Читать книгу The Other Side of Lincoln - Welby Thomas Cox Jr. - Страница 6

"What was the war really like?" A small child asked the flaming question

Jess... Lenahan’s sway backed horse stood in the corner of the stall eyeing Lenahan in an evil fashion. He had heard the wind and felt it at his withers and now knew that the sight of Lenahan meant he was going to have to leave the comfort of the barn...before he had his cooked oats with a little black strap molasses. Lenahan picked up the bridle, saddle and blanket putting an end to old Jess’s daydream of spending another leisurely day in the barn munching around in the hay while looking forward to a ration of cooked oats. Lenahan took the blanket with one hand, placing it on the sway back, next he threw a thick pad on the sway back horse then the stock saddle on the blanket...Jess farted to demonstrate his disgust with the day’s activities, and looked around at Lenahan who said nothing in response to his ill-mannered horse. He had heard it before...you get to know a lot about a person... or a horse out on the trail. One thing Lenahan knew about old Jess...his farts smelled like shit!

“Well at least it’s not raining, sleeting or snowing.” Leck said to Jess as though that should offer some sense of relief, as did the carrot for leaving the barn.

Lenahan continued the saddling process; he slid his rifle into the holster along the ribs of the saddle, hung his canteen on the saddle horn, checked his revolvers attached to each side of the saddle, tied his saddle bags containing a few eats for the meals he was sure to miss and then inserted his army issue blanket into the rawhide loops on the back of the saddle.

He pulled his very worn mink flop hat over his eyes, buttoned his travel worn army issue greatcoat buttons and stepped through the barn door with Jess in tow to a light snow mist. So much for the dry morning Lenahan thought as he stepped into the left stirrup and swung his long right leg over the hip of Jess and slipped his boot into the right stirrup. Jess felt the full 185 pounds with the extras and took a deep breath... when he exhaled through

the bit of the bridle, he farted several times while walking off toward the road. If Jess could only talk, Lenahan would be in for a mouth full.

Each of us has mannerisms which demonstrate our discontent, little personal traits setting us apart from those we are intending to impress. Jess had his as well.

“Let it go Jess, I don’t blame you old fellow...sometimes life is just the shits.”

Lenahan leaned in to the wind with his right shoulder. It was quite along the road, really quite beautiful Lenahan thought in a strange sort of way. He rode north toward the small town of St Mary’s where the Russell farm was located. He hoped the snow would cease by the time he got to the Russell’s place... or hell it may not. Early spring weather in Kentucky could be as ornery as old Jess in the morning.

By horse, you could cover the distance from Raywick to St. Mary’s in less than an hour. This morning it was slightly over an hour because the wind and the snow had picked up. As Lenahan toped the hill to the Russell place his heart leaped at the sight of dark smoke coming from the barn area. My God Lenahan thought, some bodies gotten careless with the hay and Gabe’s got himself a real serious problem. There was no need to cluck to Jess... his trusted horse had instinctively picked up their speed making their way into the barnyard in a matter of minutes.

“Something very strange here Jess” Lenahan said to the horse as Rags, the Russell dog howled away at Lenahan from the farmhouse porch.

“Rags.” Lenahan yelled, but the dog continued his wailing.

“Fire, Fire” Lenahan yelled at the top of his lungs to no one in particular as Jess pranced and nickered his displeasure with the smoke and heat rising from the barn area. Leck dismounted, and ran into the barn. He was alarmed that there was no response to his call from either of the Russell’s.

Better get the stock out of the barn Lenahan thought...he moved swiftly and began to open the stall doors and pens to the relief of the frightened animals. Lenahan noted that the fire seemed to be contained at the back of the barn in a stack of loose hay and stall bedding...he ran toward the water pump catching a bucket along the way. At the pump he froze...there hanging partially in the trough was his friend Gabe Russell.

“Gabe, Gabe.” Lenahan pulled his friend to the ground and in doing so he saw the pool of blood in the water and the large wound in the head of his friend. Gabe Russell was dead, gunshot to the head.

Lenahan’s thoughts quickly ran to Russell’s wife Ima...dear God he thought what is going on here? Lenahan ran as fast as his legs would carry him into the farmhouse. Ima lay propped against the fireplace hearth with Gabe’s Kentucky Long Rifle pointed at the door...she had heard the call from Lenahan and his sight now released the fear and anguish and for the first time she felt the excruciating pain from her wounds.

