You expect to see peat piled high in the wagons, but as they get closer you know you’re wrong. The wagons are full of people.
Women, children, and old men.
They are naked, their wrists bound in front of them. They stand shoulder to shoulder in caged wagons that look medieval. Eventually the line of wagons stops at a barn entrance. You watch, appalled yet intensely curious. Soldiers wield bayoneted muskets and off-load the prisoners from the first wagon and file them into the barn. “Move it, Yankee bitches and grandpas!” one solider yells. “Single file!” another shouts. “Any of yous don’t do as yer tolt, you’re dead!”
When the wagon is empty, it turns and wheels over to an exit door at the other end of the building.
So where’s the peat? you wonder.
There is no peat.
A Confederate major and two enlisted men on horseback approach the barn. They look weary and blanched by dust, but as they slow their horses, they stare at the barn.
“Halt and state your business, sir!” a sentry calls out.
The major dismounts and salutes. “I am Major Tuckton, First North Carolina Infantry, Sergeant. You may stand at ease as I present my orders.” He produces a roll of paper and shows it to the sentry, continuing in an enthused accent. “I am passin’ through to the town of Millen to deliver important intelligence to General Martin.”
The sentry examines the orders and returns them. “Yes, sir!”
“And I need water for my men and horses, as Millen is still quite a trek and I must be there as soon as possible.”
“Yes, sir, we’ll take care of ya right away, sir!”
“And let me ask you something, Sergeant. Are you ready for some good news?”
“Yes, sir, you can surely believe that I am…We been hearin’ rumors that the Yankees are fixin’ to take Chattanooga…”
“Yeah, well that ain’t gonna happen, and you can spread the word because our proud General Braxton Bragg just destroyed the Union division at Chickamauga Creek. Those goddamn bastards are fleein’ north, Sergeant, ’cos they know they can’t take the rail junctions in Chattanooga now, not with ten thousand of their men dead. We’re gonna win this war now, Sergeant. Spread the word…”
The sergeant shouts in glee. He drops his rifle and runs toward the other sentries. “Get water for the major and his men, and tell everybody that we just crushed the Yankees at Chickamauga!”
The news spreads like a virus. Whistles, hoots, and shouts of celebration rock the air.
When the sergeant returns with a watering detail, the major’s brow rises. “Sergeant, what is goin’ on here?” and he points to the wagons and the naked crowd being filed into the barn.
The sergeant pauses. “Prisoner processin’, sir.”
The major removes his hat and brushes his hair back. “But I thought we was sendin’ all Yankee prisoners to that new place just south’a here, Andersonville.”
“These here are civilian prisoners, sir.”
“But…I don’t see no prison here, Sergeant. Just that big barn.” The major starts to walk toward the barn. “I’d like to know what’s goin’ on here—”
“I-I beg your indulgence, sir,” the sergeant interrupts and offers another roll of paper. “But here are my orders for you to examine. See, sir, this area is a restricted perimeter by order of the provisional deputy of engineering operations, a Mr. Harwood Gast.”
“Who? A civilian issuin’ military orders? I don’t recognize civilian decrees—”
“Oh, no, sir, it’s a military order, which is countersigned by General Caudill.”
“Hmm…” The major reads the order, perplexed. “I see…”
“But thank you for the glorious news about General Bragg, sir! Lincoln’ll surely sign an armistice now, won’t he?”
The major seems distracted, looking quizzically at the barn. “Oh, yeah, Sergeant, he likely will, now that he knows he can’t get his hands on the Tennessee railheads. Once Europe hears of this great victory, they will surely recognize the C.S.A. They’ll threaten to stop trade with the North if they don’t call a truce and recognize us as an independent nation now…” But he shakes his head, at the barn. “You may carry on, Sergeant.”
“Yes, sir!” and the sergeant runs back to the sentry post.
Now the major is looking—
At you.
He walks up and you snap to attention. You do not salute because you are under arms.
“Good afternoon, sir!”
“At ease, Private.” Behind him, the major’s men are watering the horses. “Can you tell me what the hell’s goin’ on in that barn?”
“I’m sorry, sir, but I don’t know.”
“Strangest thing…” The major squints up. The prisoners previously filed into the barn are now coming out at the farther entrance, and getting back in the wagon. The wagon departs up a hill.
“And who is this man Harwood Gast? I ain’t never heard of him.”
“He’s a civilian appointee, I believe, sir,” you say but have no idea where that information came from. “A private financier I’ve heard him called. He built the alternate railroad that comes here from eastern Tennessee.”
“Oh, yeah, the one out’a that junction in Branch Landing, right?”
“I believe so, sir. What I heard is he paid for it with his own money, laid five hundred miles’a track, sir.”
“Hmm, yeah, okay. Just another rich guy in cahoots with the new government. Probably tryin’ to buy his way onto President Davis’s cabinet or somethin’.”
“Yes, sir, I guess that’s the case.”
The major seems aggravated, fists on hips as he continues to stare at the barn, where the next wagonload of naked civilians is being off-loaded.
“Oh, well, orders are orders. Carry on, Private.”
“Yes, sir!” you snap.
The major gets back on his horse. One of his men points behind him, to the field…
“Now what the hell is goin’ on there I wonder?” the major mumbles.
“Looks like they’re sun-dryin’ peat,” the other rider says.
“They use peat to make coal easier to light,” says the third rider, “and the barrel works is just up the way.”
“Yeah, peat,” the major concludes, though without much conviction. “I guess that’s what it is… Come on, men, let’s get out’a here…”
They ride off.
You resume your post around the barn. Yes, the wagon is heading up a hill, and behind the hill you see smoke. You look back out to the field and notice slaves raking up some of the dark stuff off the ground and putting it in more wagons…
On your rounds you overhear other soldiers talking…
“Seems a waste’a time to me…And where do they go after this?”
“Other side of the hill it looks like.”
“The old rifle works?”
