Roots_ The Saga of an American Family - Alex Haley [351]
Then a spring 1862 afternoon, when a rider came cantering down the Murray driveway, wearing the Confederate officer’s gray uniform, even from some distance he seemed vaguely familiar to Tom. As the rider drew nearer, with a shock Tom realized that it was the former County Sheriff Cates, the feed-store owner, whose counsel to Massa Murray had forced Chicken George to leave the state. With growing apprehension, Tom saw Cates dismount and disappear within the big house; then before long Matilda came hurrying to the blacksmith shop, her brows furrowed with worry. “Massa want you, Tom. He talkin’ wid dat no-good feed-store Massa Cates. What you reckon dey wants?”
Tom’s mind had been racing with possibilities, including having heard his customers saying that many planters had taken slaves to battles with them, and others had volunteered the war services of their slaves who knew trades, especially such as carpentry, leather-working, and blacksmithing. But he said as calmly as he could, “Jes’ don’ know, Mammy. I go find out is de bes’ thing, I reckon.” Composing himself, Tom walked heavily toward the big house.
Massa Murray said, “Tom, you know Major Cates.”
“Yassuh.” Tom did not look at Cates, whose gaze he could feel upon him.
“Major Cates tells me he’s commanding a new cavalry unit being trained at Company Shops, and they need you to do their horseshoeing.”
Tom swallowed. He heard his words come with a hollow sound. “Massa, dat mean I go to de war?”
It was Cates who scornfully answered. “No niggers will go anywhere I’m fighting, to fly if they as much as hear a bullet! We just need you to shoe horses where we’re training.”
Tom gulped his relief. “Yassuh.”
“The major and I have discussed it,” said Massa Murray. “You’ll work a week for his cavalry, then a week here for me, for the duration of the war, which it looks like won’t be long.” Massa Murray looked at Major Cates. “When would you want him to start?”
“Tomorrow morning, if that’s all right, Mr. Murray.”
“Why, certainly, it’s our duty for the South!” said Massa Murray briskly, seeming pleased at his chance to help the war effort.
“I hope the nigger understands his place,” said Cates. “The military is no soft plantation.”
“Tom knows how to conduct himself, I’m sure.” Massa Murray looked his confidence at Tom. “Tonight I’ll write out a traveling pass and let Tom take one of my mules and report to you tomorrow morning.”
“That’s fine!” Cates said, then he glanced at Tom. “We’ve got horseshoes, but you bring your tools, and I’ll tell you now we want good, quick work. We’ve got no time to waste!”
“Yassuh.”
Carrying a hastily assembled portable horseshoeing kit on the mule’s back, when Tom approached the railroad repair settlement at Company Shops, he saw the previously lightly wooded surrounding acres now dotted with long, orderly rows of small tents. Closer, he heard bugles sounding and the flat cracking of muskets being fired; then he tensed when he saw a mounted guard galloping toward him. “Don’t you see this is the Army, nigger? Where do you think you’re headed?” the soldier demanded.
“Major Cates done tol’ me come here an’ shoe hosses,” Tom said nervously.
“Well, the cavalry’s over yonder—” the guard pointed. “Git! Before you git shot!”
Booting the mule away, Tom soon came over a small rise and saw four lines of horsemen executing maneuvers and formations, and behind the officers who were shouting orders, he distinguished Major Cates wheeling and prancing on his horse. He was aware when