“Holy Jesus Ima, let me help you.” Lenahan called as he ran to help the wounded woman but Rags moved between them...although he knew Lenahan... he knew as well that his beloved master was in trouble...he bared his sharp and viciously looking canines. His eyes narrowed, taking on a mystical glare, which dissipated immediately at the touch of Ima’s hand.

“There, there my precious boy...you know our dear friend Leck.” She said to the dog, which backed away and lay beside her.

“Oh Leck...they came this morning early...four men, asking Gabe to let them rest their horses in the barn from the weather...Gabe, my darling Gabe” the woman called out through her sobbing.

Lenahan held her tightly to his chest. “Ima, they have killed Gabe.” he said emotionally through a tightened throat. “Gabe is gone Ima...dear God I am so very sorry.” Lenahan said through the tears.

Rags sat on his hind end at Ima’s back...he looked into Lenahan’s eyes which were flooded with tears, the dog cried and whimpered in a most pitiful manner as he licked Lenahan’s hand...they had connected. Lenahan saw the dog’s grief and rubbed his large mongrel head. Lenahan remembered how Russell revered this dog, which had saved his life and had become an inseparable part of the lives of the Russell’s.

“Leck, I know how close the two of you have been...I am so sorry for you as well...but we must be strong now, I feel we have so little time” she coughed in sever pain...blood appeared at the corner of her mouth. “Leck I have been gut shot...no chance for me...but I must ask you for a promise” she said grabbing Lenahan’s arm.

“We’re going to get you to the doc in St. Mary’s...don’t be talking now Ima...you’ve got to save your energy...” Lenahan said “Leck I’m begging you to listen to me...I know I’m not going to make it and its just as well, that I’ll be going on to be with my husband...but Leck I can’t go without getting a promise from you to take care of something very special to Gabe and me.” She was looking into Leck’s eyes.

“Ima you know that I would move heaven and hell for you and Gabe...just give me the descriptions of the men who did this terrible thing to you’ll...”

“Four men...one big guy, I saw him on a sorrel horse with a black eye patch...but Leck, enough of that... I have to get this out, please, please listen to me. I had a brother in Colorado. He and his wife died two years ago of cholera. They had two girls who went to live with my sister-in-law’s mother in Pittsburgh...she died last month and those girls are on their way to Bardstown in the next day or so...we have just received a letter from them...

Now Leck, they have no one in this world...I know you are a single man and this would be a major job for you...but Leck...Leck, could you gather them up for me and see to them until you can figure out something...to get them back to school in Pittsburgh...maybe with the church..” she entreated.

“Please Ima, don’t you worry one spec about them girls...I will see to them...Mama’s got an empty house nearly...they will have a safe place with my folks.” He assured her.

“Thank God...Leck Lenahan you are the very best friend in the world and I know one day some lucky woman will come along for you...and love you as I have loved my Gabe”

“Gabe was a lucky man, Ima... and you’ll deserve each other.”

“Listen Leck, under the pot belly stove, there is a loose board. Beneath that board there is a small metal box. Please get it out now...hurry Leck.” She said as she began to cough in a raging manner.

Lenahan moved toward the stove, which stood on small legs, he took the iron poker and felt the floor beneath the stove, finding the loose board he moved it with ease discovering the metal box, which he removed and took back to Ima.

“Open the box Leck” she said.

Inside the box there were several letters tied neatly with a ribbon. There were many small canvass bags filled with gold dust, and a yellowing tattered map attached to a Claim Slip.

“Leck that map belonged to my brother...he was a miner...discovered this vein of gold at Russell’s Gulch, Colorado...he passed the claim and these bags of gold dust to me for his girls...and I want to pass it to you for them...please Leck get me a pen and ink”.

As Leck searched for the pen and ink, he thought of all the pain Ima had suffered, losing her first husband and two children in a senseless massacre by the Cheyenne...he wandered why she had stayed on in that brutal environment and those daily reminders of cherished loss and then destiny intervened as Gabe had related to him in the aftermath.

