Devil's Dream - Madison Smartt Bell [68]
From New Albany they turned to the south; the Yankees’ trail led toward Pontotoc, but they skirted it on a parallel path toward the railroad. In the warmth of the rising sun Henri pulled a nubbin of pone from his pouch, broke it in two to share with Matthew, and put it crumb by crumb in his mouth, holding it there till it softened enough to be swallowed. As they went on they crossed more large parties of wandering blacks and by daylight they could see more plainly that most of these were women and children. They spoke most freely to Benjamin, who had no shred of Confederate gray about him, letting him know that their menfolk had taken horses and mules from their places to ride after the Yankees—going to Okolona, they thought. Henri studied Benjamin as he spoke to one woman or another; there was a natural courtesy to his manner with all of them.
All through the morning a haze had been building on the southern horizon and it grew darker the nearer they approached. By the time they struck the railroad south of Verona, Henri thought he could taste the burning in the back of his throat. They were in Mississippi bottomland now, the black-earth country, where every farmer was required to keep a crib beside the tracks, lipping full of beans and bacon and flour and corn to supply the troops of the Confederacy. With no hesitation, Ben broke the hasp on one with a broken bayonet he carried in his belt, and began to load the white mule with provender.
“Get it while you can, boys,” Boone said, following Ben’s suit.
“What about the train?” Strickland objected.
“Ain’t gone to be no train today.”
Strickland shaded his eyes toward the southern horizon. “You think that’s Okolona down there?”
“Queen of the Prairie, the Injuns called it,” Boone said, turning in the same direction. “That’ll be whatever’s left of it, if I don’t miss my guess.”
He turned to the others. “Boys, I believe we better split up. Y’all three go on and have a look at the Yankees. Me’n Billy’ll swing around and see if we don’t find Jeff Forrest down by West Point.”
“Are you serious?” Henri said.
“Why wouldn’t I be?” Boone said. “Jest wrap your blanket over your uniform. Ain’t nobody gone pay you no mind. Every stray nigger in five counties is down there already, accorden to what we hear. They ain’t gone to bother about three more.”
Henri looked at him.
“Or come on with us, if you druther,” Boone said. “Ben don’t mind scouting the Yankees, do you, Ben? You want a change of duty that’s just what you got.”
“I’m going with Benjamin,” Matthew said.
“Fine,” said Henri. “Ainsi soit-il.”
THE THREE OF THEM set out south along the railroad, their blankets wrapped close around them, Indian-style. Even in the afternoon it was frosty enough they could see their breath, and the snorts of the horses made crystal flowers in the chilly air. South of Pontotoc the track had been torn up ahead of them and the rails and ties scattered about like outsize matchsticks—as thorough an uprooting as Forrest himself accomplished whenever he led such operations over ground that the enemy held.
Nearer to Okolona they came upon black men still at the work, lightly supervised by handfuls of Yankee soldiers here and there. The white soldiers made Henri uneasy and he felt perhaps that Matthew was too. Their uniforms were so tattered by now they could scarce be recognized, but their horses were still good, a little too good, maybe, for riders who preferred to pass unnoticed. On the other hand Henri began to take note that many of the black men were just as well mounted, on horses they’d taken from the stables round about. War had not breathed on this region before today, so the land was still fat, the horses sleek and glossy.
All the same they swung east of the track, to steer away from the Federal soldiers, though lines of fire now stood on the horizons all around. The blacks were pulling up track and burning the supply cribs under the direction of the Federal soldiers but they did not limit themselves to that. And what would you call them today? Henri wondered—not slaves, not runaways,