Chapter 14

 

As we descended the hill my stomach tingled with with anticipation and uneasiness at the unknown. My enthusiasm was being tested by the sheer insanity of the situation. Were we really about to set up camp with a vigilante posse? In hindsight the reality was that Gil was a part of something very dangerous and certainly in the minority for where we were stationed. There might have been some anti-slavery communities just over the river in Iowa, but we were also mere miles from the slave-state border of Missouri, and the local politics were largely Democratic. Some of the prominent founders of Ashford were known to have owned slaves. Surely even Walter was questioning the intelligence of our actions.

We came into a clearing where nothing had been set up yet. Gear had been dumped on the ground, and a line was strung between several trees to tie up the horses. Gil was there, along with two other men.

"Ah, good." Gil was tying his horse to the line, but handed the reins to the shorter of the two men and approached us. "We'll be setting camp here the next week or so, Clara's probably already informed you of that. Since your unfortunate run in down South… what instigated the attack on you?"

We exchanged looks, Walter answered, "We don't know. They knew we were free staters. That's all."

"Hmm. At any rate, consider it my open invitation to join our posse and continue with us. We'll have you set in no time."

Walter nodded. "We would be honored." I turned to Walter with what I hoped was a look of approval. I didn't want to see the look on Talan's face.

"Quite fine. Well." Gil turned to the other two men. "I can introduce you to those present. The group decided to split up. We rode ahead; the others are waiting on a message. We have four more. Maybe they ran into some action down in Missouri. They should be here by sunset. Ah, yes." The two men had come forward and stood beside Gil. "Jasper Bennett, and Hugh Henry." He nodded to each man. "We met in Ohio. Grew up together."

Jasper, the more commanding of the two, wore a wide cavalry-style hat that shadowed his already dark brow. He had a distinguished jaw and stood up with perfect posture. With his dark brown coat and riding boots, I half expected him to be wearing a sheriff's badge.

Hugh was a thin, wiry young man. He must have been in his early 20's, but it was hard imagining his young face to belong to anyone over the age of 18. Straight snow blonde hair stuck like straw on his forehead and around his ears under a small canvas hat. A simple sack coat, buttoned all the way up to a bandana scarf tied around his neck made his top half look neater than his bottom half, dressed in threadbare trousers and worn boots.

Gil continued his introduction through my observations. "This is Walter, Talan, and Roger."

I was beginning to think a pen name wasn't such a fantastic concept after all.

Hugh reached out his hand first. Jasper stood with his arms crossed until Hugh had stepped back, then greeted us in the same fashion. The handshakes seemed to hold the contractile weight of loyalty and trust. The men didn't seem to question Gil's odd and abrupt addition to their army of sorts, and it felt exhilarating that I was, or Roger at least was, now a member of the group.

As Gil began instructing us as how to set up camp, the awe from merely being in his presence started wearing off and I could see that he was a very militant, but fair, leader. I was curious to see the posse reunited.

Hugh was obviously not high in rank as he was given the most laborious task of pitching the first tents. Talan and Walter weren’t much better, as they got stuck digging fire pits. At least for Talan it wasn't weed whacking. As my orders were to "assist wherever needed," I decided to help Hugh as he began spreading out spikes, rope, and canvas. He didn't say much to me, except a meek "over there" as we laid out the components of the first three A-frames to be raised.

I didn't want to ask too many questions, so I just copied Hugh's actions, which seemed to work well enough.

Besides mine and Talan's stormy adventure the night before, the last time I'd pitched a tent had been at a Civil War reenactment at the edge of a soybean field in Iowa. And by pitch, I mean I stood to the side and sort of watched. I had since made a point to keep the latter information from anyone who needed me to be useful in tent assembly.

We were about to begin with the second tent when Jasper came by.

"Spare a spike?"

I found one on the ground and handed it to him.

"Thank you, Ma'am."

"You're welcome."

Jasper continued on his way and I turned back to Hugh, who dropped a spike he had been holding with a loud clang right on his foot. He didn’t respond to it, his wide eyes never left me. "Ma'am?"

His hand flew to his hat, which he tipped.

"Oh…" I sighed. Not wanting Gil to overhear, I whispered to Hugh, "I'm Sophie. Roger is my... alias."

Hugh was on the edge of panic. "I thought maybe, but I didn't want… No, I mean! I thought you were a he, not a ma'am… Ma’am." He bowed along with the tipping of his hat.

I didn't know where to fly the unfolding kamikaze mission, so I merely said awkwardly, "Nice to meet you," and started to pick up more spikes, but even that was a disaster.

"No! Er, I mean…" Hugh held out his hands. "I can get that."

"I can," I continued. "I want to. Really." I offered him a small smile. "I'm kinda enlisted in this regiment, now."

He accepted this, nodding inward and after a few moments of internal processing, calmed down a considerable amount. He smiled back at me, but I could tell that he was still nervous.

I took that moment to guide our focus back onto the second tent, which we soon had standing.

As we worked on the third tent, I began to feel a degree of closeness to my new-found companions. There was a certain ease to the way Gil strode passed, commending our work. There was a familiarity to the look on Jasper’s face when he inspected Talan and Walter's pit, and not much animosity as he then suggested they retrieve water from the creek instead as he took up the shovel himself. Peace, security and camaraderie settled about me, but I was torn as to whether to accept these emotions or not.

Hugh stopped suddenly after glancing toward me. "Hold on." He rushed across camp to where the horses were tied, pulling a blanket off a bedroll tied to the saddle, returning to me and holding it out. "You must be cold, out here, no coat."

I accepted the gift wholeheartedly, wrapping it tight around my shoulders.

Hugh looked down and said sheepishly, but sincerely, "I'd offer you my coat, but the blanket's a lot warmer."

