Unpaved streets were always quiet in the early morning hours as the main street is smoothed over after sundown on Saturdays. Sunday was the day of rest and worshipping of the creator. Shuttered saloons were void of the rowdy customers who passed time in it for six days of the week. The only sound on this early Sunday was the farmers tending their stock, and the mothers suckling their babes. War raged around them, but they lived in blissful ignorance. They heard stories, if they were believed; it would seem the world had exploded in sudden deathly chaos. A once peaceful town would become immersed in a war between two bitter enemies.  

The darkness is a shield for invaders as they gallop towards the town. A man pulls the reins on his horse and turns to face the others. These men had come to teach the townspeople a lesson about resistance to the north’s plan of unity. “We will all bear witness to the evil; these idle men do, for the guilty will not be forgiven their sins in this hour of judgment. In his name, we will make an example of these hypocrites.” 

Captain Jeb was their leader. They were all followers of his doctrine. Outwardly, he would talk about the destruction of the south, but inwardly, he had his own interests in stripping the south of its wealth. He understood, long before any man, war was profitable. His crimes were hidden under the guise of justice. Northerners called him a hero, but the rebel states called him a scourge. As the war dragged on, his ferocity grew. Without mercy, he would burn a town to the ground, kill the enemy, and steal anything of value.  While his superiors would bluster about his methods, they had to admit, his tactics were breaking the spirit of the enemy. Of course, there were others like him on both sides; but he invoked a vengeful god as he killed, pillaged, and looted. 

Private William, as he was called, was loyal to Jeb and took whatever he said to heart. He was a boy of sixteen when war broke out between the states, a southerner, born and raised. Jeb earned his respect by telling him the truth about the way things really were. Plain and simple, this was about the wealthy abusing the poor. The ungodly men judging the god-fearing men because this was the “rupture” which was a time of great trials for true believers who would enjoy god’s mercy once this was all settled according to the bible. The north with its resources was a much better to fight for than the south with its lack of able and willing men to fight for the rights of the plantation owners.  

“Amen, brother,” said the man on his left side.  

 “Brother William, you are a true servant of the lord,” Jeb said. William shrugged. “Now, let’s move as one like the locusts who descended upon Egypt.”  The men laughed nervously and looked down because no one had any idea what he was talking about.  

The men were waiting for this moment. Taking unarmed people by surprise made them invincible in this time and place, people needed to be persuaded about the seriousness of indifference.  

Their arrival in town was greeted with screaming and fire, for they set flame upon every building and took people from their beds to the center of the town. The smoothed road was filled with bare footprints of the townspeople and the foreign boot heels of the invaders. They could smell the embers. It was the end.  

“I am the mayor,” A man said, “I am offended by this display of force. Be gone heathens.” 

“Do you believe in God?”  William asked him.  

“Yes, of course, I helped build that church with my own hands, “the mayor says.  

“Then you won’t mind if I say the Lord’s Prayer before I shoot?” William says. He smiles and his teeth are blackened from his tobacco.  

“You look like you can lift a fork with those sausage fingers, but you ain’t worked none, “Jeb says and shakes his head. “I don’t like the face of a glutton.”  The mayor’s jowls shook in frustration. “It’s one of them deadly sins that you self-righteous hypocrites like to talk about.” 

“Is there any among you who are righteous men?”  The mayor asked, but the men were quiet because they didn’t know if they could speak. 

“You call yourself righteous? A man not condemning slavery is a coward,” Jeb said. 

“See here, we want no part in your war,” a man said, “We are a peaceful community.” 

“We have voted and decided not to be involved with the unpleasant situation,” the mayor says.  

“That means you are a whole town of Jonases,” William says and moves towards the mayor, “This is the end times. The twenty-four horsemen of death have arrived.” 

“Hold up, Willy,” Jeb said and put an arm around him. “What he means to say you are Judas’ and this is the apocalypse.”   Jeb spit out a wad of tobacco.  

“Sorry, sir,” Willy looks at the ground, “I got carried away. Confused in my head sometimes.” 

“Open your eyes people to the judgment,” Jeb said, “See what happens when the Lord makes his will known.”   

“Sir, sir please, we aren’t Confederates. We take no sides in your war,” a woman says, and she trembles at his stare. William levels the musket at her chest. 

“Who will be brave enough to take this woman’s place as the sacrifice for this town’s rebellion?”  William says to the crowd. There is complete silence. William shoots the mayor as he begins to faint. 

“Well, you sure ain’t on our side, so you must be on the wrong side of the things as I can reckon.”  Jeb pulled the trigger on the panic-stricken woman, and the shrapnel hit the woman’s chest. Jeb was awash in blood and his face turned up to the rising sun. He kneeled next to the former mayor and took in the scene with his clear blue eyes. He grinned and nodded to the assembled crew.  

