tell you this once. You ever again say anything like that about Abel Johnson, and I will cut your throat myself. Do you understand me?"
"I unnerstan'." He pulled back and straightened his shirt. "You been affer me fer a long time, Jubal. Ya even tried ta git me in trouble wit the army. Johnny too. Oh yeah, he tol' me all 'bout it when I got cheer. I din' know it afore, but he did, an' he tol' me. But ya couldna prove nothin' then, an' ya ain't got no proof 'bout nothin' now. So you best be leavin' me alone."
"You want me to leave you alone?"
"Tha's right."
"Not on the best day of your miserable life," I said.
* * *
Josiah and I walked back to the house, saying very little until we got there.
I turned to face him and placed a hand on his shoulder. "You are one scary man," I said. "I thought Bobby Suggs was going to wet his pants."
"Wouldna been able ta tell iffen he done it," Josiah said. "Man smells as bad as he does. You looked like you was gonna kill 'em when he said 'at 'bout Abel."
I slowly nodded my head. "You and I both know what he did. He killed Abel, sure as we're standing here."
Now it was Josiah's turn to nod his head. "Yessir, he sure did. Him and Johnny Harris bowf."
* * *
Rapidan River, Virginia, 1864
We were camped along the banks of the Rapidan River, only a few miles from Chancellorsville and a few more from Fredericksburg. There were a number of small units, mine among them, scouting the woods and farmlands to see if Lee's forces would try to reestablish his army in the area. The people who lived in that region of Virginia had been among the most rabid supporters of the Confederacy, taunting us whenever we moved through the area, even taking the occasional shot as we marched past. Now, with Lee's defeat at Gettysburg and newspaper reports about the devastation General William Tecumseh Sherman was wreaking across the deep South, a mood of inevitable defeat seemed to permeate the population. Some store owners and tavern keepers had even begun to trade openly with Union troops, appearing to want good relations with an army that seemed certain to become an occupying force.
There were still many, of course, who were determined to fight us to the end. We came across one at a rope ferry set up on the river. When we arrived, ready to cross, the operator told us boldly that he only ferried Confederate troops and Confederate citizens, that Yankees could either go twelve miles downriver to the bridge, or swim.
The man was short and skinny with scraggly gray hair and beard and several missing teeth, someone who clearly preferred to keep any form of civilization at a safe distance—what we would call a "woodchuck" in Vermont.
"Sir, I am standing here with ten men who are armed to the teeth, and you are telling me we can swim the river if we want to cross to the other side. Am I right about that?"
Abel walked up beside me.
"Tha's what I'm sayin'," the ferry operator replied.
I pointed at a large tree about ten yards from the ferry. "Now, if I stood you against that tree and lined up my men as a firing squad, do you think you might change your mind? Because if you didn't we could just shoot your cantankerous old ass and pull ourselves across, now couldn't we?"
The ferry operator, who looked to be in his sixties, spit a wad of tobacco off to one side. "Ya'd waste that many bullets?"
"We're from the North," I said, exasperated. "We have a helluva lot of bullets."
"Better use 'em then, cause I ain't takin' ya."
Abel started to laugh. "I don't think yer scarin' 'em, Jubal."
Johnny joined us. "What the hell is goin' on?"
"This ol' geezer says he won't take us across. Says we kin swim," Abel said.
Johnny removed his sidearm and cocked the hammer. "I'll jus' shoot the damn Reb an' we'll do it ourselves."
I placed my hand on the barrel of Johnny's pistol and pushed it down. "Put the Colt away," I said. I glanced at a ramshackle cabin off to my left, assuming it was a shelter, maybe even a place the old man used as a home. I turned to Abel. "Take him over to that cabin and tie the dumb son of a bitch up . . . Maybe some Rebs will come along and cut you loose. Or maybe they'll just take what you've got in your pockets. I don't really care. You are a crazy old man and I don't have time to fool with you."
The old man spit out another wad of tobacco juice and grinned at me. "Yankee," he said, "y'all kin go shit in your hats."
