Free Spirit

By Geoff Cumbley

Born in the state of Virginia in the nineteenth century, Jesse Wells fights in the American Civil War and is a scout in the Black Hills of Dakota during the Indian Wars.
Good fortune comes his way along with the opportunity to mingle with powerful people of both sexes. His experience grows. His business acumen enables him to experiment then move on.
Eventually he reaps the results of seeds sown in his wanderings and decisions have to be made. Will he be forced to pay a heavy price?

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Sep 11, 2014
• ISBN: 9781496991096

Geoff Cumbley

Geoff Cumbley was born in Worcester at the beginning of the Second World War. Following his education in the city he was employed in industry for just over a decade. He then served for a period of twenty-two years in the Royal Air Force. On the completion of his Service he entered a career in security. He has travelled to the United States, Canada, the Middle and Far East, numerous resorts on the Mediterranean, and in the United Kingdom itself. Now retired, he resides in Worcester with his wife Patricia. They have two daughters and three grandchildren.

Book preview

© 2014 Geoff Cumbley . All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 09/04/2014

ISBN: 978-1-4969-9085-3 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4969-9109-6 (e)

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

The sky was blue, cloudless, the air crisp. On the mountain below the snowline, among the pine trees and bushes, sat a lone horseman. His shirt and trousers were well worn but his jacket was thick and warm. He had taken it off a dead comrade; it had two bullet holes in it. His boots were stout, of high quality; they had belonged to a deceased enemy colonel. His slouch hat belonged to his father, a man he had never seen. The horse, a big bay, was called Sam. He had been roaming loose after a battle, there were still bloodstains on the saddle. Using binoculars the man surveyed the ground below. He had been here for nearly an hour but his patience was to be rewarded. A column of cavalry appeared from trees to his right, a colonel and a clutch of officers leading. The force was large and took a long time to pass. Once it had the watcher eased his horse away from the scene, his commander would need to know about the enemy movement. It was 1864, the third year of the American Civil War.

Jesse Wells was born in Virginia in 1844 to mother Mary. They lived in a sturdy log cabin set in a small cotton plantation some three miles from Chancellorsville, Virginia. Jesse grew up with his mother and an elderly Negro, Peter. He was treated as a member of the family and occupied a small room at the end of the cabin, he worked the plantation with Mary. They managed to maintain a horse and a small carriage, later Peter would teach Jesse to ride the horse and Mary would teach him to read and write. They attended church every Sunday where Jesse met Joe Marsdon. He was a year older and bigger but they developed an immediate rapport when they found that they lived only a mile apart. The boys’ friendship served to bring the Wells and Marsdon families together. Weekends found them visiting each other to enjoy refreshment and exchange gossip. Jesse marvelled at the Marsdon abode, the number of rooms and the ornate grandeur. Joe’s father Edgar often took the boys to some handy stream where they would fish and swim. Peter was always invited and while Edgar puffed contentedly on his pipe they would engage in deep conversation.

Edgar’s wife Kate had inherited a sizeable amount of money on the death of a favourite uncle. Her ambitious husband persuaded her to buy land in the area. Slowly and surely the Marsdon empire grew as more plantations came under Edgar’s control. The Wells and Marsdon plantations produced roughly the same amount of cotton and Edgar suggested the two amalgamate with an equal share in profits. After a great deal of thought Mary agreed and legal papers were drawn up.

Jesse saw a change in Joe. His clothes were of the finest cloth, he began to smoke a pipe and help himself to Edgar’s brandy. He would offer some to Jesse but he refused, at first. Edgar and Kate threw regular parties and they invited former owners of property he had purchased to attend. Many had become managers and Edgar was quick to reward success. Mary and Jesse also came to enjoy the revelry, Jesse noticed that Joe seemed to impress pretty females with his smoking and drinking and gradually he began to succumb to the habits. Mary tried to stop him but he sneaked off with Joe, she guessed what they were doing, Joe and Jesse were beginning the journey from youth to manhood.

How about a quiet drink in the plantation? asked Joe.

Sure, have you got some tobacco?

Of course Jesse I will supply everything, and I mean everything.

A small hut in the plantation provided a regular meeting place for the boys. On this occasion Jesse was there first and was surprised when two figures emerged from the darkness, even more surprised when he saw one was a girl.

Hi Jesse, this is Betty, she’s from the village.

The girl was plump but pretty. Joe had a bag containing whisky and tobacco. Betty soon displayed her ability to match the boys’ in their vices. Later as intoxication took hold she moved closer to Jesse and began to weave her well practiced womanly wiles on him. Joe smiled and made himself scarce. By this time Betty looked positively beautiful to Jesse, he needed little encouragement and Joe smoked his pipe contentedly as his friend lost his virginity.