“Can I make an offering to Jesus?”  Horace said while pointing to the mayor. An excited flush appeared on his face.  

“A sacrifice?” Jeb said, “Go ahead,” Jeb said. 

It would be a busy day for the men as they killed and looted. Jeb insisted on witnesses being left behind to testify. He chose women because they suffered mightily without a man. 

**** 

Jeb was smarter than me because he had read a book, but it was one more than me. It wasn’t just any book; he called it a good book. You could tell by looking at him, he had been learnt. A creasy forehead, never smiling face, and always talking about what others should have done, not what they had already done because his words were meant to instruct the wicked and humble the prideful. As a boy he was serious about the book he said, but when he grew to be a man, he was determined to fix things. 

One day in the summer of ’62, he came to our small town. There was a hush among the crowd as he talked about a giant and man named Doug, or at least I think it was Doug, but I remember somewhere the giant was slaughtered with a rock that was the most important thing in his ramblings to me. Took it to mean, even someone like me could take down a powerful man.  

“The world needs saving. You know, they enslave our darkened brothers?”  Jeb said when approached. 

“What you mean, Jeb?”   

“Let me tell you a story…” Jeb began to tell the story of some people in Missouri who were made to be slaves, I think, but I can’t be sure cause I tuned out sometime after a plague hit those poor suckers. Sure, his story had a point, but it was lost on a simple man like me.  

“So?”  I say with a shake of my head.  

“I need recruits for my cause,” and with that he winked. “‘Posed to be a fine sum for a country boy,” he said. 

“How much?”  I shrug.  

“We are doing the work of the Lord. Can’t put a price on that,” he said. I did not want to be like that camel not fitting in the needle, so I agreed.  

It was the start of something bigger for both of us. We were swept up in our own agendas.  

I see the northerners as fools fighting for the cause of some people who do not need saving. Well, the southerners, they just clung to a life that no longer existed. People died every day from mortar, but there were some who lingered for weeks with gangrene before they were done. We were never hungry because of the raiding, and we were careful to keep away from the sickened ones. Life was good. War is meant to prove a point for some; but Jeb and I see a way to profit from others’ mistakes.  

I take after my father, for he was realist and said if hell existed, it was here on earth where men fought over some fancy images of a man on a cross, or over some dark man in chains. Yeah, I felt the say way, but I play along with my brother. My father was hung in the town square for robbing the tax collector, and it seemed fitting.  

**** 

On the other side of the conflict was a man who was well past his prime. His reasoning skills were lacking and his physical ailments caused him to be self-concerned. He was blissfully unaware of his current plight and misunderstood the urgency of action, for there was still time to turn the tide of war. General Soames in his uniform was clearly a man of order even when his thoughts became scattered, for his clean grey woolen coat, crisp hat, and his pressed trousers were of a dignified man. Soames looked up at his horse Jesse and whispered endearments and petted his mane. An old, one-legged, and nearly blind general was better than no leadership, the men had always reasoned. His promotion to general was due to the desertion in the ranks, not his excellent military maneuvers. 

Lost in his thoughts, the general never heard the man approach. “General Soames, Sir?”    

“Yes, what do you want?”  The general said and squinted at the man. There was impatience to his demeanor. He needed time alone with his horse.  

“There has been news from up North. There have been stories of Captain Jeb and the northerners, and the tales are frightful.”  The lieutenant said and placed a hand on the horse’s head. “I heard a man with him rides around with scalps of men on his horse and calls them idols to a forgotten god.” 

“Rumor, all rumor. Nothing to be afraid of, my dear boy,” the general said. “Now go and fetch me some food.” 

“Sir, don’t you think we should prepare for an ambush?”  The lieutenant said as he clutched his cap tightly. “Our position is close to his last known location.” 

 “What did you say?” the general said. This war made him weary. Never having a free moment without worrying about this war was terrible on his nerves. 

“The raiders, sir, killed fifty men on the border. The men were unarmed,” a young private said in haste. 

“Does that make it any worse than men that are armed?” the general said. His stomach felt empty as his head. “Call the cook.” 

“Let me help. I can send out some scouts,” the lieutenant said. Beginning to panic, the man began to perspire while he involuntarily shivered.  

“I am unable to think on an empty stomach.” The general says, “It’s inhuman to expect a man of my stature to go hungry,” the general said as he walked towards his tent. The general’s men were dependent on him, and the urgency of their predicament eluded the general. 

