Spake As a Dragon

By Larry Hunt

A code, a secret message passed down through the Scarburg family resurfaces once again during the Civil War. What does it mean? All Robert Steven Scarburg knows is the secret began with his grandfather John ‘Pappy’ Scarburg during the Revolutionary War. What clandestine message has the early Scarburg patriarch send to him. Is it a code foretelling of hidden treasure or a message suggesting a dire warning?
Now his two oldest sons, Luke and Matthew have determined they must enlist and fight for the South. Robert will not let his sons fight alone, at age forty-nine he enlists. Being critically wounded at Devil’s Den during the Battle of Gettysburg he passes the code “2K168” on to his sons, hoping they will survive to discover it meaning.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Larry Hunt
• Release date: Aug 27, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310730276

Larry Hunt

Larry Edward Hunt has written four books in the adventures of the military Scarburg family. Mr. Hunt, drawing on his father's thirty year military career and his own 26+ year career working for the U.S. Army provides insight into the working of the U.S. Government with realistic detail to the narrative. The first book 'The P.H.O.T.O - The Search' and the second 'The P.H.O.T.O. - The Saga Continues' are now available in one book 'The P.H.O.T.O.'at www.createspace.com The third '21 December 2012 - The Calendar Beckons' is also available in paperback at the same website.His most recent adventure 'Justification For Killing' uses time-travel to ensure JFK is assassinated by Lee Harvey Oswald. This fictional account shows the world's destiny if the President survived... this adventure attempts to set the Earth's destiny back onto its property course.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

. . . DEAD?

With a quick thrust and fast withdrawal of the razor sharp, Yankee bayonet it is over – Sergeant Robert Steven Scarburg slumps to the ground. ‘Am I dead? Surely I must be, but I can still hear the musket fire, and the whine of the cannonballs as they sail overhead. I can smell the acrid smell of the gunpowder.’ He lies motionless.

‘Why am I unable to move?’ He thinks? ‘My boys! Luke and Matthew, I promised Malinda......,’ He can feel something warm and sticky trickling down his chest wetting the front of his old, battered, butternut dyed shirt? ‘Surely it is not blood I feel no pain. It must be water from my canteen. Why is the world moving so slowly?’

A DAY EARLIER - THE FIRST DAY OF BATTLE

Morning comes early this summer day in the month of July 1863; the sun first appears yellow, then bright orange, now it is a brilliant, fiery ball in the eastern sky. The cool air of the night begins to be replaced by the hot, dry air of this tranquil mid-summer morning. High above, white, fluffy cumulus clouds float gently across the azure sky.

The line of gray-clad, rag-tag, collection of Southern soldiers, mostly barefoot, trudge along as quietly as possible through the sparse, hardwood, and pine trees of southeast Pennsylvania. Southern cavalrymen mounted on tired, war-weary horses lumber in front of the haggard Confederate infantry. It is the beginning of the third year of the War Between the States, the War of Secession, Mr. Lincoln’s War; regardless of what it is called, it is the third year of what would forever be referred to as America’s great Civil War.

Sergeant Robert Steven Scarburg of ‘E’ Company, 48th Alabama Infantry, is part of the advancing rebel army this beautiful morning. As he walks along, he thinks of home, and especially his beautiful Malinda. Malinda the wife he left as he marched off to war leaving her and his remaining children alone on their farm in Alabama.

Suddenly his reverie is broken. Luke, marching to Robert’s right turns his head and asks, Father, do you believe a battle is near?

Yes son, I think before the sun has set today we will have ‘seen the elephant.’

Are you afraid Father? His other son Matthew asks from the opposite side, About the upcoming battle, I mean, when we ‘see the elephant?’ I have to admit Father, I am. I wish I were as brave as you were when you fought those Redskins in Florida.

It was true Robert is not new to battle. He had, many years earlier, been a participant to the blood, gore and cruelty of the unbearable horror of man’s inhumanity to each other known simply as – War!

Robert did not want to admit it, but he too is scared. He fears for his life and the lives of his two eldest sons, Luke and Matthew, both of who are with him in this Confederate Infantry Company. All three Scarburg men joined up in the spring of 1862 in Guntersville, a small Tennessee River town in northern Alabama. Their enlistment was a little over a year ago.

Malinda had pleaded with them, she even begged them not to enlist, but Matthew was dead set on joining the Confederate Army. He had convinced Luke to go along too, and Robert could not let his sons venture into the War of Southern Independence alone. As an old ex-soldier himself he believed he could best oversee his son’s lives as soldiers, and he promised Malinda he would keep their boys safe and bring them home alive.

