The Biscuit Run, Page 3
Darrel Bird
the uniform fell. Then a cannonball shot split a tall sapling in half next to him and the top half of the tree fell on him. The men started yelling and running forward toward the creek. A man yanked the brush off Jacob, yelling, “Charge, boy!” and ran forward toward the creek.
Jacob had never known such terror, but he managed to follow. They splashed across Little Sugar Creek. It seemed to Jacob that there were men running everywhere, firing their rifles at the fading blue uniforms as the northern soldiers retreated.
Jacob tripped on a tree root and fell headlong next to a big tree. He lay there panting, trying to get his breath in the stifling heat. The fetid, smoky air burned his lungs. He heard a pitiful-sounding moan just the other side of some thick brush. He crawled through the brush toward the sound, and saw a blue uniform lying on the ground.
He crawled closer and saw the contorted face of a young man about his age. The boy had cornhusk hair and blue eyes set in a cherubic face. The boy’s deep blue eyes looked around wildly as he clutched tightly at his chest. Blood ran through his quivering fingers, and Jacob realized that this had to be the uniform that he’d hit with his rifle ball. Jacob had spent many days bee-lining in the woods at home, his eyes trained to pick out and mark every tree in his path, and he knew this was the spot where the blue uniform had been standing when he’d fired.
The boy looked at Jacob with terrified eyes as Jacob gently unbuttoned the boy’s tunic. He carefully moved the boy’s hand so he could see the wound. He had been hit just under his heart, and Jacob could see air bubbles in the blood as the boy fought to breathe. Terror and remorse gripped Jacob as he looked at the boy’s white face, and his own face went pale.
The boy kept muttering, “I don’t wanna die! Please God. I don’t wanna die!”
The boy’s breathing became shallow as he lay there moaning. Finally, he lost consciousness. Jacob looked at the boy’s bloody tear-stained face; he wasn’t moving. He listened for breath sounds and felt for a pulse. There was nothing, and Jacob realized the boy was dead.
He sat there weeping beside the boy. Then he got up and fled back across the creek to where the horses were tied, but the horses were gone, and so was his mule. Jacob ran in sheer panic back through the woods, with limbs tearing at his face. He ran blindly until he finally fell headlong at the edge of the trail, spent and bleeding as he gulped air into his tortured lungs.
He lay there a while, and he felt as though his soul had run out of him like water out of a bucket. Finally, he got up and started walking on the road, back the way they had come. Jacob walked all the rest of that day, barely able to keep the track in sight. He felt such remorse that it engulfed the very depths of his soul.
The sound of rifle and cannon fire had long since faded from hearing, and nothing but the silence of the forested hills greeted him. A whip-poor-will gave its first call of the night off in the trees. He lay down by a tree for the night, and with his arms wrapped tightly against his chest, he shivered in the cold. At least he still had his rifle and the canteen one of the men had tossed him.
Jacob lay there shivering and grieving over the boy he had killed. He kept seeing the boy’s horrified face as he lay there dying, and the vision haunted him. “Oh God, I’ve killed that boy, Oh God, Oh God, Oh God!” The memory of that face pounded and pounded on his heart. Sometime during the night he dropped into an exhausted sleep. He awoke as the dawn turned pink in the eastern sky.
Jacob walked all that day, planning to follow the same track they had come in on. He was so consumed with sorrow that he was inattentive to his surroundings, and he got off on another trail leading west. He had gone several miles before he realized his mistake, and started to panic. Then he made himself calm down, and said a prayer that God would lead him to the road that would take him home.
That night he lay down by a creek and drank deeply of the clear water, and he felt a little better. Hunger began to gnaw at him as he tried to sleep. He slept fitfully for part of the night, shivering in the cold, and at daybreak he set out again.
About noon, he heard horses coming and men talking, and he hid himself beside the dim track. He could just make out a company of blue-uniformed soldiers passing by single file. He overheard one of the men mention Choctaw, so he figured that was where they were headed. Choctaw was a small village with a trading post that lay south and west of Pea Ridge. It was only a few miles from his home, just north of the Little Red. God had answered his prayer. He waited for some time after they had passed, then he fell in far behind them.
Just as it was getting along toward late evening, he smelled smoke and thought the soldiers had made camp. As he went a little further, he came to a clearing in the hilly terrain and saw the source of the smoke. It turned out to be from a burning house just the other side of an orchard. He crept through the orchard, and at the edge of the trees, he saw a man lying face down on the ground. He knew the soldiers had ransacked the place and set it afire.
Suddenly, a woman ran screaming from the other side of the house. One of the men in blue uniform was chasing her. He caught up to the woman and tackled her, throwing her to the ground close to where the dead man lay. He began ripping at her clothing, and with horror, Jacob understood that the man was going to rape her.
The man savagely ripped away the woman’s dress, exposing her breasts. She screamed again, and tried desperately to cover herself. Jacob could see that she was a small, thin woman, and she was no match for the war-hardened soldier.