The wound wasn’t so bad, lying on the slope of the river bank near the road, Gabe Russell tugged at the belt he had tied just above his knee to stop the profuse bleeding. The Minnie’ ball had shattered his knee and was lodged at the bend of the knee in the back of his leg. Russell could feel it and remembered warnings of his unit buddies...the veterans said it was best to get the ball out as quickly as possible. A ball left in the body on a gut shot meant automatic death. He took his knife...feeling along the edge of the ball...he inserted the knife’s tip into the skin. Remarkably there wasn’t much pain...the area was numb from the gun shot. Russell continued to slice freeing the Minnie’ ball...his hands and the wound ran red with blood. He felt weak and faint from the sight of it and crawled to the water...plunging his head into the water before he passed out. He washed the wound and tied it up with a scarf...then he passed out.

He was dreaming...the wound wasn’t so bad at all he told his mother. god damn sneaking injuns...no glory in being bush whacked...why I couldn’t have gotten it with bugles blaring.

No daddy I wasn’t charging the injuns. Some dirty son-of-a-bitch shot me from ambush. Some dirty stinking redskin bastard shot my knee and I never got to return fire...I never saw his filthy eyes.

Russell awoke...the knee was on fire and hurting like hell...he started to cry...Oh dear Jesus, everybody has left me. I’ll die here in this stinking river...help me Lord, I’m too young to die...but then he realized there was nothing he could do about it. He tried to remember some of the things he had heard in church...boring stuff mostly, why I didn’t listen he thought. Maybe there is more to dying and all those prospective places the priest had spoken of: Purgatory...the waiting place, Hell...fire and the demons, Heaven...where no one works and there is peach ice cream all year round! I’m sure to go there...I’ve never done anything except shoot a few injuns and abuse my privates.

Then the darkness started to fill in around him...he passed out again. When he gained consciousness again he glanced at the moon and heard the sound of coyotes...nearby he thought...dear God...if they catch my scent, the blood. The knee was hurting like hell; Russell eased himself into the river. The water he thought would take away the odor to surely draw the coyotes and perhaps it will help with the pain. Nobody coming to look for me...he knew he’d have to save himself...he’d go with the flow as far as it would take him...maybe by morning he could find a camp even a settlement.

Thank God for this here river he thought...sure hope it don’t go dry or run into the rapids or a waterfall. Then he heard talking just ahead...there at a slight bend in the river...he could see the glow of the campfire and smell the smoke...He knew that he was very hungry and wondered if this wasn’t a good sign that he wasn’t going to die. The water seemed to run a little more swiftly and it seemed to be getting colder. That means it’s pretty deep here he thought.

He had every hope that the voices would be friendly settlers. He had been holding on to a large branch floating down the river...good fortune, he was able to lay his rifle on it...maybe its still dry...hell no...No chance of that but he had his knife.

The voices were clearer now...injuns he thought. He heard moaning and cries. Probably the Cheyenne that attacked the settlers and the Calvary detail, clearly in defiance of the Fort Laramie Treaty of 1851 providing for safe conveyance of settlers along the Oregon Trail. Sitting Bull and Crazy Horse had refused to sign the treaty and now roamed the area striking, killing, raping the white eyes. The Indians must be here to rest with the wounded. Russell kicked softly with his good leg out into the river remaining low to the branch, careful to avoid any sighting by the savages.

Any sound and they will get me, he thought. I’d rather drown than die at the hands of the Cheyenne. The Cheyenne was a most hostile bunch of redskins, who had a deep-seated hatred for the whites, and broken treaties of the past. Gabe had seen and heard of the Indian method for dealing with captives. Cruel savages utilizing the most outrageous forms of mutilation before you die. Cutting off body parts and feed them to their cur dogs. Burying a person up to the neck and leaving them to bleed to death or die from exposure. They won’t get another shot at me he thought. This river is a better savior and pathway to heaven...just take a deep breath and sinks to the bottom let out the air and takes in a gulp of water. You’d be dead before you reached the top...only seconds and little misery.

The movement of the water picked up...there seemed to be a droning hum below him...it grew louder and then his worst fears were realized. He was being sucked into the draft of a waterfall. He was sick, tired and knew that he was now too far into it to escape...just try to get away from this limb...maybe he could free fall and hit on his ass... “Nooooo, he screamed as he was swallowed by the roaring convergence between the huge boulders and the cliffs up either side of the river and thrust down through the churning froth into the river below.