I smiled. Any doubts about holding emotions at bay crumbled, and the feelings all flowed full force.

"Thank you."

* * *

Night had fallen. The rest of the posse had not arrived. We had partaken in supper rations of bacon and hard tack, finishing with the delight of freshly made cornbread baked by Clara, delivered by Edgar that evening. Kettles beside the two fires we had burning contained leftover tea and coffee, and the men sat or lay relaxing next to the cheering heat.

Talan and Walter sat by me at the first fire, Jasper, Gil and Hugh around the one neighboring ours. Walter and Talan were sharing the small extra tent while Hugh, with a tip of his hat, offered to bunk with Jasper and let me have the use of his tent. We had dug extra pits, but they were of no use until the rest of the group had arrived.

Jasper sat with a tin cup in both hands, gazing down into its contents and engaged in quiet conversation with Hugh, who was working on mending a shirt. Gil sat on a tree stump, leaning over a book and paper, consumed in writing. I silently observed him from where I sat. His hand rushed over the paper more as if he were talking than writing. I thought he would complete the page without stopping, but then, he paused. The tip of his pencil never came off the page and he didn't look up. He just closed his eyes for a moment, opened them, and continued with just as much vigor as before.

What exactly he was writing, I could only imagine. He wrote everything – letters, newspaper articles, travel logs and journals. Almost everything he wrote focused on one topic: the abolition of slavery.

What must it mean to him? To do everything he'd done, everything he was going to do in the future – to find the words to declare his views, to find the courage to risk his life for those same views. To lead others in it, even his own sister and nephew. He captivated so many with his wit, his character and his presence. He was loved and looked up to.

But somewhere within him must have lived a more sinister passion. Rage. Contempt. Sorrow for what the course of human events had done to enslave, to fight and to kill.

Then there was the tactical side. Politics and war. He balanced it all – the humanity and the skill. Which side truly drove his motivations was never clearly declared.

I wished more than anything that whatever Gil wrote on that page would be enough. That he would never have to take up arms again. But I knew, much too well, that this would never be true.

My thoughts were halted by a rough, abrupt realization: Gil was only 24, two years older than me.

I suddenly wanted paper. But that longing was doused by another thought: What would I write?

Gil pulled out another page and began writing anew. I turned and faced the fire.

I didn't have time to get lost in thought again as out of the dark and quiet night the thudding rhythm of horse hooves approached camp. Everyone looked up from what had preoccupied them. In Talan's case, that was being jostled by Walter out of an almost peaceful slumber. Gil slid the papers he had been writing into a pile and slipped them into the cover of a small, hardcover notebook that he hid away in the breast pocket of his coat.

I stood and joined everyone at the edge of our small lot of tents where, just beyond the reach of light from the fire, the rest of the men were dismounting.

If I thought Jasper and Hugh were rugged in appearance, the rest of the posse made them look like Abercrombie and Fitch models. Four men, rough and tumble, two bearded, all with unkempt hair that fell from beneath citizen hats and sombrero-inspired headwear. Dirt covered their faces and clothes from days of travel, and their looks were not improved by the fact that they appeared exhausted.

A shorter man with beard and squinted gaze spoke to Gil. "We're late, but arrived. Had to get through some rough spots at the border."

Gil nodded. "Did you retrieve the message?"

"There's more to it 'n that," the man said, stepping back. "May I present the man behind the message?"

The group parted to reveal a fifth man who had just dismounted and moved toward Gil in the firelight.

A young black man emerged in a state of exhaustion and cold. He wore the same frayed attire as the other men, also covered in dirt. He had on a wide brimmed hat and canvas bag slung over his shoulder. The glass in his spectacles reflected the glow of the fire, but his soft eyes left nothing unabsorbed.

He spoke to Gil, his voice tired but gentle. "My friend."

"Clarence!" Gil was visibly surprised to see the man, as he stepped forward, shook his hand and pulled him into a quick, one-armed hug. "Have you news?"

"I've done it, I found them. In Missouri." Though he was tired, Clarence spoke with conviction and strength. "There's to be an auction the 25th. If I don't get to them before then, there's no telling where they may be separated to. But, I can't do it alone."

"And you won't." A new look occupied Gil's face, one of promise and determination. "The 25th. Yes. I will arrange a plan. For now, you need rest. I'm afraid there's nothing more to be done this night."

Clarence nodded, not relinquishing the stamina in his voice. "Thank you."

Gil turned toward the rest of the men. "We'll set up camp for tonight, eat something, get some rest. Ah…" His gaze had fallen over Walter, Talan and I. "Some new recruits, Walter, Roger and Talan. There will be sufficient introductions come daylight. Jasper, Walter, Talan, pitch tents. Hugh, Roger, see to the rations. Everyone else must look to their horses. Thank you, gentlemen."

Everyone departed to their assigned duties while Gil and Clarence took private conference in Gil's tent.

Hugh was an efficient worker, but a man of few words. But as we cooked and boiled a new kettle of coffee, I detected a degree of appreciation for company in the silence.

Within an hour, camp was extended, horses were tended to and the men had eaten and bedded down for the night, though it was, by that time, early morning.

As the last of us were heading into our tents, I noticed Hugh, standing at the edge of the creek, talking softly. I couldn't hear what he said, but the last word was an audible, "Amen."

I ducked into the tent as he turned back toward the camp.

A piece of rough canvas served as the only barrier between me and the cold ground. I fell down onto it and picked up the blanket that Hugh had given me. My body was fatigued, but my head wouldn't relent replaying all the events that had taken place during the day, especially the appearance of Clarence. I pulled the blanket tight around me and finally drifted off against my thoughts to the silence of a 19th Century winter morning.