Durham Station

By Thomas Jackson Hawes

1850
William Buckley had a secret. He gave a rifl e to Jessie, one of his daddys slaves. He knew his daddy
would defi antly not approve. Slaves were not allowed to read or write in that part of North Carolina,
much less own a gun. Everybody on the farm knew that Jessie had a gun, and knew that William
Buckley gave it to him. They thought nothing about it. Old man Buckley has been bed ridden for
the last six months and it was unlikely that he would ever get out of his room again. William Buckley
knew his secret was safe. Old man Buckley passed away six months later without ever knowing his
son gave a gun to a slave. He left William twelve hundred acres of prime farm land six miles from
Durham Station and eleven slaves. William Buckley had just turned thirty four. Two days after
the funnel, William Buckley and Jessie hitched up the buggy and went into town and had papers
drawn up making Jessie a free man. He also gave Jessie ten acres near the river. They had been
fi shing and hunting buddies for years and Jessie thought he knew William better than any man
on earth, yet it was a complete surprise to him. On the way home William asked Jessie if he would
stay on and run the farm. Albert thinks he runs the farm, but I know who gets the work done. Mr.
Barkley had said. Albert, William Barkleys oldest son wasnt altogether there, and Barkley knew
that Albert, would mistreat the slaves, if it wasnt for Jessie. Everybody knew that Jessie and Mr.
Barkley were close. Jessie had a son Buck, and a daughter Mindy. They played with Jeff , William
Buckley, youngest boy practically everyday. Jeff was the only one that felt the way his father did.
Buck and Mindy also had a secret. Mr. Barkley let them work over at Mr. Bradshaws for a few days,
and they took a short cut through the woods on the way home. They saw something that was so
horrible that Mindy, who just turn fourteen, just shut it out of her mind, and refused to talk about
it. Buck takes the secret with him when he runs off to go into the union army, where he fi nds Jeff
on the battlefield wounded. They come home together, but the secret from ten years earlier almost
gets Buck killed.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: May 2, 2013
• ISBN: 9781479733132

Thomas Jackson Hawes

NA

Book preview

DURHAM

STATION

THOMAS JACKSON HAWES

Copyright © 2013 by Thomas Jackson Hawes.

Library of Congress Control Number:   2012919296

ISBN:   Hardcover   978-1-4797-3312-5

             Softcover    978-1-4797-3311-8

             Ebook         978-1-4797-3313-2

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Rev. date: 4/30/2013

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CONTENTS

Prologue (1865)

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

To Bootsy

Without her help, this book would never have been finished.

PROLOGUE (1865)

THE GUNS HAD BEEN SILENT for an hour now. Soldiers from both sides were on the battlefield looking for their buddies and removing the dead. The sun was setting, but there was still enough light to see. The moans and cries would occasionally be interrupted by Hey, Yank, you got one here that needs some help or Say, Johnny Reb, one here is still kicking. There was no breeze. A patch of smoky haze began to settle on the field. The flies, and the gnats, blended in with the stench of death.

Lieutenant William Buck Barkley, one of the first and few black officers in the union army, walked out of the hospital tent along with his sergeant. He could not remember how many men they had brought in. The hospital tent had filled up fast. Other hospital tents were being thrown up, and as soon as space became available, they would put in another cot and two seconds later, there would be a wounded soldier on it. The last soldier they brought up the hill had to be put on the ground between cots that were already filled.

Who do you think won that battle, sir? the sergeant asked as they left the hospital and started walking back down the hill toward the battlefield.

Well, we are still here, so I reckon we won, the lieutenant replied.

Johnny Reb might still be over there too, the sergeant said, looking across the valley, thinking the same thing.

Could be, the lieutenant said as he brushed away the sweat from his cheek with the back of his hand. He glanced at his hand when he brought it down from his face. It was covered with blood. He reached up and felt the bandage on his head. It was wet. His wound had started bleeding again. He grabbed the sergeant, who was walking in front of him, by the arm and said, Give me a few minutes, Sergeant. I need to sit down and rest for a little while. I feel a little queasy.

Yesser, you sit down right here. You’ve done enough for one day. Maybe we should get the doctor to put on a fresh bandage. That one looks soaked. I don’t think it is doing you any good. Do you want me to see if I can get one to come out here and look at you?

No no, I’ll be all right. Maybe I will go see one later. They’re way too busy right now to be bothered by me. I just need to rest for a few minutes. You go on down the hill and give our boys a hand.

After assuring the sergeant that it was all right to leave him alone, Lieutenant Barkley sat on the ground and put his back against a tree. He knew the sergeant was as tired as he was, and he wondered what held the man up. Barkley watched him walk down the hill past a couple of soldiers bringing up a wounded man on a stretcher. The man in the stretcher had one arm dragging the ground.

