Winter was always hard, but their food was plenty and John aimed to keep it that way. John sent several of the young men out to hunt for game. They brought back wild turkey, pheasant, deer, raccoon, opossum, and squirrel. Earlier the previous fall, the women had set out to gather nuts that had fallen off the pecan and walnut trees. Now, those had been hidden away, with only the bare minimum left out for ready access, giving the outside world the impression of poverty and starvation.
It was early spring and the air was heating up, the Yankees had moved farther south, and a troop passed near the Anderson farm, and the bells rang. A rag tag assembly of men rode up to the main house, demanding to see the master of the home. John came out to the porch, long musket in hand. Calmly, he asked what they wanted.
“Gentlemen, what do you want?” He said with calm resolve.
Seven men sat upon their horses, looking around at the run-down farm. John could see that they were not impressed. There were no women to be seen, only his men and John almost smiled at their confused expressions.
“Where are all your negro women?” The sergeant asked, his eyes scanning the surrounding area and house.
“The women have been sent away, all but a few. We heard there had been rapes and I didn’t want my people ravaged. What do you want?” John asked, his voice now harsh, attempting to concealed fear. John knew he could not appear weak to these men.
“We need provisions and horses. You are to give over what you have.” The sergeant said arrogantly, his hand moving not so subtly to his sword.
“You’re too late, some men came through here several days ago and took all that we had.” John lied, his eyes narrowing.
“Then you won’t mind if we take a look around, just to make sure they didn’t miss anything? Were they blue coats like us, or gray?” The sergeant asked, his lip curling in a sneer.
“I don’t know, they were filthy and didn’t really wear a uniform like yours, they said they were Union men, but I don’t know for a certainty. If you look around, I ask that you act honorably, that you not to break, steal or fire anything. I’ll give you what I can. My wife is dieing, so I ask that you leave her in peace.” John said, his hand gripping the weapon, his knuckles turning white.
Sargent Waterson eyed the old man for a long moment and then nodded. He ordered his men to spread out and look about the farm. He followed the old man into the house to look around. The walls were bare and the china cabinet was empty. Dust had settled all over the house and the sergeant believed that the women were gone. Had the house been clean and spotless, the sergeant would have known the old coot had been lying. As it was, the house had a deserted and depressing air about it.
Waterson followed the old man down the hall to the kitchen. Two slaves met them. The sergeant was taken aback by the huge men and a prickle of fear shot through him. He looked about the deserted kitchen, the cupboards were empty, spider webs and dust the only contents. There were very few pots and pans laying around, and the sergeant suspected that someone had indeed come by before them and had ransacked the house. He cursed under his breath as he looked into cupboards and closets.
Disappointment clear in his face he turned to the old man.
“How many slaves you got?”
“I have fifteen left. Most of my healthy bucks have been taken from me, by both armies.” The old man said in a hard voice. Waterson could clearly see the rage in the pale blue eyes. Sargent Waterson was dubious as he looked at both the huge black men, flanking the old man. As though reading his mind, the old man spoke up.
“These bucks are deaf mutes. They aren’t very smart and they only understand me. Barely. They were useless to the armies, so they were left with me. They are here to guard me and my wife.” The old man said. Waterson grunted and the old man continued.
“When one of the army soldiers tried to force the issue, the big black one tried to rip the man’s arm off. It took five men to pull him off.”
The sergeant felt the blood leave his face; he could believe it. The man was massive, with arms as big around as tree trunks. Waterson would hate to be on the angry side of that. He turned and walked back out to the front of the house and found his men. All were empty handed but for a small basket of nuts.
“There ain’t nothing here Sergeant Waterson. The barns are empty, ain’t nothin been in there for a while.” The young private said, shrugging, his lank hair falling into his eyes.
Sargent Waterson cursed once more under his breath. It would seem the old man hadn’t been deceitful. It was frustrating, but there was nothing he could do, but go on to the next farm and hope for better.
“Mount up.” He barked and he went to his horse. He was here to liberate these slaves,
