And Forever Be Free – Chapter Five

Colonel Benjamin Grierson, USA

“I, like Byron, have had to wake up one morning and find myself famous.”

Historical note: Astute readers may have noticed that I have been featuring some of the lesser-known warriors of the Civil War in this series. Of these, Grierson is one of my favorites. Not only did he lead a cavalry raid deep into Confederate territory and help Grant distract Pemberton during the Vicksburg campaign – a feat that Sherman hailed as the most remarkable expedition of the war – he was also the commanding officer of the 10th US Cavalry after the war. The 10th were “Buffalo Soldiers” – aka: black troopers. Not only did Grierson make sure they were treated fairly – at one point getting them reassigned to Fort Riley to escape the foul treatment of a racist C.O. at Fort Leavenworth – he also refused transfer to a more “prestigious” unit so he could be with his men.

Hell of a guy. And a fellow Illinoisan to boot.

FOREVER BE FREE

By Rich Trzupek

Copyright 2009 Richard J. Trzupek

Chapter Five

It wasn’t the first time that Sara had seen a dead body in her ten years of life.  Her grandmother had died when Sara was six.  She would always remember seeing her grandmother’s body, clad in her best Sunday dress, lying in a casket.  She looked asleep, as Sara’s mother said she would.  It was not a frightening experience for Sara.  A strange one to be sure, but not a scary one.

This was different.  The sandy-haired soldier did not look peacefully at rest, he looked shocked, frightened and worst of all, almost alive.  Sara could still hear his voice, leading them out of their tent in the midst of the shelling.  How could someone be so alive and brave one moment and then be cold and dead the next?  It was more horrible than anything she had ever imagined.

Sara’s thoughts were temporarily interrupted when the gates of the armory were thrown open and a troop of soldiers on horseback rode through at a deliberate walk in two long columns.  At the head of the column was a short, wiry man whose blue uniform was covered with a layer of dust that left it looking almost grey.  He had a great drooping mustache extending to below his mouth and wore a slouched black hat that looked as if it were going to fall apart at any moment.  In spite of his weathered appearance, he was obviously a man of some importance.  When he checked his horse and raised his hand, all of the soldiers riding behind him instantly stopped.  A young soldier riding immediately behind him, instantly dismounted and held the reins of the small mans horse.

The small man was Colonel Benjamin “Grimes” Davis, commander of all Union cavalry stationed at Harpers Ferry.  Davis waved toward the back of the cavalry column, prompting a small group of dismounted soldiers to come forward, escorting twenty or so prisoners they had captured while they were scouting the roads surrounding the armory.  Of these prisoners, about half were Confederates, dressed in shabby grey or light brown uniforms.  Some were barefoot.  Some of the uniforms were so worn that Sara could clearly see rips and gaping holes in their trousers and tunics.  All of the Confederates were thin and haggard – they looked almost like scarecrows Sara thought – but they carried themselves proudly, their backs straight and their eyes defiant.

The other half of the group of prisoners were black – slaves Sara supposed.  Casually searching their faces, she drew a sharp breath inward as she spotted a pair of familiar eyes wildly darting this way and that.  It was Jacob, the young slave from the Danhurst farm.  He was shirtless as well as shoeless and Sara could see fresh wounds crisscrossing his back and chest.  Some were still oozing blood.  His hands were bound behind his back and a Union soldier followed him closely, his long musket pointed at the young slave.

What she saw next was an even greater shock to Sara.  She saw a small, wispy form in a simple homespun dress standing next to Jacob, clutching a rag doll and her eyes cast toward the ground.  It was Lucinda.

“Aunt Jean look,” Sara cried, anxiously pointing at the group “it’s Jacob and Lucinda.”

Jean followed Sara’s hand and saw the two familiar faces.  “Oh my,” she said “I wonder what has happened.”

“The soldiers captured them,” Sara said.  “Shouldn’t we help them?”

“This is the Army’s business, Sara” Jean answered.

“But look,” Sara protested “they have Jacob tied up and there’s a man with a gun pointed at him.  Maybe they think he was helping the rebels.  Maybe they think he’s a spy or something.  Didn’t you always tell me that we always have to look out for each other?  Didn’t you always tell me that nothing is more important than your family?”