After dinner, Soames sat back in his chair and was wiping his beard with a napkin as his men came in and maps were spread out before him. If he could read or understand them, the men could never be sure. There was sincere disinterest. Muttering and murmuring amongst them makes the general sleepy, and he longs to sleep in his bed with his down comforter and his head on the fancy pillows his wife made had him. “Let’s leave this until the morning,” the general said. The gathering of men saluted and left the general. 

On the next morning, the general is confident and ready to take his troops to face the scourge of the south. What dreams he had! His hero, Major General Arnold, proclaimed his greatness and declared him the victor. He is inclined to lead his men as a true general on the frontlines. 

“I will take the battle to the enemy, or my name isn’t General George Herbert Soames,” the general said loudly.  

“Sir, do you think we should take an offensive maneuver when we are dealing with someone familiar with guerilla tactics?” the private said. “For all we know, he could he hiding in the woods waiting to strike us down.”  He is the only man ever to question the general’s commands and will be the last. 

 
“I make the decisions. Know your place or you can be easily replaced,” the general said. 

“We can’t afford to lose any more men, general.”  The private lowers his head and mumbles a few words. 

“I will be declared a hero,” the general said.  

“Or a goat,” the lieutenant said under his breath. 

General Soames is at the lead of his regiment when they enter Wilson’s Woods. His horse dislodges him after the first musket shot. Jesse is used to limited action as his owner never led from the front. The horse, being smarter than the general, gallops towards safety. As the general lies on the woodland floor in a nest of leaves, some of his men are slaughtered while several decide to surrender because all is lost without a leader to tell them what to think.  

**** 

As I dismount my horse, I know these men have few possessions. I knew some of them from being in their regiment. They are at best; a group of boys whose mother gave them a biscuit when they left. All they will have on them is two or three letters from their girlfriends and a few coins. I must do this or be hanged. 

I reach this man with the clothes of a general. My former general who cared more for his horse than any man who bled in his battalion, he was just one of the reasons the south would lose this battle and eventually lose the war. Geez, I hate to admit…his leg is mine too. He is old and will die soon. He moans and common sense tells me to stomp his head, but I cannot. He only has one functional leg, and the animals will soon be gnawing on his bones. And I leave him there. I am a coward. I want him to suffer. 

George is awakened by the drops of rain on his face. He is with the men who were under his command. Things have changed. He is naked, without his glasses, and even his leg seems to have gone missing.  “Help me,” he says to the figure that is leaning against a tree.  He crawls to the figure and touches him.  The figure is cold, sightless, and twisted against a tree. Clearing his throat, he barks out commands, they go unanswered. George decides he must survive, and he grabs a tree branch for a crutch. “Is this the victory promised?”  In desperation, he sings and calls for his horse. By some miracle, he smells cooking meat and voices ahead. The grey images are a godsend.  

“General Soames.” the private says.  

“I was beginning to lose hope,” George said. Hugging the closest figure, he sinks to his knees and prays.   

“Allow me to help you up,” the private is surprised the general survived.  

“We lost some of our men to those foul northerners,” George said. “Only one battle of many…”   

“General?” another gray image said. “Don’t worry none.”  The man put a union coat around the general’s naked image and sat him down. 

“My horse is gone,” George says. Tears fell down his face as the loss of his horse got the better of him. Because the horse had the better instinct, the horse was many times his savior. “Help me. A man is no longer useful without his faithful companion.” 

“Let me talk with the men,” another familiar voice said. The men considered the general and his fate.  

“You hungry?” A plate is placed in the general’s hands. Although he is hungry, George was not familiar with smell. 

“What is it?”  George questions. As the general begins to chew, he finds the sinew tough to manage. He requests seconds. 

“Confederate beef,” a voice says.  

“Strange taste,” George says. 

“Eat up, general,” the grey image says, and other men laugh. 

“I guess it will do,” George says. It was not his usual fare, but these men were leftovers from different regiments, so he needed to be charitable.  

“We call it confederate beef, in other words, your horse,” the man said. 

“Not my wife’s fried chicken and greens, but I guess it will do,” George said. Either he did not hear the man or was unwilling to think of the possibility cannot be known. He is feeling rested and thankful to his Samaritans. “Life is good.” 

“Do you believe in God?”  Jeb asks.  

“Before today, I never gave it much thought. But the victory must have been the lord’s doing. He works in a mysterious way,” George says. 

“Your God does not exist. Only one true God, and that is your government” a voice says. Hands grab his collar and stand him up.  

“Goddamn,” George says. 

“You, treasonous bastard, “Jeb says.  

“I will get the rope,” his former lieutenant says. 

The noose tightens around the man’s neck. The man stood unafraid of dying for what he believed in; his cause was just. God would allow him into Paradise this day.