Jacob thought of his mother alone with the two smaller children, and fury rose in him. A deep, dark anger that he had never felt before took hold of him, and he walked quietly out of the orchard. He raised his gun and shot the man through the back of the head. The terrified woman jumped up, with the union soldier’s blood and brain matter all over her face. She ran blindly into the woods on the other side of the burning house.
Jacob Banning had killed his second man. He just stood there staring sickly at the man he had killed, and he felt empty. He looked at the burning house a moment longer and then walked on up the road heading southwest, away from the carnage. He felt like he was in hell. He forgot about the woman, and he no longer cared if the soldiers saw him or not.
The wagon road led to another, a well-traveled road. He took it and headed southeast. He walked all through the night and just before daybreak, he came to a sign with an arrow that read ‘Choctaw.’ He knew he wasn’t far from the Little Red.
Nothing stirred as he passed by the trading post and general store, except for one dog that barked sleepily. The sky was turning a bright pink in the east. Jacob knew the road would lead to a wagon track that would cut south and lead to the ford where they had originally crossed the Little Red. He had been this way with Pap a couple of times, and he knew by the shape of the mountains all around that he was heading in the right direction.
Later that day, feeling totally dejected, Jacob came to the wagon track that cut due south. He turned onto that, and about sundown he came to the Little Red River. The water had receded in the summer heat, so the ford was not very deep. He waded through the swift water and crossed over.
Exhausted, Jacob fell by a tree that stood along the track, and slept deeply. He awoke to a noise close by his head to see a black boot a foot from his head.
“Oh, I see you are awake boy, why sleep so soundly in these woods?”
His eyes followed the boot up to see a rather young face of a blue uniformed man. He began to rise quickly.
“Ah, ah, you just lay there a minute son, where are you bound, or do you just continually walk the land for no reason?”
“I…I was going home sir.”
“And where is home, if I might ask?”
“It’s at the top of the mountain sir.”
“Ok, you may raise yourself up to a respectable position; we have to be careful you see, even of a young man so young as yourself. Will you
attempt to kill us with that rifle?”
“I wasn’t thinking on it sir.”
“Alright then, are you hungry?”
“ye…yes sir, I could eat a bite if I had it.”
“Well then, the cooks have orders to fix a bite of ration for breakfast before we move on. Is your pappy at the top of that mountain?”
“No sir, he lit out for Tennessee to join the southern army a while back, and we ain’t heard from him. My ma, and my little brother, and sister is all that is up there.”
“Well, you best go on with us son…can’t any man sit out this war, and I reckon your women folk, and kids would be better without you there to bring more trouble down on them. I know it's hard son, but better than them getting shot for hiding rebels.”
Jacob had never known such terror, but he managed to follow. They splashed across Little Sugar Creek. It seemed to Jacob that there were men running everywhere, firing their rifles at the fading blue uniforms as the northern soldiers retreated.
Jacob tripped on a tree root and fell headlong next to a big tree. He lay there panting, trying to get his breath in the stifling heat. The fetid, smoky air burned his lungs. He heard a pitiful-sounding moan just the other side of some thick brush. He crawled through the brush toward the sound, and saw a blue uniform lying on the ground.
He crawled closer and saw the contorted face of a young man about his age. The boy had cornhusk hair and blue eyes set in a cherubic face. The boy’s deep blue eyes looked around wildly as he clutched tightly at his chest. Blood ran through his quivering fingers, and Jacob realized that this had to be the uniform that he’d hit with his rifle ball. Jacob had spent many days bee-lining in the woods at home, his eyes trained to pick out and mark every tree in his path, and he knew this was the spot where the blue uniform had been standing when he’d fired.
The boy looked at Jacob with terrified eyes as Jacob gently unbuttoned the boy’s tunic. He carefully moved the boy’s hand so he could see the wound. He had been hit just under his heart, and Jacob could see air bubbles in the blood as the boy fought to breathe. Terror and remorse gripped Jacob as he looked at the boy’s white face, and his own face went pale.
The boy kept muttering, “I don’t wanna die! Please God. I don’t wanna die!”
The boy’s breathing became shallow as he lay there moaning. Finally, he lost consciousness. Jacob looked at the boy’s bloody tear-stained face; he wasn’t moving. He listened for breath sounds and felt for a pulse. There was nothing, and Jacob realized the boy was dead.
He sat there weeping beside the boy. Then he got up and fled back across the creek to where the horses were tied, but the horses were gone, and so was his mule. Jacob ran in sheer panic back through the woods, with limbs tearing at his face. He ran blindly until he finally fell headlong at the edge of the trail, spent and bleeding as he gulped air into his tortured lungs.
He lay there a while, and he felt as though his soul had run out of him like water out of a bucket. Finally, he got up and started walking on the road, back the way they had come. Jacob walked all the rest of that day, barely able to keep the track in sight. He felt such remorse that it engulfed the very depths of his soul.