Abel started to laugh again. "Son . . . of . . . a . . . bitch," he said. "Ever'body in the South is crazy as hell."
* * *
We took a southerly route through a region of small farms and rundown plantations. We were just east of the area known as the Wilderness, almost all of it now badly scarred by the artillery duels that had taken place there.
We met another unit coming toward us on the same road. Their sergeant explained that they had crossed the river farther south and were now working their way north. I noticed he was commanding the group Bobby Suggs and his friends were a part of, and that Johnny was standing off to one side talking to them.
The sergeant said his name was Riddle and claimed he had seen nothing but a small group of what appeared to be deserters. "Took off inta the Wilderness when they saw us," he said.
"We've come about ten miles since we crossed on the rope ferry north of us," I reported. "We haven't seen even that much activity."
I wished him luck and called to my men. They assembled quickly, all but Johnny, and I had to shout for him again before he pulled himself away from Bobby Suggs. They were too far away to be sure, but Suggs seemed to be showing Johnny something that he quickly returned to a pocket when he saw me watching.
"We're going to push into the Wilderness and head south another five miles or so," I explained when Johnny had finally joined us. "Then we'll head back to the river and cross at the stone bridge. We should be back at camp by suppertime."
As the men started to cross an open field, headed for the dense scrub forest that lay ahead, I moved up beside Johnny. "What did Suggs have to say?" I asked.
Johnny shrugged his shoulders. "Nothin' much. He was jus' tellin' me how borin' the patrol was so far. Sounded like they been havin' the same luck as us."
"What was he showing you?" I had grown suspicious of anything Suggs did.
"What're ya talkin' 'bout?"
"He was showing you something. I just wanted to know what it was."
Johnny shook his head. "T'was an ol' Reb compass he found. Said he thought it might fetch a price, but if not, he was gonna keep it as a war souvenir." He hesitated a moment. "Ya sure do got a bug up yer ass 'bout Suggs. How come?"
"I don't trust him," I said. "I don't trust him as far as I can spit."
* * *
We moved through the Wilderness, my men keeping line of sight to the man on their left, the brush so thick in places that we could be no more than five feet apart to still maintain eye contact. I spread the men out where I could do it safely, but those places were few and far between, and I didn't want any of my men lost, and I certainly didn't want them mistaken for a Reb and shot.
I gave up after five miles and cut back to the east, reckoning that we could reach the river in another two miles or so. As we came out of the thick brush there was a moderate-sized farm up ahead, and I decided to make for it so the men could replenish their canteens and take a much needed rest. When we drew closer the devastation was apparent. The first body we came across was a young black woman, clearly a slave, her dress pulled up and the bodice ripped, exposing both her breasts and vagina. She had been raped and strangled and her brown eyes bulged from her face and her tongue protruded from her open mouth. She was no more than sixteen or seventeen.
I reached down and touched her cheek. It was cold. I lifted her arm and found it still limber; there was no sign of stiffening.
Abel and Johnny came up beside me. "She's only been dead a few hours," I said.
"Musta been them Reb deserters," Johnny said. "I heard they treat runaway slaves pretty much like this."
"This girl was no runaway," I countered. "She was here on this farm." I turned to Abel and saw the hurt in his eyes. He was thinking of Jemma and little Alva, I guessed. "Pass the word to the men to keep an eye out. They see anybody, Reb or Union, they're to keep their rifles trained and ready until I have a chance to question them."
"What are we gonna do 'bout her?" Abel asked.
"We'll bury her before we leave," I said.
We found three more women who'd been raped and killed, along with two children whose heads had been bashed in, probably by rifle butts. One of the children, a little girl no more than four, had been hit so savagely that there was nothing left of her small face.
Inside the house we found a white man and woman, both somewhere in their fifties. The man lay in the hallway. He'd been shot and then bayoneted repeatedly. The woman's body was in the dining room. She appeared to have been shot while running away, her body having skidded across the bare wood floor after she fell, leaving a swath of blood behind her.
I checked them both and found that, like the Negroes outside, their deaths had been fairly recent.