The lieutenant was proud of his men. They had fought with a vengeance. No one will ever say the men of the 24th. Mass. did not answer the call today, he thought.

When the men carrying the stretcher got closer, Barkley recognized them from his regiment. He also noticed a pair of boots lying on the wounded man’s chest. He could hear the corporal at the back of the stretcher talking.

I can’t wear them, so I may, as well, sell them. But I think I will keep the sword. It will be something to show to my kids.

You’ve got to have a wife before you can have any kids, and ain’t no woman going to marry a man as ugly as you, said the man in the front of the stretcher.

When they walked by the lieutenant, he could see the sword and the boots lying on the chest of the man on the stretcher. Robbing the dead, he thought. If I had the energy, I would chew them out. How low can you get?

Barkley slipped to one side of the tree and lay flat on his back. He took his cap off and put it on his chest. When he closed his eyes, he thought, How nice and quiet it is not to hear the thunder of cannons, and rifle fire, and the bloodcurdling screams of the men hit by the cannons and rifle fire.

A doctor walked out of the hospital tent. His gray beard and white apron were both splattered with blood. He stopped the men carrying the stretcher and bent over to examine the man on it. When he raised back up, he looked at the corporal.

You are carrying a dead man here. Put him next to those poor souls by the tent there and find a blanket or something to cover him. He turned around and started back into the hospital tent but stopped and faced the men with the stretcher again and said, When you have finished that, wait for me here. We need to form a burial detail.

The two men put the stretcher on the ground close to a row of corpses. They picked the man up from the stretcher and placed him next to the last corpse in the row.

The corporal grabbed the boots and the sword from the chest of the dead soldier. His friend picked up the stretcher and they walked back toward the hospital tent entrance. The doctor had gone back inside. I don’t feel like digging any graves, and I bet that is what the doctor is going to make us do, The man carrying the stretcher said. We bring them in. They should get someone else to dig the graves.

I don’t feel like hauling another dead man up that hill either, but somebody has got to do it, the corporal said, brushing the dust off the boots with his sleeve. I wonder what I should sell them for.

I don’t know, his buddy said as he took one of the boots from the corporal and looked at it more closely. They are nice boots though. You should get a lot of money for them.

The corporal sat on the ground when they got to the hospital tent and took his right shoe off. He tried to get the boot on but couldn’t. I wish I could wear them, but they are about a size too small. He soon gave up and put his shoe back on.

Lieutenant Barkley was lying less than thirty feet away and could hear every word they were saying. I really should get up and chew them out, but I am just too tired, he was thinking.

The corporal picked up the sword and pulled it out of its scabbard. I bet I could get a lot of money for this sword too, but I am going to keep it. He looked at the handle a little closer. I wonder what EJB means.

Lieutenant Barkley rose up on one elbow. What did you say those letters were, Corporal? he asked in a loud voice.

EJB. Do you know what they mean, sir? the corporal asked.

Barkley quickly got to his feet and walked over to where the corporal was sitting. When the corporal saw him coming, he jumped to his feet. His friend laid the stretcher down and stood at attention beside him.

Lieutenant Barkley did not say anything. He took the sword from the corporal’s hands and looked at the letters. With one swift blow to the jaw with a right hand, he knocked the corporal flat on his back. He then stood over him and stuck the point of the sword at the corporal’s chest. I should run you through. They hang people for stealing from the dead.

I swear, sir. He was a rebel, and he wasn’t dead! He was still alive when I took that sword, the corporal cried, rubbing his jaw.

I put these initials on this sword. And I know the man who owns it better than any man on earth. The lieutenant raised the point of the sword up until it touched the corporal’s neck. And I also know he would not give it up if he had one ounce of life left in him.

Please, Lieutenant, I am telling you the truth, the corporal begged. He was still alive.

The lieutenant looked at the other man still standing at attention. Is that right, soldier?

Yes, sir. He was still alive when we left him, sir.

Lieutenant Barkley slapped the corporal on the leg with the side of the sword. Get to your feet. You are going to take me to him.

The corporal quickly got to his feet and started down the hill. The lieutenant whacked him across the backside with the sword. And bring his boots.

He turned around to fetch the boots, but the other soldier already had them in his hand and was holding them out for the corporal.

You come too, soldier. We need your eyes too. It’s getting dark, and we may have trouble finding him, the lieutenant said. The three of them started down the hill with the lieutenant in the rear.

I think he was near a dead horse, the corporal said. They had been searching for nearly ten minutes now. The lieutenant was getting impatient, and it was getting darker. Soon they would not be able to see without a lantern.

They had stepped over and around a lot of bodies, both blue and gray. When they walked by a cannon turned over on its side, the corporal shouted out, There he is. That’s him, Lieutenant.