It was odd that Sara should use that word: “family”.  Jacob and Lucinda were not really family, of course.  Not in the strict sense of the word.  Yet, Jean realized, it did feel that way.  You lived with someone for long enough and you got to know them – even a little bit – and they felt like family.  It was some sort of family.

Jean questioned her motives.  If the soldiers had brought in one of the Danhursts in the same condition, would she not speak up?  Even if they had brought in Mr. Crampton, whom she despised, she would have been moved to do something.  Why was her first response in this case to walk away?  Could it be because Jacob and Lucinda were slaves – because they were black?  Jean had always considered herself an abolitionist, that is a person who wanted to end (or abolish) slavery.  Here she had a chance to help two slaves and her first reaction was to do nothing. She could not act that way. She would be as bad as the slave owners.  Sara was right.  She had to try.

“You’re right Sara,” Jean said.  “We’ll see what we can do.  Maybe they will release Jacob and Lucinda to us when we tell them who we are.  Come and we’ll talk to them.” Reminding herself that her niece was anything but a shy child, she added: “but mind your tongue Sara Larson, I’ll do the talking.”

They approached the group of soldiers and prisoners.  Colonel Davis was talking to Colonel Miles, commander of Harpers Ferry.  Miles was an older man with a long grey and black beard who sported a huge stomach that protruded ponderously beneath his uniform tunic.  He was swaying slightly as he talked to Davis and, as they approached the group, it appeared to Sara that Colonel Miles was quite drunk.

Aunt Jean approached the young soldier whom had helped Colonel Davis dismount.  “Excuse me sir,” she said carefully.

The young soldier turned.  His was of medium height and was, unusually for the day, clean shaven.  The lack of the familiar beard made him look even younger than his 21 years.  He wore a trim blue uniform from which he had hastily been brushing the dust from and tall leather boots that rose to his knees.  Sara could see that his eyes were grey and thoughtful as he turned toward them.

“Lieutenant Green, ma’am” the young soldier said, bowing slightly toward Jean and Sara.  “How may I be of service?”

“Jean Ercinek, Lieutenant,” Aunt Jean replied.  “My niece and I came here from Martinsburg the day before last.  I believe that two of the coloreds you have brought with you are slaves from the farm of my cousin there.”

Lieutenant Green cocked his head slightly in surprise.  “I see,” he said.  “Which two would that be ma’am?”

Jean pointed toward Jacob and Lucinda.  “Those two,” she said.  “The young colored with his hands tied is called ‘Jacob’ and the little girl standing next to him is ‘Lucinda’.  Can you tell me why you have bound Jacob like that? Is there some problem?”

Lieutenant Green didn’t answer and his face betrayed no emotion.  “Ma’am, I have to talk to my Colonel about this,” he said stiffly.  “Would you wait here please?”

The Lieutenant walked quickly over to Colonels Davis and Miles.  Sara watched as he carefully interrupted the officers, saluting crisply and began talking.  A three way discussion ensued, but Sara and her Aunt were too far away to make out the particulars of the conversation.  It appeared that Colonel Davis was asking most of the questions.  Lieutenant Green would sometimes punctuate his answers with gestures toward Jacob or toward Sara and her aunt.  Sara saw the Colonels looking curiously their way and then, suddenly, the group of three soldiers walked over to talk to Sara and Jean.

“Mrs. Ercinek,” Colonel Davis said, raising his hat in greeting.”

“Colonel,” Aunt Jean said politely.

“Benjamin Davis,” Colonel Davis said by way of introduction. “This is Colonel Miles, garrison commander. I believe that you’ve met Lieutenant Green.”

“I have,” said Aunt Jean. She put her arm around Sara and said: “this is my niece, Sara Larson.”

“Miss Larson,” Colonel Davis said, touching his hat and favoring Sara with a smile.

“Sir,” Sara said politely.