* * * * *

Many years before enlisting to fight for the Confederacy, Robert Scarburg had enlisted in another army, the United States Army. He had joined Captain Long’s Company, 5th Battalion, 1st Brigade of the South Carolina Mounted Volunteers in the fall of 1837. At twenty-three years of age he had ridden out of the Carolinas along with other young, wet-behind-the-ear, dirt farmers.

They had ‘jined up’ with Colonel Zachary Taylor to go south and fight the Seminole Indians in what later became known as the Second Seminole Indian War.

The Indian War began with young, Southern boys; Southern boys full of spit and vinegar thinking they could ‘whoop’ those ‘Injuns’ in less than a month. They were eager to fight. They believed they would put those Redskins in their proper place. They ‘wuz Americans fightin’ heathens.’ At an early age, immortality shields young men as a suit of armor. They think the specter of death will elude them. However, this day, twenty-six years later, Sergeant Scarburg is not thinking about those illustrious days of many years ago, his only thought today is to make sure he did not break his promise to Malinda. His two sons must survive ‘seeing the elephant’ of this current War.

His boys looked up to him, they believed he knew what he was doing – he was, in fact, a veteran. For over twenty-five years, men came to Robert’s house on Sunday afternoons and all would boast of their exploits in the war with the Indians. As the years passed the stories became more and more embellished. Their exploits and deeds became more heroic. As young lads Luke and Matthew sat on the porch mesmerized by the men’s war stories. They idolized their father – there wasn’t anything in this man’s army he didn’t know about, or so they thought. Today they listened to the sergeants and officers of their Confederate company, but when the showdown came they were going to follow their father – he was, after all, the real veteran.

Now at age forty-nine Sergeant Scarburg, the old man of this Rebel infantry company is embroiled in yet another clash of arms. It too began with the thought that these Southern boys could ‘whoop’ those invading damn Yankees. This war is different, they are not fighting Indians, in some cases it is fathers against sons, brothers against brothers or family against family, but the boastings of the youth are still the same. They believe they can put the Yankees on the run in less than a month. In fact, they believe one Southern boy is equal to ten of those sorry Yanks. Some Southern boys were even afraid the war might end before they had a chance to get into the fight and kill them a blue-belly or two.

These young men walking through the woods this summer day are no longer boys with the idle thoughts of their youth. They have grown up fast. These are men, regardless of their age, men fighting for the Confederate States of America.

Sergeant Scarburg tries to answer Matthew’s question, Yes, I am fearful my son, fearful for the two of you, he says looking at Matt, but we should not be afraid of dying, death will catch up to us all eventually. Today let’s just hope that if death’s scythe seeks us out its blow will be quick and merciful, but Fear not boys, we have on the cloak of invincibility; nothing is going to harm us. Let us just do our duty.

GENERAL THOMAS ‘STONEWALL’ JACKSON

The battle will be the first actual fight in which Matthew has participated. Upon his enlistment he had been assigned to the staff of General Stonewall Jackson.

General Jackson had made a special request to have Robert appointed as his aide, but Robert tactfully declined his request stating his promise to Malinda to take care of their sons. Robert knew a staff position with General Jackson would be safer than the toils and hardships of the common infantryman; therefore, Robert recommended his younger son Matthew to serve in his stead.

Robert realized Matthew was no fighter; he was the scholar of the family. When Matt was not at work on the farm, he could be found with his face buried in a book. Luke, on the other hand, was usually, in the forests, the sights of his old musket marking the spot on the whitetails body where his bullet would strike. Luke seldom ventured away from the house on one of his deer-hunting trips that he did not return with fresh meat. Robert’s two boys could not have been more different, Luke the rough outdoorsman and Matthew, the soft-spoken scholar. Luke is quick to anger and just as quick to fight; Matt is soft-spoken and more adept at talking himself out of a tenuous situation. Matthew was at the South Carolina College when the Confederate government sent out a call for eighteen thousand volunteers. The entire student body of the College voted to leave school to enlist. Matthew returned home to Alabama determined to honor his commitment to his classmates.

Luke resembles his grandfather; tall, lean and rugged with dark brown hair down to his shoulders; a haphazard grown of beard covers his face, which gives him the coarse look of a rough, western, mountain man. He is more at home in a deerskin jacket than a store-bought thirty-dollar suit from Atlanta. Matt’s appearance, on the other hand, must have come from his mother’s side of the family. He is of medium height, slightly on the portly side, hated beards and could not tolerate mustaches. His blond facial hair was probably the reason; it was thin and meager, as blond hair tends to be. Such hair, as everyone knows, does not make for a generous beard.

It was no mere coincidence that General Jackson requested Robert for assignment to his staff. As soon as the General was informed of Robert’s enlistment Jackson put the wheels of the Confederate war machine in to motion to have Robert assigned to his staff. It is easy to understand why - General Thomas Jonathan Jackson and Robert Steven Scarburg were first cousins!