Morning came and Russell found himself entwined and a part of brush that had washed up on the bank of a small sand bar in the middle of the river. Dear God he thought...this can’t be heaven, I’m freezing and my entire body is hurting as though someone has beaten me with a battering ram. Then he remembered the falls, the terrifying freefall that he would have loved at twelve years of age... and then he heard something magic...a whistle, perhaps a bird of the west that he had never before seen or heard...another of the wonderful discoveries of the west... but this whistle had a human face. He looked out from the sandbar...there it was near the riverbank...a woman. She whistled again and called out to her dog... “Come here Rags...here Rags...that’s my good boy.”

“Thank you sweet Jesus.” Russell said as he cleared himself from the bank and began to peddle against the most outrageous pain he had ever felt. Not just the knee, but his entire body and most especially his right hip. He was no more than 100 feet from the bank when he started to shout. The water was swift, only a few moments before it would sweep past her and any hope for him to be saved. “Please help me...help, help!” Russell shouted again and again.

No proclivity to withdraw into the illusion and the myth, wholly propagated by the fairer sex of a man unwilling to ask for help.

He could see that the woman had heard him...he began to thrash in the water...went under taking water in gulps...he recovered now only twenty feet from the bank coming up quickly. He could see the woman dropping her dress and petty coats and calling to the dog pointing to the river...she jumped in as well as the dog. In what seemed an eternity the dog reached Russell. The dog’s mongrel face and head reached out to Russell...he remembered the fear of the coyotes, and getting into the river for protection against them...but the big dog with the fearsome head licked him.

The woman was there next to him...she had his arm, calling the dog she placed Russell’s sleeve in the dog’s mouth.

“Go Rags...she commanded.” As she dog peddled with all the strength of his large body, the woman remained next to Russell holding him afloat while pushing him toward the riverbank. “Good boy Rags...atta boy Rags.” She urged the dog to the shore.

Thank God Russell thought...big dog...with his angel.

“I’m badly hurt ma’am!” was all Russell was able to get out before he gave way to the pain...his body knew that he was unable to stand it so it had shut him down.

Miracle of miracles the woman and the dog, Rags, tugged and pulled getting Russell to the riverbank, and then up onto the ground. Fortunate that Russell wasn’t a big man or they no doubt would have failed...and perhaps in the effort lost their lives as well.

He was soaked, he was bone cold and it was obvious that he had a severe knee wound at the least. Gunshot she knew as she cut away the trouser leg then removed the flimsy wrapping...she could see the infection along with several leaches which had attached themselves to the wound area. No doubt these critters saved his life she thought...along with the moving water.

First, she would have to get him out of the soaked uniform and into something dry and warm. She decided that she could not risk a fire in fear of a return visit by the Cheyenne. The warmth of the dry clothing, the blankets...her own warmth and that of the big dog Rags would have to be enough.

It had been two days since the Indians had attacked the settlers being escorted by the Calvary unit. She had remembered seeing this man alongside others who had fought valiantly when the Cheyenne ambushed from the trees along the river. She had watched in anger and horror as the settlers, soldiers and her family were killed one by one...out there in the open...like fish in a barrel.

They had sent flaming arrows into the canvass top of the family wagon after first shooting and killing her husband...and then the two girls jumped from the wagon trying to escape the flames and the heat.

She could remember vividly the Indians jumping on the team of horses, trying to release the wagon tongue...she searched for her children with her eyes, and then instinctively somehow shot both Indians. The horses had run off in the frantic battle trying to avoid the noise from the guns and the fire and smoke from burning wagon tarpaulins.

During this period she had slammed her head against the wagon and was knocked unconscious. When she awoke...the wagon was setting here by the river. Smoldering from the fire but intact. She did not know how far the horses had run until they nearly ran into the river, nor did she know how long she had laid unconscious but it was dark and she calculated by the location of the moon that it had been some ten hours since the attack.

Now, twenty-four hours later, she continued to weep, moan, and rock and pray for her children. She was certain that her husband had been mortally wounded...she had seen him as he was shot and watched helplessly as he fell between the traces of the team of horses. Why had she not jumped from the wagon with the girls she continued to ask herself...and then she remembered in a split second she had become entangled...her dress, somehow caught in the teeth of the hand brake. She had struggled and finally got the petticoat lining released as the Indians jumped the horses. Phil’s rifle lay on the seat...dropped there when he was shot...she remembered the blood...so much blood on the Stanley repeater...the gun he was so proud of and valued as a prize possession. The gun she remembered that he had said would tame the west.