Edgar began to involve Joe in the running of the plantation. He regularly travelled to Richmond, the state capital, on business. Sometimes he took Kate with him and stayed for a few days. They became part of an influential social circle, Edgar kept his ears open and it was here that he picked up rumours of a war between the Northern and Southern states involving slavery policies. He treated the rumours seriously, he knew that the North had economical and financial advantages over the South but maintained the use of slaves was their right, if war broke out it would be fought to defend that right. He persuaded a neighbour, retired Colonel Edward Buchan, to form a local militia. He taught Joe and Jesse to shoot pistol and rifle, Buchan organised drilling and tactical training.

It was a balmy evening. Every light was on and all the windows were open in the Marsdon manor house. In the main hall couples danced to the music of a full orchestra.

They performed dances of old, turning in unison with measured tread. Later the younger element would whirl around while the elderly sipped their drink and looked on, some in concealed jealousy. The men in tuxedos’ mingled with the long dresses and bare shoulders of the ladies who constantly whispered behind their fans at some social impropriety. Tables were laden with food and drink. Out in the darkness the Negro slaves had not been forgotten. Generous amounts of food, drink and some tobacco had been made available, they provided their own music. Today was the occasion of Edgar Marsdon’s fortieth birthday. A large cake sat on a table, Edgar had successfully blown out all the candles and made a short speech of welcome and thanks. It was quite late when a dust-covered rider slipped through the French windows and sought Edgar’s ear. Following a quick conversation the man departed and Edgar strode to the conductor who stopped the music in mid-dance, Edgar raised his arms, demanding silence.

Ladies and gentlemen today at Manassas our Confederate troops defeated the Yankees and sent them packing with their tails between their legs!

A roar of approval and a thrill of excitement passed through the assembled guests. Joe and Jesse shook hands and clapped each other on the shoulder, the party went on longer than expected … it was the 21st July 1861.

It would be 1863 before Buchan’s militia was called upon to contribute to the fighting. News of battles won and lost came and Robert E Lee, Stonewall Jackson and James Longstreet became household names. The war drew ever closer and Mary and Kate became anxious for their children. The men got excited at the prospect of defending their homes and all other topics of conversation faded into insignificance.

Edward Buchan had just finished breakfast when a group of horsemen clattered to a halt outside his house. A young lieutenant met Buchan at his front door, he saluted smartly.

Lieutenant Bright at your service, sir, Colonel Hipkiss requests your militia attend him at the Chancellorsville crossroads.

Hipkiss, Thomas Hipkiss of Richmond?

Yessir, the very same.

Well, I thought the old buzzard had run his course by now.

Hardly, sir.

Buchan smiled, My boys will be there in three hours.

Perfect, sir.

The lieutenant saluted, Buchan watched him and his party spur their mounts out of the vicinity.

Amid cheers and tears the militia marched away, Colonel Buchan at their head. He sat ramrod straight in the saddle. Attired in Confederate grey his arms consisted of a pistol and sabre, his hat bore a piece of black plumage. Behind him his men tramped the road relaxed and eager. At Chancellorsville Joe Marsdon and Jesse Wells were among the thousands of men led by Stonewall Jackson to attack the right flank of the Union army under General Joseph Hooker, they had covered fifteen miles to get into position. Although they were tired their great leader managed to exhort his men forward and they powered into the enemy. The northern forces fell back under the sudden onslaught. Jesse raced over the ground and spotted the enemy, quickly he knelt and took aim at a Yankee soldier. He fired and saw the man fall, he ran on again.

Someone shouted, Bayonets lads!

Some Union troops had turned in an attempt to stem the Rebel advance. Jesse took up the yell that came forth and charged at his nearest adversary. The man tried to turn Jesse’s weapon with his rifle, but missed, Jesse felt the bayonet slice deep into flesh. For an instant he saw his opponent’s eyes, the surprise, followed by a long gasp. Without thought Jesse yanked the bayonet out of the body, releasing a gush of blood. Another man came at him, Jesse sidestepped the charge and smashed the man’s jaw with his rifle butt. He swung round to face the next challenge but it never came, the Union forces had dissolved into the oncoming twilight, fighting was over for the day. Jesse went to find Joe, he found him sat by a tent, he was wreathed in tobacco smoke. He stood up as Jesse approached and they shook hands vigorously, Joe looked at his friend.

You look like hell, did you take on the whole Yankee nation?

Jesse took stock of himself. His middle was splashed with blood intermingled with bits of flesh, there was blood on his coat, boots and rifle, the bayonet was bright red. A bullet had gauged a path through the top of his hat.

What happened to you Joe?

We were lucky, the Yankees ran, I was able to fire ’ole Betsy here at will.