Johnny came down the stairs from the second floor. "Whoever done it cleaned the place out pretty good," he said. "Even dumped the mattress on the floor. I guess they was lookin' fer any money these folks had hid." He was staring at the woman's body as he spoke. She was about the same age as his mother, but he didn't seem to make the connection. A few years ago he would have, I thought.
"We'll bury them all before we pull out," I said.
"Damn, we gonna miss supper we do that," Johnny objected.
"We'll bury them all," I repeated sternly. "Tell the others and get started."
I went outside and began checking the bodies again. I gently turned over the body of a small boy, maybe seven or eight years old. His smooth brown face was frozen in pain and his hands were balled up in two small fists. He had been stabbed repeatedly in the chest and stomach. I guessed it had been done with a knife, not a bayonet, because the wounds did not go entirely through his small body.
I reached out to open his hands so I could fold them across his chest. As I opened his right hand a brass button fell to the ground. It held the letters U.S. I picked it up. It was identical to the one on my own tunic. I placed it in my pocket.
* * *
We returned to camp shortly after seven, and while the men scrounged what food they could find, I went to our lieutenant's tent and asked permission to speak with him. He was new to the unit, having fought in the Western campaign under General Grant. There, he had been severely wounded and had lost his right arm. It was rumored among the other junior officers that he had begged to keep his commission and return to the fighting. The rumors claimed he was seeking revenge against the Rebs for the loss of his arm. He was from Ohio and his name was Arthur Nettles.
"What did you find out there, Foster?" Lieutenant Nettles asked. I told him about the absence of any Rebel troops, although I had come across a Sergeant Riddle who claimed to have seen some deserters. Then I told him about the farm we had stumbled across and the evidence of rape and murder that we'd found there.
"Probably those Reb deserters Sergeant Riddle saw," he said.
I handed him the tunic button I had found. "This was in the hand of a dead young slave boy. He was no more than seven or eight."
He stared at it for several moments. "I'll look into it," he said. "What did you do with the bodies?"
"We buried them, sir. I can show you where."
He ignored my offer, saying: "Good, good. It was the Christian thing to do."
"My men and I can give you statements about the number and the conditions of the bodies," I offered, unwilling to let it go.
"I'll get back to you on that, sergeant. Thank you for bringing this to my attention." It was a dismissal, so I saluted and left the tent.
I returned to my unit and found that Abel had brought me a plateful of food he had found somewhere. I thanked him and sat down next to him, exhausted, and began to eat.
"What'd the lieutenant say?" he asked.
I picked at the food on my plate. "We buried the bodies, and the lieutenant is about to bury my report."
Abel shook his head. "It ain't right."
"No," I said, "it's not. But there isn't much in this war that is."
* * *
I found Sergeant Riddle the next morning and told him what my men and I had come across. He just nodded and made no comment.
"I guess you didn't stop at that farm," I said.
"Passed more'n a few farms, but din' go inta any less we saw somethin' 'spicious aroun' 'em. We saw anythin' like 'at, we'd check fer Rebs. From what ya tell me, this 'un din' show any life at all."
"You see any other Union troops?"
Riddle shook his head. "Jus' you boys."
I told him about the Union tunic button I'd found in the boy's hand.
He took a deep breath. "Lemme tell ya somethin', Foster. My men been fightin' fer months, some of 'em even been fightin' fer years. They seen their friends blown all ta hell, jus' like yer boys have. They seen 'em bayoneted by Rebs chargin' their lines. They been talkin' to a boy one minute, turned away, an' then found that same boy wit his head blowed off when they looked back. Far as I'm concerned, they wanna kill them some Reb lovers, I ain't gonna worry myself 'bout it."
"These were children, small children, and slave women. The couple inside the house were older. I didn't see any weapons laying near them."
"Whoever done it prob'ly took the knives an' guns they had," Riddle said.
"And the children and the young women?"
"War's hard, Foster."
"Riddle, you tell your men that if I find them pulling off a raid like that, I won't stand by and tell them that war is hard. I will blow their asses to kingdom come."
Riddle nodded. "I'll be sure ta tell 'em, Foster. I surely will."