Sweetsmoke (42 page)

    Cassius
asked if he knew Captain Whitacre. The teamster spat into the dust alongside
the wagon. Cassius took his response as an affirmation. Cassius asked if
Whitacre was with the wagon train.

    "What
do you think of his hat?" said the teamster, ignoring the question.

    You
don't like his hat? said Cassius.

    "Ain't
the hat I argue with so much as the man looks like he run into a tree, the way
his brim got stuck up in front."

    Maybe
got tired of scorching the underside lighting his cigars, said Cassius.

    The
teamster laughed and said, "Whitacre gone on ahead of the wagons a week
ago, maybe more."

    The
supply wagons crawled forward. Cassius knew he could travel more quickly on foot,
but these wagons were certain to find Lee's army, and he was not. Progress was
pitiful. Wagons often became stuck or would throw a wheel, holding up whatever
portion of the train was behind them until they could be repaired or dragged
out of the line. Cassius pitched in to help free the immobile wagons, but never
did the speed improve. After interminable days they reached Salem and the
Manassas Gap Railroad, made a hard right turn to White Plains, and followed the
tracks in the direction of Manassas Junction. The closer they moved to
Manassas, the more the men bragged about the victory, which had caught their
imagination because it was the second victory in the same location and it felt
like a perfect bookend. The war should end on such a poetic note. The overall
mood of the men in the supply train was high, as they assumed the Bluebellies
to be demoralized. To a man, they sensed that the war would soon be over. With
the South victorious, they would return to life as it had been, the way God
intended. That Lee was about to take it to the Yankees in their own country
became a certainty on a journey that rode on gossip, where a rumor could travel
in one direction, wagon to wagon, for miles, and then come back again as
something different. Men repeated the phrase "Carry the war into
Africa," which Cassius understood to mean Pennsylvania. What excitement,
what joy, what anticipation followed when it was decided, independent of actual
proof or knowledge, that Lee's target was Harrisburg, a center of Northern commerce
where supplies for the Union Armies were manufactured. Once the idea was
confirmed by repetition, the men projected themselves in brand-new uniforms and
shoes, carrying the good Yankee rifles and plentiful ammunition.

    Cassius
had mixed feelings about the news. The Confederates fought for their way of
life, which included slavery, but he had learned from newspapers that the
Federals were no better. They fought to keep the South as part of the Union. If
they won, Cassius did not see how things would change for blacks. Their
President Lincoln had said he was
against
equal rights for negroes.
Lincoln was known to dislike slavery, but his ambition was to keep it out of
the territories, as the country expanded west, not eradicate it altogether.

    The
supply wagons turned north around Manassas Junction, then ground to a halt yet
again, and this time they were stopped for a full day. Cassius saw that the
army had been in the area recently and thought that he could now follow it on
his own, so he climbed down from the wagon in which he was riding and set out
alone. He walked past wagons for what seemed like miles, until he was in front
of them. Once out of sight, he returned his shoes to his feet, and his speed of
travel increased.

    He
came to the outskirts of a town that he learned from a local black was close to
Leesburg. The army had camped at Leesburg, and had crossed the Potomac into
Maryland only a few days before. Lee was in the North. The optimism that had
infected the wagon train haunted Cassius, and he saw the inevitable: Lee would
now win the war for his country. This thought depressed him more than he had
thought possible. The overcast day brought rain, and he traveled more slowly.

    Foraging
for food was difficult and time-consuming, although he was less likely to be
challenged in the rain. The Army of Northern

    Virginia
had blanketed the area around Leesburg and consumed what there was to consume.
In an orchard near a farmhouse, Cassius found a crock of peaches that looked as
if they had been rejected, growing soft gray fuzz. The rotting slick flesh slid
out from under thick peach skin and turned to dripping mush in his hands. He
dug down in the crock until he found portions of peach flesh that were almost
firm and not overly infested with insects, and those bits he ate ravenously,
finding the fruit both overly sweet and bitingly sour. The juice ran off his
chin and he stood in the rain and wondered why he was there, cold and wet and
miserable, until he remembered his vow.

    The
rain stopped and night fell. He again deserted the road to cross a field, again
choosing a clump of trees for sleep. Patches of ground under the trees were
dry, and he was nodding off when he heard someone or something in the field
coming directly to where he lay. He raised his head to see only one man
approaching, but the man carried a rifle. Cassius watched him inspect the area
in the dark. Cassius was not afraid of one man, unless he proved to be a scout
at the head of a unit. The man kicked the ground in the dark, and in a moment
would have located Cassius's ribs. Cassius came to his feet, his hand grabbing
for the man's rifle, but he caught only night air, as the man hurled himself to
the ground with a squeal. The rifle went out of his hand.

    What
the hell you doing? said Cassius.

    "Jesus,
I was just looking for a place to sleep, you didn't have to scare me like
that," said the man in a high-pitched voice.

    You
almost kicked me.

    "I
didn't see you there, can't see nothing in this place."

    The
man patted the ground around him for his rifle. Cassius stepped to where the
rifle had fallen and put his foot on it. He bent to pick it up.

    "Okay,
all right, listen, I don't know you and I can just get out of here, you found
this place, it's yours."

    Cassius
set down the rifle where he intended to sleep. When the man said nothing,
Cassius lay down beside it, watching the man's silhouette.

    Do
what you want, said Cassius.