As a young boy Thomas Jackson or TJ as he was called back then, was sent to Scarburg Mill to live with his uncle Thomas Scarburg and cousin Robert after losing both of his parents.

Although TJ was a few years younger than Robert, they grew up playing together in and around the Mill on Mink Creek. TJ was forever playing on the stonewall dam built across the creek to catch the water for the enormous water wheel. His uncle Thomas was constantly admonishing young TJ to stay off the stonewall dam warning, I believe you like that stonewall dam more than life itself Thomas Jackson! Someday Stonewall Jackson you are going to find yourself swept up into the blades of that water wheel! From that day forward they abandoned the nickname TJ; he was now Stonewall.

Slightly less than two months before today’s approaching battle Stonewall was shot and wounded, albeit a mistake, by his own men at the Battle of Chancellorsville; however, he died a couple of days later. After his Commander’s death, Matthew requested re-assignment to a line company, preferably E Company of the 48th Alabama.

Matthew’s request for line duty was granted. Now he was about to participate in his first battle or ‘see the elephant’ for the first time, alongside his father Robert and brother Luke.

THE CORNFIELD

Robert, Matthew, and Luke can smell the odors of sweat from the horses, unwashed men, and manure as they prod along. They also get a whiff of pine, moss, and rotting leaves as they trudge through the woods, but another smell, a pleasant aroma touches their noses, - the scent of ripened corn. This tantalizing smell reaches the hungry Confederate soldiers as they approach the edge of the trees. Just beyond the oak, elm, pine, and hickory they find a sun-dried patch of farmland covered with tall stalks of Yankee corn. Field corn as the Southern boys call it.

The soft, sweet, roasting ears of spring have already changed in to ears of hard, dry corn of summer. Corn in a field owned by a farmer on the outskirts of this small Pennsylvania village. Corn he is planning to use to feed his livestock and family during the coming winter. Presently, however, the soldiers of the South do not care how hard the corn has become. Most of them are breaking the ears from their stalks, quickly removing the shucks and hurriedly stripping the hard kernels from the corncobs with their teeth. The corn is hard to chew, but the Confederates are famished, they have been subsisting on scant rations for days. Hard or not they are going to eat it. Sergeant Scarburg, Luke, and Matthew join their fellow soldiers in the ‘feast’ that for many is going to be their last meal on earth.

This Regiment of the Army of Northern Virginia, under the command of General Robert E. Lee, is not expecting any resistance; they are, after all, only looking for shoes. Most of the Rebel infantry walks barefoot, their shoes long ago worn in to tattered scraps of leather. The commanders have heard shoes were available at this small crossroads place. A place with a name hardly anyone knows. Although few know the town’s name, the battle that will take place here over the next three decisive days will forever burn upon the pages of history. This action at the junction of ten roads will become the high water mark of the Confederate States of America’s bid to break from the United States. It is arguably an avoidable mistake from which the South will never fully recover. The irony of this battle for the South – there were no shoes to be had in the town.

The date, as recorded in General Lee’s Daily Log is Wednesday, the First of July in the Year of Our Lord One Thousand Eight Hundred and Sixty Three.

Despite orders to the contrary by General Lee, Maj. Gen. Henry Heth, the commander of the Confederate’s Third Corps, orders his troops to attack the Union forces defending the northern side of town. The Union forces open fire – the bullets whizz over Robert and the heads of his two boys and plow through the dried stalks of corn. The Yankee mini-balls crashing through the corn have an eerie sound, and the ones flying close to their heads has a whine as though bees were passing by.

Sergeant Scarburg stops, shoulders his musket, and despite being unable to see the enemy fires forward into the forest of cornstalks. Matthew and Luke, following their father’s lead, do the same. Occasionally they hear screams of agony as a bullet finds its mark in someone’s body – is it the enemy? Or have they fired in to their own troops? No one will ever know, most never see the target of their blind shooting. By the time, the rebels emerge from the cornfield the Union troops have retreated back into town. The Confederates pursue and continue firing at anything that moves. Street to street fighting pushes the Yankees south of town where they establish defensive positions on a small hill known locally as Cemetery Ridge. Here the Union soldiers, under the recently appointed commander of the Army of the Potomac, General George Meade, make their stand.

Realizing the potential strength of the Yankee defensive position, General Lee orders Lieutenant General Richard Ewell to attack and seize the hill ‘if practicable’ before the entire Union army can concentrate their forces there. New to command Ewell hesitates, he thinks it not ‘practicable.’

Sergeant Scarburg’s E Company, along with most of the 1st Corps, only slightly engages the Yanks during the first day’s fight. Most of that first day 1st Corps spends making a grueling forced march south with the intent of attacking General Meade’s left flank. Company E’s position in the line of attack is between two slight hills named Little and Big Round Top.