The sound of rifle and cannon fire had long since faded from hearing, and nothing but the silence of the forested hills greeted him. A whip-poor-will gave its first call of the night off in the trees. He lay down by a tree for the night, and with his arms wrapped tightly against his chest, he shivered in the cold. At least he still had his rifle and the canteen one of the men had tossed him.
Jacob lay there shivering and grieving over the boy he had killed. He kept seeing the boy’s horrified face as he lay there dying, and the vision haunted him. “Oh God, I’ve killed that boy, Oh God, Oh God, Oh God!” The memory of that face pounded and pounded on his heart. Sometime during the night he dropped into an exhausted sleep. He awoke as the dawn turned pink in the eastern sky.
Jacob walked all that day, planning to follow the same track they had come in on. He was so consumed with sorrow that he was inattentive to his surroundings, and he got off on another trail leading west. He had gone several miles before he realized his mistake, and started to panic. Then he made himself calm down, and said a prayer that God would lead him to the road that would take him home.
That night he lay down by a creek and drank deeply of the clear water, and he felt a little better. Hunger began to gnaw at him as he tried to sleep. He slept fitfully for part of the night, shivering in the cold, and at daybreak he set out again.
About noon, he heard horses coming and men talking, and he hid himself beside the dim track. He could just make out a company of blue-uniformed soldiers passing by single file. He overheard one of the men mention Choctaw, so he figured that was where they were headed. Choctaw was a small village with a trading post that lay south and west of Pea Ridge. It was only a few miles from his home, just north of the Little Red. God had answered his prayer. He waited for some time after they had passed, then he fell in far behind them.
Just as it was getting along toward late evening, he smelled smoke and thought the soldiers had made camp. As he went a little further, he came to a clearing in the hilly terrain and saw the source of the smoke. It turned out to be from a burning house just the other side of an orchard. He crept through the orchard, and at the edge of the trees, he saw a man lying face down on the ground. He knew the soldiers had ransacked the place and set it afire.
Suddenly, a woman ran screaming from the other side of the house. One of the men in blue uniform was chasing her. He caught up to the woman and tackled her, throwing her to the ground close to where the dead man lay. He began ripping at her clothing, and with horror, Jacob understood that the man was going to rape her.
The man savagely ripped away the woman’s dress, exposing her breasts. She screamed again, and tried desperately to cover herself. Jacob could see that she was a small, thin woman, and she was no match for the war-hardened soldier.
Jacob thought of his mother alone with the two smaller children, and fury rose in him. A deep, dark anger that he had never felt before took hold of him, and he walked quietly out of the orchard. He raised his gun and shot the man through the back of the head. The terrified woman jumped up, with the union soldier’s blood and brain matter all over her face. She ran blindly into the woods on the other side of the burning house.
Jacob Banning had killed his second man. He just stood there staring sickly at the man he had killed, and he felt empty. He looked at the burning house a moment longer and then walked on up the road heading southwest, away from the carnage. He felt like he was in hell. He forgot about the woman, and he no longer cared if the soldiers saw him or not.
The wagon road led to another, a well-traveled road. He took it and headed southeast. He walked all through the night and just before daybreak, he came to a sign with an arrow that read ‘Choctaw.’ He knew he wasn’t far from the Little Red.
Nothing stirred as he passed by the trading post and general store, except for one dog that barked sleepily. The sky was turning a bright pink in the east. Jacob knew the road would lead to a wagon track that would cut south and lead to the ford where they had originally crossed the Little Red. He had been this way with Pap a couple of times, and he knew by the shape of the mountains all around that he was heading in the right direction.
Later that day, feeling totally dejected, Jacob came to the wagon track that cut due south. He turned onto that, and about sundown he came to the Little Red River. The water had receded in the summer heat, so the ford was not very deep. He waded through the swift water and crossed over.
Exhausted, Jacob fell by a tree that stood along the track, and slept deeply. He awoke to a noise close by his head to see a black boot a foot from his head.
“Oh, I see you are awake boy, why sleep so soundly in these woods?”
His eyes followed the boot up to see a rather young face of a blue uniformed man. He began to rise quickly.
“Ah, ah, you just lay there a minute son, where are you bound, or do you just continually walk the land for no reason?”
“I…I was going home sir.”
“And where is home, if I might ask?”
“It’s at the top of the mountain sir.”
“Ok, you may raise yourself up to a respectable position; we have to be careful you see, even of a young man so young as yourself. Will you
attempt to kill us with that rifle?”
“I wasn’t thinking on it sir.”
“Alright then, are you hungry?”
“ye…yes sir, I could eat a bite if I had it.”
“Well then, the cooks have orders to fix a bite of ration for breakfast before we move on. Is your pappy at the top of that mountain?”
“No sir, he lit out for Tennessee to join the southern army a while back, and we ain’t heard from him. My ma, and my little brother, and sister is all that is up there.”
“Well, you best go on with us son…can’t any man sit out this war, and I reckon your women folk, and kids would be better without you there to bring more trouble down on them. I know it's hard son, but better than them getting shot for hiding rebels.”