Were it not for Rags and now this heroic young soldier diverting her mind from the thought of the loss of her children she surely would have used the gun to tame her personal torment over the tragic loss of her darling...her precious...her beautiful daughters.

Russell stirred in the back of the wagon, once again speaking out loudly... inaudible remarks...the fever had raged in him now for the third day. Somehow she had been able to get his clothes exchanged with those of her deceased husbands and had managed to get him into the wagon. She was terrified at moving him but she also knew that if she did not get him to a doctor he would surely die from the wound and the infection.

She had been driving the team for hours and seemed confident that she had made steady progress and surely was nearing the Kansas border.

“Whoa boys...whoa now...she called out to the horses as she leaned back in the wagon seat pulling the reigns with her. The six-horse team yielded, welcoming the opportunity to rest. Rags jumped from the seat and ran barking at the lead pair as if to say... “Don’t you hear my lady calling to you...don’t you know to stop.” And, now, they had indeed.

She climbed into the bed of the wagon...sat at Russell’s head. She cooled it with a wet towel and tried to force some water between his swollen and cracked lips. The fever did not seem any worse but certainly no better. As

She stroked his brow she said ...don’t worry Phil...I mean sir; whoever you are...we have come too far to have you die now.”

Russell knew there was a world out there. The life of any individual is so complete with its own set of peculiar problems and ever changing events that life can proceed in directions completely unrelated to the flow of historical circumstances. Had it not have been for the sneak attack and the miniball...Russell would have become an officer in the Confederacy...eyeball to eyeball...blue against gray...brother against brother...perhaps even facing the best friend he had ever known and commanded to kill, the order fulfilled, he might have also taken his own life as well.

But now he seemed to hear a soothing female voice...he didn’t believe that it was his mother’s but he could not be sure. He attempted to move but his entire body seemed to be suspended outside his mind. Gabe was unable to physically move any body part...nor, could he command his eyes to open. Was this Purgatory he wondered? The voice he kept hearing most certainly wasn’t Hell...so it must be Heaven...and it must be God.

Rags began to bark...the horses nickered. Over a slight rise she could hear and then see the reason for the animals’ excitement. She quieted them as the wagon approached and then stopped nearby. Ima held the gun beneath the seat.

Two men sat in the wagon, a stoop-shouldered rider made his way to her side.

“Afternoon, Ma’am...look like you been in some trouble.” The man said.

She was cautious and held tight to the repeater. “Yes we have been attacked by a band of Indians. Where being escorted to the fort by a Calvary detail when they ambushed. I am afraid all have been killed, except the two of us. This soldier is dying, unless I can get him the medical attention that he needs. Bad gunshot to the knee.” She was so frightened that she sounded enthusiastic.

“Got a little backwoods doctoring experience?” One of the men on the wagon said.

“Want I should take a look at the soldier?” he asked.

“Thank you very much; I would be obliged for any assistance.” She said graciously.

The man started down from the wagon seat. Rags barked and lunged at his boot.

“Rags!” she commanded, “Mind your manners.”

“Serious dog.” The man said as he climbed up onto the wagon and slipped down to the bed near Russell. She laid back the cover and the dressing on the gun shot knee.

“I fished him out of the river...don’t know how he survived...had all these leaches on his body...especially the knee.

“Ma’am, this leg got the gang green poison, already set in. It’s another two days to the settlement...I don’t believe he will make it. I am sorry but I think he is a goner.” The man said looking at her.

“We have come so far...he has fought so valiantly...is there nothing we can do.” She beseeched the stranger.

“Lady I don’t think there is a way in hell that he will make it...as he is, take off that leg above the knee...maybe you stop the gang green...it’s a crap shoot at best.” He said.

“Could you...would you I mean...have you ever had to do anything like remove a man’s leg.” She asked.

“Well no Ma’am...but I have seen it done and I have butchered many a buffalo.” He said with obvious pride as the other two men shook their heads, each taking turns spitting the tobacco chews they seemed to relish.

“Times a wastin’” she said.