Chapter Two

THE SECOND DAY

During the first day’s skirmish, Sergeant Scarburg, and his boys did not see much of the actual fighting. They did see; however, the horses lathered up with white, foamy, sweat, galloping by their marching columns. The horses pulled the heavy caissons and Napoleon cannons that were creating clouds and clouds of choking dust. They could constantly hear the roar of the fighting, the rebels yelling, the cannons firing, and the officers issuing orders, but most of the battle is out of their immediate view. A large part of the day has been spent marching to get in to position for their actual fight. They do not realize it, but they are about to become a small part of this enormous bloodbath.

On this second day of the fight, the battle begins early in the morning. A slight haze of fog covers the ground as Company E advances toward the enemy through an area later to become infamously known as the Devils Den. The entire area between the Union army and the Confederates is a broad stretch of ground strewn with boulders the size of small wagons, some even bigger. Interspersed between the boulders is waist high wild grass that offers no protection whatsoever. The Southerners will have to crawl and pull themselves over and around these natural rock obstacles constantly exposing their bodies to the deadly rain of lead from the Yankee muskets. Their objective is a small hill, named, appropriately Little Round Top.

Up and down the long Confederate line, officers issue the order, ‘Column Forward, Guide Center,’ youthful drummers furiously beat ‘Advance.’ Buglers can be heard repeating the same ‘Advance’ call on their bugles. The Confederate guides unfurl the Stars and Bars flags, which begin fluttering in the gentle summer breeze. The young boys carrying these flags proudly thrust out their breasts and begin the advancement toward the enemy. The drummers continue the rhythmic beat of the drum signaling the troops to move forward. The remainder of the thousands of Rebel soldiers follows closely on their heels.

Sweat, mixed with dust and dirt, drips from the tip of Sergeant Scarburg’s nose. He swings his musket from his shoulder and goes in to a shuffling run toward the large rock formations to his front. He along with thousands of other soldiers commences the infamous ‘rebel yell’ - a yell hard to explain. To fully understand this cry it has to be personally experienced. To thousands of Yankee defenders, the yell is blood curdling. Years later this spine-tingling scream will haunt the northern veterans most nights as they try to drift off to sleep.

As the boys in gray run toward the blue-clad Union Army, bullets begin to whiz by their heads. The sulfur smell of gunpowder hangs heavy in the air. The blue-black smoke becomes so thick the soldiers of the Army of the Potomac defending Little Round Top are becoming more and more obscure. A young boy screams as a bullet passes through his body – blood spews wildly as he collapses in a heap on the ground. Another soldier disappears in a red mist of blood as a cannon ball hits him squarely in the chest. Mercifully the gray clad boy dies instantly; he has no time to emit a scream. Dismissing these horrors from his mind, Sergeant Scarburg begins to run faster toward the enemy. He has to reach one of those large boulders. All he, and hundreds of other soldiers can think about is the safety of the rocks.

Leaning against the cold, hard stone’s surface, he presses his face against the coolness of the rock, sighs, and inhales a deep breath of smoke-filled air. He pulls his ragged, gray, forage cap from his head and using it as a handkerchief, wipes his face. He can hear the officers imploring the men to advance – leave their place of safety and once again face the onslaught of Yankee bullets. The boys! Where are my boys? He hates himself – for a brief few moments he thought only of his safety and forgot about Luke and Matthew. He squints his eyes trying to look through the smoke for his boys, but he can see nothing.

Sergeant Scarburg begins to muster up the courage to resume his assault once more when he hears shouts of the enemy advancing toward his position – all his instincts are telling him to withdraw – no never! To retreat is unthinkable, but who are these outnumbered, defiant Yankee defenders who dare attack him and his Confederate comrades rather than turn tail and run?

High upon Little Round Top the Union men of the 20th Maine under the command of Lieutenant Colonel Joshua Chamberlain are quickly running out of ammunition. As a last resort, Chamberlain orders his men to fix bayonets and ‘Charge’, down the hill, unknowingly, directly toward Sergeant Scarburg’s place of safety.

No longer able to ignore the screams and cries Sergeant Scarburg jumps from his hiding spot. He moves around the large rock, and immediately comes face to face with a blue-bellied Yankee from Chamberlain’s company bearing a long Springfield musket with a shiny, razor sharp, steel bayonet attached to its business end. Sergeant Scarburg did not have time to react; the bayonet is already at his breast. Time seems to stand still; he wants to raise his weapon, but cannot; the Yankee steel starts to penetrate his tread-bare shirt. He can feel the sharp, cold metal penetrating his skin. Strange, he always had thought it would hurt, but he does not feel any pain.

Father! Father! How badly are you hurt? Luke asks, pulling his father back against the shelter of the huge boulder.