Aunt Jean thought it odd that Colonel Miles had remained silent. As the garrison commander, she assumed he was Colonel Davis’ superior, yet he had not made any attempt to take charge of the proceedings. Perhaps to exert the authority he was assumed to have, Colonel Miles loudly cleared his throat and spoke in a gravelly voice. “What’s all this about those darkies Mrs. Arsenic?” he asked thickly.

“Ercinek,” Aunt Jean corrected him politely. Jacob and Lucinda are slaves owned by Mr. William Danhurst of Martinsburg. Mr. Danhurst is my cousin. Sara and I live with the Danhursts.”

“Your cousin?!” Miles exclaimed, raising his eyebrows in surprise. “My God woman-“

Colonel Davis cut him off. “When is the last time you saw your cousin Mrs. Ercinek?” he asked.

Aunt Jean thought hard. The days since they had left Martinsburg all seemed to blend into each other. “I’m not sure,” she said. Two, three days ago, I guess. We left when General Jackson’s army showed up.”

“The 12^th then,” Lieutenant Green said. “Jackson took Martinsburg on the 12^th.”

“And got a hero’s welcome, I’ve heard,” said Colonel Miles. “They’re scesh down there you know.”

Sara knew what scesh meant. It was short for secessionist, a word that described someone who wanted to leave the government of the United States, like the rebels. It was an insult, and although Sara would always consider Harpers Ferry her home, she was not pleased to hear a fat, drunken soldier insult the town in which she had spent so much time.

“We are not,” she protested.

“Hush now Sara,” Aunt Jean said gently, pulling her niece more closely to her. There was something in the way the soldiers were looking at her that troubled her. “Has something happened since we left?” she asked.

Colonel Davis ignored the question for the moment. “If you please ma’am,” he said. “Did you see your cousin before you left?”

“Yes, or course,” she said. “We said good-bye that morning.” Jean remembered Cousin Williams somewhat smug expression, wishing Jean well, but clearly pleased at the victory for Southern arms, a sword aimed straight for his own backyard.

“And he was well?” Colonel Davis continued.

Aunt Jean’s pulse quickened. “Yes Colonel,” she said carefully “he was in the best of health. What do you have to tell me Colonel?”

Colonel Davis took a deep breath. “Mrs. Ercinek,” he said quietly “I am very sorry to bring you this news, but…”

“My cousin is dead,” Aunt Jean said, finishing the thought for him. “That’s what you’re trying to tell me, isn’t it?”

”I’m afraid so,” the soldier replied. “I’m very sorry.”

“His wife was killed as well, don’t you know,” Colonel Miles added all too bluntly.

Colonel Davis closed his eyes for a moment and shook his head slightly in disgust. It was barely perceptible, but Sara was an observant girl and picked it up.

Aunt Jean’s face went white, but she managed to keep her composure. “Killed?” she asked.

“That’s what we’ve been getting to. We captured some the rebs in the process of trying to hang that man,” Colonel Davis explained, pointing at Jacob. “They claim he killed Mr. and Mrs. Danhurst.”

Jacob? A killer? Neither Sara nor her Aunt found it beyond the realm of possibility. They had both seen the desperate anger in his eyes. They both knew how many times he had tried to escape. They both knew how often he had been whipped.

A couple of the Confederate prisoners standing nearby had been listening to the conversation. One of them, a young private with a long, dirty blond beard spoke up.

“Claimed nothin’ General, he said. “We saw it. The nigger stuck’ em like pair of hawgs.”

It was true. Crazed with fear at the approach of the Confederate Army, Jacob had made a last bid to escape. Strolling through the grounds, William Danhurst and his wife had caught him in the stable, attempting to steal a horse. Jacob knew what would happen to him when Stonewall arrived. But, in the logic of the time, stealing a horse was even more a crime than trying to escape. He knew he would be hanged. Jacob didn’t hesitate.

He grabbed the nearest weapon at hand -an ax as it happened -and attacked the couple.

Claire and Catherine heard their parents’ screams. They saw Jacob fleeing down the road and made the awful discovery in the stable shortly thereafter.

When the first Confederate troops arrived a little later, the children tearfully related the horrific events of the day. A pair of mounted Confederates set out in search of Jacob, bent on revenge. They tracked down the young slave in the woods and had organized an impromptu lynching when Colonel Davis’ patrol had interrupted them.

