The Mountain: An Event Group Thriller (19 page)

“No, no, no, no, Colonel. This is the result of your arrogance in trying to escape my care.” He gestured with his free hand. “This will be what awaits all of you bloody sinners in the South, my friend—death and dirt, that’s what awaits the traitors and their kin.”

Taylor mumbled something.

“What was that, Colonel?” Freeman said, eager enough to hear that he bravely took a step toward Taylor as he released his hair.

“I said, I am going to kill you.” Taylor slowly looked up and then smiled with bloodstained teeth. He spit with all the strength he could muster.

Freeman felt the bloody spit strike his perfectly curled moustache and he immediately stepped back from the chained man. He quickly took a kerchief and wiped the bloody spittle from his face.

“I would normally say that would have cost you dearly, traitor, but my plans for you remain unchanged.” He looked at the first guard and then nodded to Taylor. “Unchain the prisoner. His execution will be carried out immediately.”

The private glanced at Freeman only momentarily and saw the crazed look in the young officer’s eyes. He immediately moved to release Taylor.

“Your sentence of death will be carried out at exactly the hour of noon, Colonel. I am just sorry your men could not join you on the gallows.”

Freeman tossed the bloody kerchief to the ground as Taylor was dragged from the barn and then the stable area. He walked out into the sunshine then smiled. He turned to the corporal next to him.

“Assemble the camp’s company. I want his men to see what happens when a man thinks he can outwit me.”

On the afternoon of August 2, 1864, the war was truly over for Taylor and his men.

*   *   *

Twenty minutes later the riders entered the Fort Hamilton area of Brooklyn and Thomas was taken by the surreal setting of peace and tranquillity of the wooded area. But the preternatural quiet disturbed him. While the activity at Fort Hamilton was brisk, three hundred yards away was a very different picture at Fort Lafayette. The prisoner-of-war camp was silent, and Thomas saw several women holding banners outside of the main gates being confronted by army personnel, who seemed to be angrily addressing the women’s group over a sensitive issue.

It was marine lieutenant Parnell who held his hand up, stopping the marine escort mere yards from the gate. He nudged his horse slowly forward and approached the nearest private.

“Clear a path and open the front gates,” he ordered, trying to make his schoolboy’s voice sound commanding. Thomas and Dugan watched from horseback.

“The camp is closed this morning to all visitors on order of Major Freeman, camp commandant.” The private looked nervous as he took in the army officer being escorted by the marines. He stood rigid when he saw the embroidered silver eagles on John Henry’s shoulder-boards.

“I guess that double-breasted monkey suit does command attention. Maybe you should wear it more often,” Dugan said with a smirk and a spit of tobacco juice. Many of the protesting women saw this and grimaced. Dugan winked at the largest woman he had ever seen standing in the front.

“Sorry, Lieutenant. My orders are explicit.”

“Soldier, open that gate,” Parnell said as calmly as he could. There had been rumors across the street at Fort Hamilton that the officer running Fort Lafayette was a little on the bizarre side.

John Henry saw another soldier approach. This was a sergeant who was obviously in command of the gate. He was bearded and had an arrogance about him that Thomas immediately disliked.

“Now, Lieutenant, the private has his orders as well as myself. No one gets in today. We had an escape attempt last night and we are in the middle of sorting it all out.” The man’s beady black eyes went to Thomas, who sat stoically watching the confrontation.

“Why don’t you just let me shoot these rear-echelon sons of bitches?” Dugan said, staring at the arrogant sergeant. He was getting so angry he hadn’t noticed that his chinstrap had slid up and covered most of his mouth, so John Henry heard nothing but a garbled request.

“Adjust your headgear, Sergeant Major,” Thomas said without looking over at him. He easily slid from his saddle but motioned everyone to stay mounted. He adjusted his uncomfortable coat and the sword dangling on its strap at his side, and approached.

Dugan angrily removed the leather chinstrap from his mouth and then turned that anger on Gray Dog. “And you, you think you’re impressin’ people with that purple shirt the colonel got ya? Well, let me tell you, you don’t wear a Comanch’ breastplate over it. And what’s that, your official dress feather hanging there?”