Joe helped Jesse to clean up as much as possible.

You look like a veteran already, he said.

They sat together lost in their own thoughts. Jesse lit his pipe and found his hand shaking. The day’s events were catching up but there was more to come. Word came that Stonewall Jackson was dead, shot by his own men, a terrible mistake. Jesse crawled into his bedroll but nightmares assailed him in a fitful sleep. He saw the face of the man impaled on his bayonet. His rifle butt crashed into a sea of faces, there was blood everywhere. He came upright in the darkness, sweating, Joe was beside him.

Steady Jesse, he said, he produced coffee in his tin mug, Jesse almost spilled it.

Eventually exhaustion took over and he settled down, Joe watched over him for a while before he too went to sleep.

The next day General Jeb Stuart and Confederate forces continued flanking manoeuvres. Robert E Lee attacked the Union front only hesitating when he could possibly be ouflanked himself. This day Jesse and Joe fought side by side united in the frenzy of war shooting, striking and bayoneting other human beings. There had to be an end to this carnage. A storm hit the land and Joseph Hooker used it as cover to withdraw his army from the field. Many of the Rebel troops were jubilant but others looked around and saw the human cost of the victory.

It was quiet, the sun was shining and the birds could be heard again. For three days the non-combatants had listened to the thunder of battle. They had seen smoke and flashes in the sky, they could only wonder at the hell hidden from their view. Mary and Kate were at the manor house, they were both fidgety and had cast aside attempts at needlework. Edgar was sat on the porch and it was he that heard the approach of Buchan’s militia.

They’re coming back ladies, he cried and the two women rushed to join him. The militia came into view, Mary and Kate’s hands went to their faces in consternation.

Buchan was still leading but his head was bowed, his uniform disheveled and his left arm heavily bandaged. Behind him the former enthusiastic march was now a shuffle. Many men were bandaged, some limped along on improvised crutches. Most noticeable was the reduction in numbers, half of Buchan’s force lay on the battlefield beyond human help. Edgar stepped out to talk to Buchan and Joe and Jesse moved toward the house.

Thank the Lord, Mary said.

Each son was clasped to his mother’s bosom. A mixture of tears and joy ensued as Edgar took the boy’s rifles and they all went inside. It seemed that Joe and Jesse had aged ten years, they were unshaven, dirty and their clothing bloodstained but it was the eyes that mirrored their inner pain. Nobody asked questions, all energy was devoted to feeding, watering and cleansing the young men. The next few days saw a procession of funerals as relatives recovered their loved ones as best they could. Peace returned but only for a short time. Once again the call to arms came and Buchan responded as before. Mary and Kate shed more tears and watched as the militia marched away again. This time there were fewer soldiers and enthusiasm was replaced by determination, another victory could see this war end.

The battle of Gettysburg had already been joined for twenty-four hours by the time Buchan led his men into the Rebel camp. They were immediately assigned to a Virginian regiment. It was soon business as usual as Joe and Jesse fought, rested and fought again. Yet another day passed, their fresh uniforms prepared by Mary and Kate were fresh no longer. Friday 3 July 1863 Joe and Jesse rose from their beds anticipating the continuation of fighting. To their surprise they enjoyed a leisurely breakfast. They could hear the noise of battle all around but they were held in reserve. The day was hot, the temperature rising to ninety degrees. A light lunch preceded calls for the Virginians to move. Together thousands of soldiers crowded into a large wooded area. This movement attracted attention of Union cannon placed on the aptly named Cemetery Ridge, trees were splintered and men died as they pressed themselves into the earth. At last the bombardment stopped and Lee’s cannon replied hoping to cripple the Northern defenses on the high ground. At a signal the men of the South emerged from the trees and slowly formed rank, Joe and Jesse were in the second wave, they could see the enormity of the task ahead. Cemetery Ridge was one mile away over open ground, the enemy poised, waiting. Ready now the men in grey were spoken to by their mounted officers, orders were barked and the juggernaut trundled forward. Shoulder to shoulder they advanced, their banners proudly carried into the fray. The Union cannons had survived the Confederate bombardment and as soon as their enemy was in range they opened fire. Grapeshot tore holes in the serried ranks before them. Limbs, bodies and weapons were hurled in all directions, blood flooded the battlefield but still they came on. Joe and Jesse blood spattered and deafened by the noise of conflict struggled onward. A shell exploded to Jesse’s immediate left, a shard of metal ripped into his knee and he screamed in agony and fell. He lay and whimpered with pain, blood flowing freely from the wound. The Rebel attack foundered on the Federal rock. Broken, Lee’s men staggered away from the butchery, slipping and sliding on their comrade’s blood as they made for their own lines. It was a big man that saw