On to Richmond (58 page)

             
“Yes, sir.  Their shoes got burnt up one night when they were trying to keep their feet warm by the fire.  I’m afraid they got a bad case of frostbite.”

             
“Are they my men?” Robert asked sharply.

             
“Oh, no, sir!”  Hobbs said quickly.  “Your men would have told you.  They know you care.”  He paused.  “They are two of Hatcher’s men.”

             
Robert nodded grimly.  “I will have it taken care of.” 

             
Just then he heard a call behind him.  “Lieutenant Borden.”  Robert spun to meet the rider coming toward him.  “Yes, Colonel?”

             
“How are the men in your command faring, Lieutenant?”

             
Robert frowned.  “Not too well, sir.  Many of them are very sick.  All of them are exhausted and weakened from the cold.”

             
The colonel nodded.  “General Jackson has ordered six days of rest.  The men need to be healthy again before we attempt to take Romney.”

             
Robert smiled.  “I’m sure my men will be happy to hear that, sir.”

             
The colonel smiled, too.  “No more happy than you, I imagine.  I believe all of us could use a rest.”

             
“You’re right, sir.”

             
The colonel started to turn his horse and then stopped.  “How does a hot bath sound, Lieutenant?”

             
“Like a dream, Colonel.”

             
“Some dreams come to life,” he said with a smile.   “The general has ordered water to be heated so all of the troops can have a hot bath.  I’ll expect you to take care of your unit.”  Then he turned and rode away.

             
“A bath?” Hobbs said in disbelief.  “You mean that for just a few minutes I get to be warm?”  He paused.  “I take back everything I said about General Jackson.  I guess he has a heart underneath there somewhere.”

             
Robert turned and stared back down at the river.  Then he looked back at Hobbs.  “I’ll be over in a few minutes.  Would you like to tell the men they have a week’s reprieve?”

             
“Yes, sir!”  Hobbs said, smiling.  He saluted smartly, spun on his heel, and strode off.

             
Robert resumed staring at the river.  The day just past had been a repeat of the first torturous day of the march.  It had left him no time to ponder what had happened the day before.  He had heard before of men, when they came close to death, being forced to reevaluate their whole lives - who they were , what they had done with their time on earth.  He had always been too busy living to spend time reflecting.  Until now.  His experience with the wagon had changed all that. 

             
He was happy his men would have a chance to rest and recover their strength and health.  He was happiest, though, for a chance to spend some time thinking.  He turned away from the river.  His men all needed a bath, and he must take care of that first.  A smile flitted on his lips.  His bath would be last, but it would be welcome.

Ike Adams cursed the weather as he pushed along the muddy river leading to the bridge across the Potomac.  It would be a long ride.  He had been called to the plantation of Quincy Moore, who had lost thirty of his forty-five slaves.  They had simply disappeared during a stormy night.  He was frantic to get them back before planting season started.  Bankruptcy loomed before him if he didn’t have a good crop this year. 

              Adams didn’t usually take jobs so far away, but Moore had offered him a price he couldn’t refuse.  He felt a deep sense of satisfaction that his skills were in such demand.  When he was first booted from Cromwell Plantation, he had wondered how he would survive.  Now he was making more money than before.  The value of slaves was shooting up as more and more of them escaped.  So had the value of slave hunters.  He had steadily raised his rates.  Not once had he been turned away.

             
And for good reason.  His results were good.  Many of the slaves he went after got no more than ten or twenty miles from their plantations.  Many disappeared, having no idea where they were going - much less how to get there.  They would bog down in woods or swamps, hungry and desperate for freedom, but with no idea of how to achieve it.  To be sure, there were slaves he’d never recovered, but his percentages were good so he continued to demand top pay.

             
A strange object in the river suddenly caught his eye.  He pulled his horse to a stop and peered closer.  “What the ...?” he muttered, as he jumped from his horse and moved close to the edge of the water. 

             
“My God!” he exclaimed, stepping back and fighting to control the nausea in his stomach.  “It’s a man!”  Quickly he looked around to see if there was anyone else on the road even though he knew better.  This little-traveled road would most certainly be uninhabited in a winter storm like the one raging around him. 

             
Adams looked around until he found a long, sturdy stick.  He braced himself against a set of tree roots and leaned far out over the water.  He finally managed to get an end of the stick snagged on the man’s clothing.  Grunting with the effort, he hauled the water-logged, bloated corpse toward him.  With a final grunt, he dragged the man up into just a few inches of water. 

             
Then he just stood and stared at his catch.  Never had he seen a man dead from drowning.  Or was it a drowning?  He frowned when he saw the dark brown stain across the front of the man’s shirt.  No matter.  The man was dead.  Nothing was going to change that.  By the looks of things, he had been dead for quite some time.  His facial features were swollen beyond any possibility of recognition, and his clothes hung in tatters on his body.  He had been in the water a very long time.