Sergeant Scarburg looks at the young man. His eyes blurred he could not quite make out his features.

Matthew! Matthew is this you my son?

No, Father, it’s me Luke. Your son Luke.

Luke? Luke! Robert whispers. Bend down, I need to tell you something. Please son, it is imperative. I have something to say that was told to me by my father and I need to pass it on before I die.

Hush Father, conserve your strength, you’re not going to die! Looking at the bloody hole in his father’s chest made by the bayonet, Luke thinks otherwise. Hold this handkerchief tightly against the wound Father. Trying to bolster his father’s spirit he continues, do not worry Father it is only a scratch, lie still I will get help.

Struggling to speak, Wait Luke! Please! Luke closer, come closer. Whatever he has to say is crucial. Luke realizes it too, bends down and places his ear close to his father’s mouth. The noise of the on-going battle is deafening. Luke is near enough to feel his father’s breath on his cheek.

Barely able to hear his father’s whispers, he remarks, Father? Father? I do not understand! Bible? Bible? I don’t have a Bible!

The words have no sooner left Luke’s lips as a lead, mini-ball ricochets off the boulder above his head raining lead and rock fragments in Luke’ face and forehead. Blood gushes in his eyes. For a second, Luke thinks the bullet has found its mark, but a swipe with his hand indicates it is only a deep scalp laceration.

Luke! Where are you? Luke! Someone screams from the direction of the field of tall grass.

Even though he only can see a few yards in to the thick, blue smoke, Luke recognizes the voice. It is the frightened voice of his younger brother Matthew.

Here Matt! I’m here with Father he seems to be hurt badly. I think he wants a Bible, do you have one Matthew?

Matt shakes his head then asks, "Is Father dying?

Yes, I think so.

Are you okay?

I’ll live, just a scratch, stay with him Matt; I’ll try to find some help.

No, Luke, please don’t leave...!

Luke grabs his musket, rounds the boulder, dodging bullets as he runs into the thick smoke.

CHAPTER THREE

The Hawk

About seven hundred miles southwest of the hot battle taking place in Pennsylvania it is also sweltering on this Thursday the 2nd of July on the Scarburg farm in Alabama. Mattie Ann and Elizabeth, Sergeant Steven’s two youngest daughters are playing under the large tulip poplar at the edge of the yard. They are startled by a shrill, screaming, kee-eeeee-arr sound from a large bird circling over their heads. Looking up they see nothing, the bird flew behind the branches of the tree where they are sitting. As both girls, scared and trembling, run to the safety of the house, Lizzie drops her corn shuck doll to the ground.

Mama! Mama, there is some kind of big bird screeching at us out yonder in the yard, she says slamming the screen door behind her. What is it Mama?

Hush child, hush don’t tell me! I don’t want to hear you say the word!

What? Say what word Mama?

Hawk! That... that was a red-tailed hawk!

But Mama, it acted like it was screaming at me and Elizabeth!

It probably was Mattie Ann. Sit down baby, and I will explain. Old Granny Scarburg was living with us right before she died. It was then she told me the tale of the hawks.

Mattie Ann sat at the kitchen table, wide-eyed as she listens to her mother tell Granny Scarburg’s story of the hawk.

Granny was a full-blood Cherokee Indian, named Running Doe. She got the story from her mother I suppose. Granny wanted to make sure she had passed it on before she died.

Passed on what Mama?

She said the hawk is a messenger from God or as Granny said the Great Spirit. She said He sends warning to us through the spirit of the red-tail hawk. The hawk is His messenger! Hawks warn of tragedy or foretell of death. Dreaming about a hawk can be regarded as a warning of danger too.

Mama, what did the hawk say that me and Lizzie saw?

"No baby girl, they don’t say anything. Once you hear the hawk’s shrieking it is a warning that something bad is going to happen. You must watch carefully to see which direction the hawk flies. Danger or death will lie in that direction."

What was my hawk’s warning?

Baby girl, I don’t know. Go back and watch. If he is trying to talk to you he will come back. Watch which way he flies as he leaves, the direction will provide you the answer.

Later while playing Mattie Ann is startled again by the shrill cry: kee-eeeee-arr. She looks skyward - her hawk has returned! Around and around the beautiful, red-tailed bird soars screeching its mournful cry, Lizzie is scared and starts to cry. Mattie Ann stands watching, mesmerized by the flapping of the hawk’s wings and the hypnotic sound it continuously emits; finally, it flies off and does not return.

She runs back into the house.

Mama! Mama, it flew off. What does that mean?

Which way? Which way did it fly?

North! North Mama, it flew off toward the north.

Malinda grabs the tail of her beautifully embroidered apron her mother had given her when she married Robert, places it to her eyes as the tears begin to flow.