    "Well,
then, if you don't mind, I think I'll just rest here for the night. I am mighty
tired, and this ground is mercifully dry and I don't much wish to drag my sorry
self through the wet grass again. These sad trousers are heavy enough."

    Up to
you, said Cassius.

    "Name's
Purcell. James Purcell. With the Nineteenth Georgia."

    Cassius
merely grunted.

    "Little
behind my unit. Wasn't feeling well. Fell behind. You know how it is."

    Cassius
said nothing.

    "Not
that they miss me. I ain't much for fighting. You'd probably like to go back to
sleep. I'll just shut my mouth, I been known to talk too much. Still feel my
hands tingling after you stood up like that, whoo-ee, never been so scared in
my life, 'cept maybe facing those goddamn Yanks."

    Cassius
rolled over to face the other way; anyone who talked so much was probably
harmless.

    He
woke in the morning with the man looming over his legs, admiring his shoes.
Cassius sat up quickly, coming face-to-face with him.

    "Now
now, friend, you only get to do that to me once," said James Purcell.

    Cassius
felt the rifle, which the man had not taken back, then looked to see that they
were alone.

    "I
did not know last night that you were a negro. That was a secret you kept,
wasn't it? Handsome shoes."

    Cassius
saw that James Purcell was barefoot, in threadbare gray trousers and a shirt
that had once been green. He was emaciated, and appeared to be in worse overall
condition than the loaders on the train. They were alone, and Cassius was glad
to see, in the light of a day that promised to warm up, that the road was far
away. Cassius thought he could easily snap this man in half like a toothpick.
He did not feel threatened, but remained on his guard.

    "Not
that I'm interested in your shoes, my feet are too small for those, no sir, those
would hurt my feet something terrible, worse than walking barefoot, and by now,
my feet have calluses thicker than your soles. You look hungry. Are you hungry?
I was just going to look for something, you want I should find something for
you?"

    Cassius
handled the man's rifle. It was poorly kept, and unlikely to fire. He tossed it
aside.

    "Not
much of a weapon, is it? I only carry it to scare away pests."

    Where
you say you were going? said Cassius.

    "Back
to my unit, but not on an empty stomach, I can tell you that." James
Purcell looked over his shoulder at the field behind him. "You see any
hint of food around here?"

    Army
been through, picked it clean like a plague of locusts.

    "We
got hit bad by the cicadas couple years back. Right now I'd gladly roast up a
pan of cicadas and eat for a week. Been living on a steady diet of pickled
doorknobs and candied tenpenny nails."

    Cassius
did not mention that he was hungry as well.

    "Tell
you what, you seem like a decent fellow, we'll go into town together, see if we
can't find ourselves a meal," said James Purcell.

    Cassius
looked at him suspiciously.

    "You
wonder why I'd make such an offer."

    Cassius
waited.

    "If
you saw the officers in the Army of Northern Virginia, you'd know most of them
look a whole lot like me in their uniforms. Sure, there's fancy ones still got
decent clothes, but they are few and far between. No sir, we done walked right
out of our shoes and our uniforms ain't far behind. So let's say I walk into
some kitchen with my 'body servant,' maybe people think I am somebody and show
me a little respect. You play along, and we'll both get to eat."

    Cassius
considered the man. He did not trust him, but his proposal was not unreasonable
and Cassius might well benefit from it. His thoughts must have played out on
his face.

    "Listen,
I got no weapon, I'm a long way from my unit, you think I care what you're
doing out here?"

    James
Purcell assumed he was a runaway. A reasonable assumption.

    They
followed the road back to the town near Leesburg, an easy walk, and Cassius
noticed that James Purcell's feet were split on the bottom, and he walked with
pain.

    See
much action? said Cassius.

    "Feel
like I've been fighting my whole life. Been in it since the beginning, Manassas
last year."

    My
people lost one of theirs at Manassas.

    "A
lot of fine men gone," said James Purcell.

    They
walked a little farther, and James Purcell began to laugh.

    "Who
am I fooling? I not only don't have my musket, it wasn't working anyway. I
ain't no soldier. I'm nothing but what they call a parlor soldier. I mustered
in at the start, but I've been ducking the fight ever since. Found myself
staring at Yankee guns and the minute the first bullet buzzed my cheek, I was
up and running like a rabbit with a bayonet poking its tail. Found myself a
spot back in the rear, and put my head in the ground. Surprised they didn't
shoot my cheeks off."

    You
don't say, said Cassius.

    "The
God's truth, every word."

    Hard
to disbelieve a story like that, said Cassius. He relaxed somewhat. If the man
was being truthful, and confession to cowardice made him appear veracious, he
was on the road to earning Cassius's trust.

    "I
have turned being yellow into an art. Once I smell a battle, I get the sublime
urge to wander off to forage, or maybe find a private place to evacuate.
Sergeant, got the dysentery bad this morning, you mind if I go over there and
set a spell? All right, Purcell, but get back here 'fore the shootin starts.
And I skedaddle, always finding my way back once things are clear again. And I
ain't alone. Others doing it too. Boys up front, they tough sons a bitches,
they good at fightin, they
know
how to kill. Found themselves a
comfortable place with it, inside." He tapped his chest. "
How
they do it, I couldn't say. I'm what you might call one of those nervous
types."

    What
you do for a living?

    "Ain't
you listening? I run yellow for a living."