Gray Dog looked from the scene before him and turned his gaze to the feather hanging from the middle of the bird-bone breastplate over his shirt. He fingered the feather and then looked curiously at Dugan.

“Like talkin’ to a rock,” Dugan said as he turned and watched the colonel.

Thomas took young Parnell by the shoulder and moved him out of the way as he confronted the sergeant and the private. Through the thickly slatted gate he noticed a lot of activity in the yard of the prison. He turned to one of the women after Parnell angrily stepped aside.

“Ma’am, Colonel John Henry Thomas. What is this all about?” he asked with a tip of his upturned hat.

The woman came close to curtsying but caught herself. She was middle-aged and was wearing mourning black with a veil over her face. She angrily turned to the two guards.

“Sir, this is Wednesday, and our ladies’ group has permission from your war department to bring in medicine and extra food for those poor delusional souls inside the prison. These men will not allow us to pass,” she said as the other women, many of them older than the first, started to agree, shouting angry epithets at the men at the gate. “We do this because many of these mothers and wives have husbands and sons at places like Andersonville Prison. Perhaps if we feed and take care of their sick, they could possibly do the same for their boys.”

John Henry wanted to say that although noble in act, this was not a very realistic proposition, but as he looked at the faces of the many anxious women at the gate, he decided now was not the time to inform these women that the South was on the verge of starvation.

“I’ll see what I can do, ma’am,” Thomas said as he touched the brim of his hat. He stepped around the woman and then faced the arrogant sergeant. As he stepped up he gestured behind him for Dugan, making a movement with his thumb and index finger. Dugan saw this and immediately removed the string from his flapped holster. Gray Dog immediately moved his horse to the far side of the column and without anyone noticing he dismounted and disappeared into the shadows of the large trees lining the front of the fort.

“Sir, I have my orders,” the burly sergeant said.

“Lieutenant Parnell, have your marines dismount, please.”

Parnell smiled as he gave the command. The twelve marines did as ordered and lined up behind the lieutenant.

John Henry never looked behind him to see if his order had been obeyed. He simply stared at the well-fed sergeant before him. His blue eyes cut deeply into the man’s black ones.

“In thirty seconds, if that gate remains closed I will give the order to open fire on your men. Is that understood, Sergeant?”

The heavyset man looked around at the suddenly anxious marines to his front, who seemed to relish the thought of firing on his men. He knew the marines at Fort Hamilton had been wary of everyone from the camp, simply because of the rumors that floated about Brooklyn concerning cruel punishments and murder inside the prison. He swallowed as he turned and took in the dangerous man before him.

“But, sir!” he protested.

“Lieutenant, deploy two-man fire teams, we will assault and then enter the prison on my command,” Thomas said, still staring at the bearded sergeant. Dugan actually drew his Colt revolver from its holster.

“Sir, I have orders that no one—”

The sergeant felt the knife at his throat. He had failed to notice the Indian who had vanished a moment before. Gray Dog had used the heavy shadows of the thick trees to get close enough that his own guard detail did not see him. The bowie knife had been a gift from John Henry and it was Gray Dog’s most prized possession. The knife dug in and Thomas and Dugan both didn’t know how Gray Dog could see anything because the bulk of the sergeant obscured everything except the shiny blade. The private standing next to the sergeant stepped back. The women gasped and moved as far away from the gate as they could.

“Open the gate,” the sergeant said without moving his head.

The private turned and gestured behind him. The large doors of the gate finally started to crack and then it opened. Thomas smelled the prison before really laying eyes upon it.

John Henry returned to his horse and mounted. He ordered the marines to do the same.

“Gray Dog, leave him be. He’s decided to be a soldier again,” he said as he spurred his horse forward. He tipped his hat at the women who were watching. “Ma’am, I’ll see what I can do about getting you in.”

Gray Dog vanished along with the knife. The sergeant spun around, but saw nothing as the Comanche disappeared as fast as he had arrived. As the sergeant gingerly touched the line of blood at his throat he was amazed to see Gray Dog had already mounted and was riding past him without so much as a look.

As the escort rode through the gates, more than one of the marines had pulled a kerchief from their uniform jackets to place over their noses. The mud-caked parade ground was awash in bodies laid out in the afternoon sun. The colonel quickly counted twenty-two.