At that point, the Union soldiers knew the story, but couldn’t be sure of its truth. For Colonel Miles, however, there was little point in wasting time with the matter. He was already bored by the conversation and longed to return to the comfort of his whiskey bottle. His head was already beginning to hurt. He needed a drink. “Hang the nigger and be done with it,” he said.

Colonel Davis spoke up. “He’ll have to stand trial, Colonel.”

“Trial? What’s this about a trial Davis?” Colonel Miles mumbled. “Military measure, don’t you know. Military necessity -can’t be wasting time with a damn trial. Hang the nigger and be done with it…”

“Hang ‘em all General,” the rebel private agreed.

Lieutenant Green squirmed uncomfortably and flashed a sharp look at Colonel Davis. “How would we report that, Colonel Miles?” Colonel Davis asked carefully.

Miles understood the meaning immediately. Colonel Davis was saying that if Jacob were to be hung without a trial, Davis would file a report to his superior relating the events. It would look bad on paper, Miles knew. There would be an investigation. He himself might have to face trial. It could get quite ugly.

It wasn’t worth it, Miles decided. Grimes Davis was a troublemaker, but he could be dealt with later. Miles had his ways. He had powerful friends. He would allow the crude cavalryman to win this little battle -it wasn’t worth risking his career for the sake of a nigger -but Miles would remember. Miles would win the war.

“Very well,” Miles said. “Lieutenant, escort the prisoners to the stockade. You’ll have your trial Davis.”

‘Prisoners?’ Sara thought. Surely that would not included Lucinda? “Not the little girl too?” she said.

“The girl will be returned to her owners,” Colonel Miles replied.

Sara and her aunt both knew what would happen to Lucinda if she were returned to the Danhurst farm. It would be all the worse now that Uncle William and Aunt Winifred were dead. Mr. Crampton would be in complete charge and, more frightening yet, bent on revenge.

“Her owners are dead,” Aunt Jean protested. “You can’t send the girl back to the farm.”

“Any property belongs to the Danhurst estate,” Colonel Miles said. “There are heirs, I believe,” he added, looking at Lieutenant Green for confirmation.

“Two daughters, I’m told,” Lieutenant Green replied.

“Yes,” Aunt Jean confirmed.

“Then the colored girl will be returned to the daughters,” Miles said decisively. He turned to leave.

“You can’t do that,” Aunt Jean insisted.

Miles turned, his face reddening. First the boorish cavalryman, now some loudmouthed woman. Perhaps he had to put up with Grimes Davis – for the moment – but he was not going to stand for disrespect from a civilian. He had quite enough. “It’s the law Mrs. Circanel and I’ll hear no more of it, unless you want to go to the stockade yourself!”

Their roles suddenly reversed, Sara tried to quiet her Aunt, tugging at her arm. Aunt Jean shook free, her ire roused now and caution thrown to the winds. She could be quite a brave woman, especially where right and wrong were concerned and especially when the welfare of a child was at stake. She turned to Colonel Davis, expecting to find support from the thoughtful cavalryman.

“Do you understand what will happen to Lucinda if she is sent back?” she said.

Davis’ voice was firm. “Colonel Miles is correct. We have a fugitive slave law, Mrs. Ercinek. We have no choice.”

“But -” Aunt Jean began.

“No arguments ma’am,” Davis said coldly. “The law is the law. Thank you for help. Lieutenant Green will escort you back to your quarters.” Aunt Jean and Colonel Davis stared at each other for a long moment. Aunt Jean searched Davis’ eyes and seemed to read something in them. Sara didn’t know what it was, but it stopped her aunt’s protests. She nodded, ever so slightly, in Colonel Davis’ direction.

The two Colonels bowed to the ladies, turned and walked back toward Colonel Miles’ headquarters. Sara and her aunt followed Lieutenant Green back to the bombproof. Before she walked through the door, Sara turned round. Led by a pair of soldiers with  drawn muskets, Lucinda and Jacob shuffled forlornly toward the stockade.

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