A blond, bare-headed, confederate officer, with colonel insignias on his collar, was lying on his back. There was a patch of ground, next to his head, which was stained in blood. Twenty feet from him lay his horse, still twitching.

Lieutenant Barkley rushed over and got down on his knees and put his head to the colonel’s chest. I can still hear a heartbeat. Barkley reached over and took the officer’s wide brim hat and slipped it under his head for a pillow. It was the first time he had looked at the man’s face. He took a scarf from around his neck and poured some water from his canteen on it. He then began wiping the blood from the man’s face. He was not one hundred percent sure this was Edmond Jefferson Barkley until the man opened his eyes. He stared at the lieutenant but did not say anything.

Take it easy, old buddy. You are going to be all right.

He heard the man say in a soft voice, Buck?

I wasn’t sure it was you. You’ve got so much dirt on you. It’s hard to tell who you are. Buck thought it best to just say dirt, instead of blood and dirt, although his head wound didn’t look that bad.

Take me home, Buck. Jeff raised his head a few inches off the ground and reached out and grabbed the lieutenant’s arm. Don’t let me die in this godforsaken place, he said and then laid his head back down and closed his eyes.

Quit talking about dying. You are too ornery to die. The lieutenant looked around as if surveying the situation for the first time. When he turned back around and looked at Jeff, he smiled. Don’t worry. Ole Buck is going to take care of you. I’ve got a plan.

CHAPTER 1

The Barkley Farm (1855)

COME ON IN, MANDY, ITS nice and cool, Jeff yelled.

Jeff and Buck got to the swimming hole a good minute before Mandy and had jumped right in with their clothes on. Jeff’s head was the only thing above water as he crawled around on his hands and knees.

You know I can’t swim, Mandy answered, pulling her dress up to her knees and wading out just over her ankles.

That’s all right. I’ll teach you, Jeff said.

And who is going to teach you? Buck laughed as he landed on top of Jeff and they both went under.

They both surfaced at the same time. I’ll get you for that, Jeff yelled, spitting out water. He charged Buck, but Buck slipped to one side and dived. Mandy laughed out loud at the way the two cut up.

Mandy had just turned thirteen. She was a year younger than her brother Buck and almost two years younger than Jeff. Though Jeff was the eldest, Buck was almost an inch taller. He had always been able to beat Jeff in any games that they played: wrestling, running, or holding their breath.

I have been practicing, Jeff said. I bet I can stay under water longer than you can.

You will have to do a lot better than you did the last time. Buck laughed.

Count to three, Mandy, and let’s just see, Jeff said with confidence.

At the count of three, they both went under, but Jeff came right back up. He looked at Mandy, smiled, and put his finger to his lips. After about fifteen seconds, he ducked his head back under. When Buck came up for air, he was surprised that Jeff was still under. He looked at Mandy, who was laughing so hard she had tears in her eyes. A few seconds later, Jeff popped up gasping for air.

I told you I could beat you, Jeff boasted with his chest out.

Aw, you cheated, Buck said with a laugh.

What are you doing here? Didn’t I tell you I don’t want to ever see you at my swimming hole again?

Jeff looked up to see the silhouette of a man about six-foot tall, standing on top of the bank with his hands on his hips. Jeff could not see the expression on the man’s face because the sun was on the man’s back, but he knew it was his elder brother, Randy, and he knew he was wearing his mean face. He always looked mean when he was mad. "Since when did this become your swimming hole?" Jeff asked.

Since I put that swing in that tree, Randy said, pointing to a tree with a rope tied to a limb hanging over the water. And if you all have been using it, I am going to hurt somebody.

We haven’t touched your swing, besides, you don’t own the river, Jeff protested.

Buck, take your sister and go home. I’ll talk to you later, Randy said abruptly.

Buck did not hesitate. He grabbed his sister’s hand and took off in a hurry. They never looked back.

And don’t let me catch you down here again, Randy hollered as they left.

Why do you always spoil everything? Jeff asked in disbelief.

Because you’ve got no business playing with Jesse’s kids, and I don’t want you or them niggers playing in my swimming hole any more.

Since their mother died six months ago, Randy felt it was his job to ride herd over Jeff. He was five years older than Jeff and had one year in at Virginia Military Institution. He had just started his second year when his mother got sick and passed away. His father didn’t want him to quit VMI. They didn’t really need him on the farm. Randy’s elder brother, Albert, pretty much ran things, and Jeff was getting to the age, where he was a lot of help now. But Randy didn’t like VMI, and this was his excuse to quit. There was nothing his father or elder brother could do to make him stay in school. He just refused to go.

That night at supper, Randy told his father about Jeff, Buck, and Mandy playing in his swimming hole.

Mr. Barkley sat at the head of the table with Albert on his right and Randy on his left. Jeff sat next to Albert, and there was an empty chair across