Mama! What’s the matter, why are you crying? What did the hawk mean?

North, my baby north is the direction of your father and the boys.

CHAPTER FOUR

Scarburg Mill

The Yankee’s bayonet hole in Roberts’s chest in now hurting, it hurts something awful. Sweat runs down his face in beads. The sweat gets into his eyes, but he does not have the strength to wipe it away. He lays his head against the stone boulder – it is cool, it feels good on his face. The damp smell of moss and rotten wood envelops his nostrils. The scent reminds him of the caves in the cliffs behind his house overlooking Hog Creek Canyon in Alabama.

He is alone, bleeding to death, abandoned by his sons Luke and Matthew. He wishes he did not have to die forsaken; although, hundreds of his fellow soldiers are suffering and dying within earshot he still feels neglected and forgotten.

He drifts in and out of consciousness. When awake, he is living a nightmare, a terrifying nightmare; the battle, a terrible battle is still raging in all its fury. When unconscious, which is a blessing, his mind lets him dream of home and his family. Especially Malinda, he can almost feel the soft, blonde curls, which cascade down around her shoulders. He can, just about, smell the delicate scent of the lilac water on the nape of her neck. ‘Please,’ he thinks, ‘let this dream continue.’

It seems as though it has been eons since he and Malinda Ingram married. Robert’s mind drifts to thoughts of his father Thomas and his great-great-grandparents John and Celia Scarburg, the ones he called Pappy John and Mama Celia. As the oldest son, and following the custom of primogeniture, Robert inherited his father’s property. Now he is beginning to think he is going to inherit something else - a shallow unmarked grave like all the thousands of other lifeless men on this death strewn field of battle.

Pappy John’s farm as they referred to it, was slightly over ten sections of rich South Carolina bottomland, bordering on Rayburn’s Branch of the Saluda River. Ten sections of land may not sound like much, but one section is six hundred and forty acres, and in that region of the Carolinas six thousand four hundred acres was a tad more than a farm. Pappy John had saved up a tidy sum of money when he and Mama Celia left their home in Virginia to become pioneers in the unsettled frontier of South Carolina.

The first few years he spent building Celia the beautiful Scarlett Plantation. To be officially called a plantation, a farm must have as a minimum, three slaves regardless of the amount of land it encompassed. John and Celia had never owned slaves nor indentured servants. Calling Scarlett a plantation was in the name only, they never referred to it as a plantation it was simply – Scarlett.

It had been ten years after their marriage before Scarlett was finished. It had also been rumored, before the completion of the house, that Celia suffered a miscarriage, the death was an infant girl, and perhaps they named this unborn child Scarlett? However, there had never been a girl child in the Scarburg family named Scarlett, as far as anyone knew.

Pappy’s wife Celia could trace her ancestors back to the beginning of the United States; in fact, one of her ancestors was a signer of the Declaration of Independence. Within Celia’s family was a story, never proven, that her grandfather had two wives, the first died quite young. Family tradition says she was a sister to George Washington. Records of this union were destroyed during the Revolution, and her name was never known, was she Scarlett? No one ever knew the answer for sure. The name Scarlett was a mystery known only to John and Celia.

Another great-great-great-grandfather of Robert’s wife Malinda, Jacob Damascus Ingram, although not a large landowner like the Scarburgs, had amassed a sizeable amount of money also. Jacob and his wife Margaret moved from Virginia with Jacob’s father and Margaret’s parents. They all settled on the western side of Mink Creek, another tributary of the Saluda River, in the early 1760s, a mere mile and one-half east of Scarlett. It did not take very long after arrival in this back-woods country for the Scarburgs and Ingrams to become close friends. Robert Scarburg and Malinda Ingram would grow up together, fall in love and later marry.

In 1769, with the comforts of life having been established John began working on two of his life’s dreams. First he wanted to build and operate a gristmill. Next he had a vision to construct the first Masonic Lodge in that part of South Carolina. Mink Creek was the perfect place for such a mill. The creek might only be a creek, as it was officially described, but the water was clean, cold and ran full and deep both summer and winter. To many they would call it a river, but it was here also that he decided to build and pursue his second dream. Being a fervent Master Mason of the Masonic Order of Free and Accepted Masons he also began work on the first Masonic Hall in that southern area of South Carolina. The lodge would become known as Masonic Lodge Number One.

Year’s later Masonic Brothers would be proud as they remembered a select group of Masons. These Masons, dressed as Mohawk Indians, left the meeting Lodge at the Green Dragon tavern in Boston and proceeded to the docks. Whooping and hollering they unceremoniously dumped the British tea into the water of the harbor. Patriots up and down the thirteen colonies still refer to this act as the Boston Tea Party. Paul Revere, John Hancock, and Sam Adams were all honored members of this rebellious group of Masonic Brothers in the Boston Masonic Lodge.