             
The only thing still resembling clothing was his heavy wool coat.  Adams was tempted to just push him back into the water and move on.  There was nothing he could do for the man now.  He grabbed the stick and prepared to send him back to his watery grave.  At some point he would just wash out into the ocean. 

             
Then he hesitated.  What if the man had a family?  Adams scowled and tossed the stick down.  He was wasting valuable time.  And he would continue to be cold and miserable until he got where he was going.  He knelt down, grabbed one edge of the coat jacket, and pulled.  The body bobbed a few inches closer.  Struggling once again to control his nausea, Adams took off one of his gloves and reached into the man’s pockets.  He knew the effort to determine the man’s identity was futile.  Any papers would surely have been ruined by the water after all this time.

             
He was surprised when his fingers located a pouch of some kind.  He pulled it out and discovered a leather pouch lined with rubber, doubled over, and secured with a snap.  His fingers were already growing numb from the cold, but he managed to open it and pull out what was inside.  His curiosity grew as he looked at the sheaf of papers it held.  They were slightly damp, but the pouch had done an incredible job of protecting them.  Adams pocketed the pouch and then turned his attention to the papers. 

             
A blast of snow made him close his eyes in defense.  He moved quickly to the protection of a grove of trees standing on the bank.  Then he held the papers close to examine them.  Slave documents!  Adams almost threw them away in disgust.  Then his eyes narrowed.  If this man had been traveling with slave documents, then that meant his slaves had been with him.  Had they killed him and pushed him in the river?  Had they been stolen from him by overzealous abolitionists?  The last idea wasn’t impossible this close to the Northern border.  

             
Adams looked more closely at the documents.  He gasped when he saw the two names.  Rose. And Moses.  The papers stated the two slaves were owned by a man named John Salem.  It should have ended there.  But Adams had a feeling about this that wouldn’t go away.  His friends told him he had a sixth sense like a hound dog.  It was screaming there was more to this than he knew.

             
Suddenly his eyes narrowed, as his earlier instinct somehow hardened into certainty, even though he had no solid evidence.  He was sure he was looking at papers for Rose and Moses from Cromwell Plantation.  His eyes glittered in anger as he thought of the giant black man he hated so much.  His face hardened as he thought of Carrie Cromwell with all the hate in him surging to the surface.  He cursed and slammed his fist into a tree.  Yes, he was making more money, but the humiliation that burned in him at the very thought of Carrie Cromwell and her throwing him off her plantation had only deepened as time went on.  He was determined to get even with her.

             
His mind traveled back to his encounter with Louisa Blackwell months earlier.  She had suggested then that Thomas Cromwell would appreciate his services, but he had not followed up.  A job had taken him north for over a month.  Another job followed.  He was making so much money hunting slaves he had no desire to go groveling to Cromwell for a job.  All he wanted was to get even with Carrie Cromwell.  He was sure his day would come.

             
His eyes glistened as he stared at the documents in his hand.  Rose and Moses were two of Thomas Cromwell’s most valuable slaves.  He knew, too, how close Rose and Carrie were.  Surely they had not just disappeared.  His lips twisted as he imagined Cromwell’s displeasure at discovering his precious daughter had helped such a valuable investment disappear.  Adams laughed shortly and stuffed the papers in his pocket.  They would come in very handy.  Cromwell would just think he was approaching him out of concern.  He might even pay him handsomely for the information.

             
Then he frowned.  He had no real desire to hunt down Rose and Moses.  He knew how brutally strong the young giant was.  He was also sure he would do anything to help the girl he loved.  Moses had been ready to attack him that day in the quarters before Carrie had shown up with the gun.  Adams still regretted his failure of having his way with Rose.  She was beautiful - even if she was a slave.

             
Adams shook his head and moved to mount his horse.  He would figure out the best plan of action.  There would be a way to meet his objective.  After all, hadn’t the fortunes allowed him to find the body of John Salem, or whatever the man’s real name was?  Adams was quite sure he had found the body of a conductor for the Underground Railroad.

             
He put his foot in the stirrup and then stopped, glancing back at the river.  If he left the body there, maybe someone would find it and give it a proper burial.  Smiling cruelly, he turned away from his horse and stalked back to the river.  It took just a moment to grab his stick and push the body back into the water.  He watched with satisfaction as the bloated body continued on its bobbing course down the frigid river. 

             
Then he mounted and continued on his way.  He had work to do.

“Hey, Lieutenant.  It looks like the sun may be trying to come out!”  Hobbs called excitedly from the front of the line.

              Robert looked up hopefully.  After six days of resting at Unger’s Store,  Jackson’s troops were ready to head on to Romney.  Or at least they were supposed to be.  The men’s spirits had risen over the course of the days, but there were still many sick men in the brigades.  If the weather held, they might make it the rest of the way.  If not...  “Here’s hoping for good weather,” Robert called out cheerfully.  Then he mounted and gave the signal his men were waiting for.  “Move out, men!”