“Jesus, Colonel, what in the hell went on here?” Dugan asked as he took in the scene. He kept his pistol free of its holster. Gray Dog was the only one of the command group who wasn’t shocked by what he was seeing. After all, he had seen the army’s work many times before.

John Henry saw the makeshift and rickety scaffold at the center of the parade ground. Seven men were lined up on the top and they all had ropes around their necks. There were also several Union guards and an officer staring at him from on high.

“What is the meaning of this? The camp is closed to all outside personnel.”

“You come down from there, you dirty son of a—”

“Sergeant Major!” Thomas said, not too loud. Dugan looked put out and disgusted.

“Who is in command here?” John Henry asked as he stepped from the saddle once more.

“I am in command, and who, may I ask, are you, sir?”

“Come down here and report, Mister,” John Henry said, loud enough that all of the camp heard, even those prisoners lined up to witness the executions. The colonel’s eyes roamed over the seven men about to be hanged. One was being supported on shaky feet by a younger man. John Henry immediately recognized who he was looking at and became furious. He waited as the major who was overseeing this punishment descended from the scaffolding. John Henry quickly turned to Parnell. “Lieutenant, send a man to Fort Hamilton. I want two companies of armed marines here immediately.”

“Aye, sir,” Parnell said as he gave the order to one of his men, who was more than happy to leave the stinking interior of the prison.

The Union officer in immaculate dress came down and stood before Thomas, refusing to salute him.

“Sir, while you are in my prison, I must inform you that there is no higher authority than mine, and this punishment is being carried out in accordance with camp procedure and military law.”

John Henry remained looking at the man on the scaffold being supported by two of his own. He appeared only semi-conscious. “Sergeant Major, check on those bodies, please.”

Dugan quickly dismounted and went to the long line of men who were lying in the stinking mud of the camp. He leaned over the first few.

“Shot in the back.” He moved the brown and mud-caked hair of a young Confederate soldier. “Also shot once in the back of the head.” He straightened. “Over half of these men were murdered, Colonel. Looks like they were shot from behind, and those that didn’t die right off were executed,” Dugan said as he took in the spit-and-polished officer who was arrogantly staring at Thomas and his men. The sergeant took a menacing step toward the first guard he noticed was standing too close. The man backed away three steps. Dugan smiled and then spit a long stream of tobacco juice from his bearded face. “That’s about what I thought, you bunch of heroes.”

The marines under the command of Thomas could not believe what they were seeing. The blood from the dead men mixed with the mud produced by the storm the night before, and the sight made them sick to their stomachs.

John Henry handed his reins to the closest marine, and then placed a hand on Major Freeman’s shoulder and pushed him brutally away. The major backpedaled and then fell backward into the mud. This brought cheers from the starving men lined up to watch the hanging. As for Freeman, he was stunned to the point he couldn’t talk.

“Lieutenant Parnell, this man is to be placed under arrest.” Thomas didn’t wait. He made his way to the scaffolding. “Relieve all noncommissioned officers of sidearms and keys. They are also under arrest.”

With a smile Parnell jumped to attention. “Yes, sir!” he said, giving the army salutation instead of the navy way.

Thomas walked up the stairs slowly. Gray Dog was right behind him. The Comanche didn’t understand fully what was happening, but he saw the intense sorrow on John Henry’s face and knew that his friend and protector had been deeply saddened.

“Cut these men loose,” he said to Gray Dog, and then moved as quickly as he could toward the first man in line, who was being held up by a private in a butternut-colored jacket.

“Those men were wearing Union blue during their escape attempt, and their commanding officer was caught inside the headquarters gathering intelligence. Thus they are being hung as spies, so you have no right to interfere with—”

Dugan lightly rapped the major on the top of his head with his Colt. “Hush now,” he said as Freeman grabbed the top of his hat where it was now indented from Dugan’s blow.

“Ow,” was all he could say.

Gray Dog pushed the first guard away rather brutally, sending the man tumbling down the wooden steps to land in the mud below. Another tired and worn cheer erupted from the gathered prisoners. The Comanche started cutting the ropes and releasing the men.