Between Masonic Lodge Number One and Scarburg Mill, and at the urging and kind benevolence of Jacob Ingram the local Quaker Friends in the community constructed a beautiful Meetinghouse, which they called the House of the Lord. It was painted a brilliant white. Adorned with stained glass windows, sitting atop was the bell tower, with its two golden toned bells. Over the bell tower was a magnificent steeple topped with a large, six-foot cross; it seemed to reach into the heavens. Its construction was a few years before their fight with England. At that time almost everyone still owed allegiance to the King; on meeting day the bells chimed all to attend the services; however, the break with King George III in the War of Independence silenced the bells, they were never to ring again.

Their Lodge was not given an official name – it was known only as ‘The King’s Masonic House Number One.’ On the day of the monthly meetings throughout the surrounding community Masonic members would say, Come brethren get ready, it’s time to go to The King’s House. Thus on Thursday night once a month Freemasons from across the area would meet at old Number One. The Mason would assemble for the performance of their ritualistic conferment of the Entered Apprentice, Fellowcraft and Master Mason degrees. The conferment of these degrees was to initiate new Brothers to the Order. Even after the Revolutionary War it was still referred to as The King’s Masonic House.

Not only was the mill a place for the locals to get their corn and wheat ground in to cornmeal and flour, it became a favorite meeting place known simply as Scarburg Mill. John’s gristmill thrived. In fact, a small community sprang up around the Mill including a tavern, the Masonic lodge and the House of the Lord. As time passed, the settlement itself became known as Scarlett Town and later as Scarlettsville.

Daily, men would come to trade horses and mules within the confines of the Mill’s expansive yard. Others would swap tobacco for jugs of homemade whiskey; still others would sometimes get in to heated arguments over the plight of the budding colonies of America and the King of England. Some old timers would sit quietly on a wooden bench under the shade of an enormous live oak, whittle on a piece of soft, cedar wood and reminisce about past adventures of their youth. These exploits were sometimes true, but mostly they were fanciful tales that brought smiles to their attentive listeners.

In the summer of 1774, a vicious thunderstorm, accompanied by high winds and lightning blew in out of the west. A number of violent tornados struck the area; one hurled its raging force upon John and Celia’s home of love. The tornado only destroyed the barn and a couple of out building; however, a bolt of lightning struck one of the lovely old red oaks in the front yard. The resulting fire consumed the beloved Scarlett’s main house, burning it to the ground. All that remained of John and Celia’s dream house was the four, red brick fireplaces, two on either side of the once stately home. The year 1774 could have been remembered as one of the most dreadful years of John and Celia’s marriage. One bright spot had been the birth of their first grandson Thomas, a son who years later would become the father of Robert Steven. A son and daughter had been born earlier, but neither lived long after birth. They named the infants John Junior and Celia Jane. Six months later, John’s son Charles left to join the Patriot forces of General George Washington, leaving his wife and young son Thomas with John and Celia. No word was ever been heard from him again.

CHAPTER FIVE

1781

One thousand seven hundred eighty-one, what a year! Scarlett has been rebuilt and is even more beautiful than it had been before the fire. The Revolutionary War has been raging for over five years, but still more years remain before the newly formed United States of America can conclusively declare herself independent from the chains of King George III of Great Britain.

The British military in the Carolinas is beginning to realize the band of rabble calling themselves Patriots, are never going to stop fighting. The countryside of both North and South Carolina did indeed foster some settlers loyal to the King of England, but their numbers, now referred to as Loyalist, are becoming fewer and fewer.

What bothered the British the most is this low-class bunch of commoners, some even brazenly referring to themselves as ‘Americans,’ will not stand up and fight like gentlemen. They hide in the trees and bushes and shoot at them like cowards. Also, bothersome to the leaders of the Kings Army: the scum called Patriots have a propensity to shoot the British officers from their horses first. To punish this band of low-life peasants, the British begin a new tactic.

In late March of this year, a week or so before Easter, a large group of British Redcoats captures the Whig governor of South Carolina, along with twenty of his staff. The British soldiers, under the command of Colonel Sir David Wilcox, were transporting their group of prisoners to British General Horace Manly’s headquarters in Greenville, South Carolina. At Greenville, the prisoners were to stand trial for ‘Treason Against the British Crown.’ Fortunately or unfortunately as the case may be, their route would take them down the road directly past Scarburg Mill.

The British Colonel does not realize B Company of the 3rd South Carolina Ranger Regiment is camped at Scarburg Mill. The Mill is a good place to stop and give a rest to the saddle-weary cavalrymen. However, from upcountry South Carolina, word rapidly spreads to the Ranger commander, Captain John Coker, of the capture of the Governor and his staff. Captain Coker is also informed of the Governor’s impending arrival, along with his Redcoat captors, at Scarburg Mill within a day or so.

