WE TRIED FOR OVER AN HOUR TO FIND AN OFFICER IN charge. The best we could find was a navy captain in charge of a group of midshipmen guarding the Confederate Treasury in the second train car. I presented our orders.
After looking them over, he said, “I don’t think I have anything to do with you. Looks like you report directly to General Lee or his superiors. You might want to see who is on the first train car that might be in your chain of command.”
I took back the orders, and Turley and I went to the first train car. After fifteen minutes, the best we could find was a private in charge of ordering the trains for the railroad.
“Private, who’s on the train that can acknowledge my orders
and transfer?”
“Ain’t nobody I know of, sir.”
“Well, then, I suppose we’ll just assign ourselves a place on the train.”
“Begging yore pardon, sir. But there ain’t no room. I got boys riding the roofs already.”
“Do you have room in the stock car for our horses?”
“Yes, sir, I reckon I can squeeze them in.”
“Then, we’ll ride in the stock car with the horses.”
“It’s gonna be a tight fit, sir. And I reckon it’ll be stinking to high heaven.”
“We’ll manage, Private.”
“Yes, sir. It’s the fifth car back.”
Turley and I led the horses to the car and up the ramp. The private was right. It was a tight fit, but we managed. We even found a couple of bales of straw that we could sit on.
“Cap’n, yore looking a bit peaked. Why don’t you set yoreself out in the air a bit?”
“Turley, I might, but I don’t want to lose these expensive seats we have.”
“Don’t you worry none about that. I’ll keep ’em for us.”
“Tell you what, Turley. I’ll make a deal with you. I’d appreciate it if you could find some water and maybe a little grain or hay for the horses. If you can do that, I’ll sit outside a while.”
“You think I done lost my senses? I was going to do that anyways. You jest wait a mite and I’ll be back directly.”
When Turley left, I lounged on the bales. The truth be told, I was still feeling pretty weak. The last twelve hours represented more activity than I had undertaken in the past ten weeks added together. There wasn’t a lot of pain from the wound, but I tired pretty easily. I wasn’t too impressed with my current state of affairs.
Turley returned in a few minutes with a couple of buckets of water.
“Thought we’d let them hosses drink a little before they eat. I got a line on a little grain. It ain’t oats. It’s only corn. But I reckon that’s a sight better than nothing.”
“Turley, I swear I’ll never understand how you do it, but I think you could find ice in hell.”
“Shoot, Cap’n, ain’t nothing but a little looking and a little listening. And, then, when you find what yore looking for, you jest find out what the other’un needs. Or what he wants. Ain’t no mystery. Jest common trade.”
“Turley, you’re a treasure. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“Cap’n, you keep saying nice things to me and I’ll think yore sicker than you are.”
Turley left me with the horses and the buckets of water. I spent a while keeping the other horses from the water and, when ours had drunk enough, I moved the buckets around for the other horses. There wasn’t much left, but they all got a taste.
Turley returned in about thirty minutes. He had a couple of feedbags over his shoulder and a couple of buckets of corn in his hands. He carried the bales of straw out to the front of the car and filled the feedbags and placed them over the horses’ noses. I sat on the bales outside the car. Dusk was just falling.
Finally, about eleven o’clock, the private came along the train, herding everyone into the cars. Fourteen hours later, we pulled into the Danville station.
We unloaded our horses and Turley found a stable for them. We decided to sleep with them to keep them safe. It was an unsettled time.
During the evening and night and, again, in the early morning, we heard reports of patrols and bummers of Stoneman’s forces east of Danville. So, I decided that Turley and I would ride a patrol to the east to determine the strength of the Federal forces. I, also, had a secret desire to see my family one last time before I followed President Davis to wherever he was going.
As we were saddling our mounts in front of the stable, the naval captain approached us.
“Leaving us, Captain?”
“We’ve heard so many rumors of patrols to the east, we thought we should take a look.”
“Seems reasonable. We know we’ve got Yankees to the west, but who knows what’s to the east?’
“That’s what we thought, and I don’t see anyone else capable of carrying that out.”
“How long you think you’ll be gone?”
“Not really sure. Probably a couple of days. Three at most. We’ll report back here as soon as we know something.”
“I’m not sure how long we’ll be here. We could leave for Greensboro just about any time.”
“Well, if we miss you, we’ll follow by horseback. Keep a sharp eye out, Captain.”
“You, too.”
We mounted and rode out of the town to the east. The family farm was about fifty miles east. I figured that, with the scouting we needed to do, we’d probably reach it the next day.
Throughout the day, as we rode, we saw a number of small parties of bummers, but we didn’t see any organized patrols. We also saw groups of riders in various pieces of uniforms that we assumed were deserters, probably from both armies. We rode shy of all of them.
The morning of the second day found us near the family farm. Just before noon, we rode up a small hill to the south of the house. As we neared the crest of the hill, we heard a commotion from the yard below, horses running, men yelling, gunfire. We halted our horses below the crest, dismounted, and tied them to a couple of low trees.
“Reckon you better bring yore rifle, Cap’n. Might have need of it.”
Turley handed me my Sharps and a cartridge belt for it and carried his Spencer and a loading tube, and we crept to the crest. What we saw below was a grim scene, with raiders riding through the yard and nearby fields, shooting at anything that moved. There was smoke rising from the house and from the barn. We watched as the wanton destruction was carried out.
As we watched, a raider came from the house carrying a full-length painting. It was the painting of my mother that my father had commissioned a year before she died. It was the painting he sat in front of every night since her death, speaking softly to it as though the figure was a living woman.
Behind the raider, an old man came out with a rifle. As he struggled to raise it to a firing position, I realized the old man was my father. I watched, frozen, as I realized how much he had aged in the four years since I had left to go to war.
As he raised the rifle, the raider turned and drew his pistol.