Captain Coker and his men have been escorting two large wagons from Dahlonega, Georgia to General Washington’s command in New York. The wagons are so heavy laden they each need to be pulled by a team of six mules. The wagon wheels cut a deep rut in the dirt as they traverse the sorry excuse for what are called roads of northern Georgia into South Carolina. The journey, thus far, is exhausting to both the mule teams and the cavalrymen. Horse soldiers with the mission to protect the valuable cargo the wagons carry. Captain Coker and his men are enjoying a short reprieve from their past week’s vigilance of constant guard duty. They are enjoying the food, rest and ‘medicinal spirits’ from the tavern before resuming their journey northward; however, the cargo in the wagons is too important to leave unguarded. It is so valuable that Captain Coker has sentinels walking guard, at all hours, around the wagons with muskets loaded and hammers cocked, ready to fire, even during the night.

Learning of the British soldier’s advancement Captain Coker calls his Lieutenants together. The decision is made and a plan fashioned to ambush Colonel Wilcox as he approaches the Mill. They envision a surprise attack to catch the Tories off-guard. The cavalry believes they can inflict significant damage upon the Redcoats and possibly free the Whig Governor and the rest of the hostages.

The Captain sends riders to the surrounding Patriot neighbors requesting they grab their muskets and assemble at the Mill to help fight the Redcoats. Jacob Ingram hears the beat of hooves on his long drive leading up to the big house at Ingram Hill – he runs from the barn knowing the rider is bearing important news. Jacob listens intently to every word as Captain Coker’s envoy tells of the impending fight. The dispatch rider had hardly disappeared from sight when Jacob grabs his musket mounts his fastest horse and quickly rides to join the Patriot side in their fight against the British.

On Friday the 13th in April 1781, Colonel Wilcox is dressed splendidly from head to toe. He wears a gold buttoned, red British coat with gold-fringed epaulets, a white waistcoat, white lapels, and black boots that reach the knees of his white britches. His head is topped with a black, gold-trimmed, tricorne hat, which covers his stylish, white, powdered wig. A wig tied neatly in the back with a black ribbon. Behind his white, high-stepping horse walk the despondent Governor and the rest of the Colonel’s Whig captives. Unknowingly, the pompous Colonel Wilcox is walking into a trap set by the Patriots and the men of the 3rd South Carolina Rangers.

As the Colonel and his men begin to cross the bridge at Mink Creek, a volley of musket fire from the Patriot side cut a swath of death through the British ranks. A raging battle ensue that last all day and into the early hours of the eve. Although badly outmanned, the Patriots do not allow the Redcoats to cross the creek that day. Any attempt to storm the mill results in further loss of the King’s men. The advantage the Patriots command on the opposite side of Mink Creek is too great for a frontal assault by the British soldiers. Knowing a direct assault from the front will be suicidal the Redcoats have to formulate a better battle plan. Around midnight, Colonel Wilcox dispatches twenty-five men to ford Mink Creek a mile or so above Scarburg Mill.

The following morning at first light, cloaked in a dense fog, Wilcox’s men having crossed the swift, cold, creek attack the flank of Captain Coker’s group of Patriots in and around the Mill. The maneuver allows the Redcoats to attack the Patriots from both the flank and front. The Patriots hold their ground stubbornly until close to noon, Captain Coker, grossly outnumbered, and already suffering the loss of eight or ten men, decides to order a strategic withdrawal. The British, however, did not leave the field of battle unscathed. They have roughly fifty dead or wounded, but at the end of the day the honors of the victory will be theirs. Captain Coker gives the bugler orders to sound ‘Retreat’. His remaining troopers mount their horses and flee into the nearby woods.

Jacob Ingram with blood flowing from a bullet hole through the calf of his right leg and with considerable effort manages to swing himself into his saddle and follow the Captain into the cover of the dense forest. At the time, Jacob thought little of his injury, but it is severe enough that it will cause him a slight limp for the rest of his life. It also furnishes him with innumerable tales of the Patriot’s heroic valor that he repeats many times, under the old oak tree, for years to come. As the years advance, Jacob’s part in the battle seems to become more important. Some thought the limp was to embellish these war stories of which he so eloquently speaks. Whatever the reason the men relished hearing and re-hearing the exploits of the Patriot and British fight at Scarburg Mill.

Colonel Wilcox captures the remaining Patriot combatants along with the wounded Patriots that have not withdrawn with their commander. The Redcoats are now in command of Scarburg Mill. The two wagons that had been so carefully guarded since leaving Georgia are nowhere to be seen. The two teams of mules