Allred’s Deed

By Henry Nary

In 1864, State Representative, Elias Allred felt a conflict of conscience. As Sherman’s army pushed into Georgia, he faced a dire decision that might cost him his honor, his freedom, even his life.
As a partisan mountain war raged, Elias saw neighbors against neighbor. Vicious rebel gangs like the Jordan-Hanie bunch waged cruel raids on unionist folks. Undaunted, Allred formed a small party of trusted men who rode in search of union-lines and salvation. With caution to the wind, it’d be the hellish ride of their lives.
His wife Martha, feared she’ll never see her husband again as she was sent north for her protection.
What ensues puts Elias in an irreversible web of deceit, mistrust and a treacherous path to disloyalty. Soon he’s entangled in an unholy alliance with a mysterious master spy named, James G. Brown chief scout to Major General George Thomas.
Caught between loyalties, Elias Allred is an ardent unionist who wants his County citizens to defend themselves with guns supplied by the Yankees. He’s also sworn to his oath of office. All that changed when a murderous event at the hand of the Jordan-Hanie gang forces him into an act of treason.
Wanting revenge, the once reluctant Elias, agrees to spy for Brown, who has his own
plan; create a shadow government and a new state. It will be called, North Georgia.
Arrested, Elias is imprisoned. When Governor Joseph E. Brown summons him to his office. Elias is handed his sentence, but it sure wasn’t what he expected.
Here, tells a remarkable, gritty, and forgotten story. Largely inspired on the accounts of Elias W. Allred of Pickens County, Georgia who defied the Southern Confederacy. His audacious deed stands as a measure of ones courage and conviction.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Archway Publishing
• Release date: Feb 26, 2018
• ISBN: 9781480853805

Henry Nary

Henry Nary has worked as a copywriter for the Blue Bell Observer and has penned poems and short stories for anthologies. He is also the author of two short stories. An armchair history buff and avid Eagles and Phillies fan, he currently resides in the Philadelphia metro area.

Book preview

Copyright © 2018 Henry Nary.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Certain characters in this work are historical figures, and certain events portrayed did take place. However, this is a work of fiction. All of the other characters, names, and events as well as all places, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Scripture taken from the King James version of the Bible.

Archway Publishing

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.archwaypublishing.com

1 [phone]

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.

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.

ISBN: 978-1-4808-5381-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4808-5382-9 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4808-5380-5 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2018902171

Archway Publishing rev. date: 08/02/2019

CONTENTS

Introduction

Lincoln’s Memorandum

1

2

3

4

5

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

20

21

22

23

24

25

26

27

28

29

30

31

32

33

34

35

36

37

38

39

40

41

Epilogue

Material & Sources

The efforts which we make to escape from our destiny

only serve to lead us to it.

-Ralph Waldo Emerson

INTRODUCTION

I n 1864, Elias Allred faced a conflict of conscience. As Sherman’s army marched deep into Georgia, he faced a dire decision that might cost everything he had, even his life.

As a partisan mountain guerrilla war raged, Elias saw his neighbors pitted against each other in personal feuds and vicious partisan politics, while, even worse, lurking bushwhackers dealt out their own justice. It became a cruel war-within-a-war between Unionist elements and Confederate sympathizers. Elias knew that something had to be done. Soon, amid the raging savagery throughout north Georgia, he led a small party on a mission of mercy. His goal was to seek relief from an unfolding tragedy of vengeance, at least to some—one being his beloved wife, Martha.

Suddenly, Elias Allred, the state Representative from Pickens County, found himself caught between loyalties. But the murder of a dear relative forced him to choose sides. It set him on an irreversible course toward danger, disloyalty, and the gallows.

When Atlanta fell and Sherman marched toward Georgia’s antebellum state capital, Elias was arrested. His fate lay in the hands of Governor Joseph Brown, for whom Elias had garnered swing votes in the Governor’s bid for reelection; however, the Governor made a fateful decision that infuriated the Confederate legislature. He issued a decree of guilt against Elias, who escaped the capital with a bounty for his capture and a death sentence on his head.

Elias’s compelling story tells of his activities and of those he trusted in the later years of the Civil War. The story explores the core of civility, asks who we are as a people, and asks what we are as a nation. It also speaks to the price Elias paid for his heart-wrenching deed, a deed lost in the dust of time and the throes of a larger war between the states. The story follows a man of austere means, a man of godly virtue who found that his sworn loyalty to the Confederacy led him too far astray from his deepest sense of righteousness. His story can only be inspiring. Regretfully, Elias Allred left no diary or memoir. For this reason, and because of the fragmented nature of his accounts, the story needed embellishment. But the core of his story remains factual and untold, until now.

62627x.png

LINCOLN’S MEMORANDUM

The will of God prevails. In great contests, each party claims to act in accordance with the will of God. Both may be, but one must be wrong. God cannot be for and against the same thing at the same time. In the present Civil War it is quite possible that God’s purpose is something different from either party. Yet the human instrumentalities, working as they do, are of the adaptation to effect his purpose. I am almost ready to say that this is probably true; that God wills this contest, and wills that it shall not end yet. By his mere great power on the minds of now contestants he could have either saved or destroyed the Union without human contest. Yet the contest began. And having begun he could give the final victory to either side any day. Yet the contest proceeds.

Those were the written words of a restless President Abraham Lincoln that were issued to his Cabinet, on September 21, 1862, following the bloody battle of Antietam. No one could ever have imagined such burdens on any one man, but then they weren’t in north Georgia, either.

1

D uring the summer of 1864, the deep heat of fear was gripping. Elias Allred felt its biting breath like packs of wolves tearing apart wounded prey. Alone on horseback, he traveled a thickly wooded stretch of lonely, windy rufous dirt road, wary of bushwhackers in the wake of Sherman’s scorching march. Now these peaked north Georgia mountains, had become a pleasured hunting ground of the ole’ devil himself.

Undaunted and not one to cower, Elias pressed on, thinking these times were like moonlight casting maddening shadows that mingled with a dark reality. He knew if the war wasn’t already tragic enough, it had also caused good friends to become bitter foes, scornful and vindictive to the bone. His ponderings brought a wrinkle to his brow, and the corners of his lips curled down sadly as he recalled the awful accounts of the great battles of Gettysburg and Vicksburg that had been posted a year earlier in Pickens County. Elias believed the defeats of Lee’s army of northern Virginia and John C. Pemberton’s Mississippi forces spelled certain doom for the Confederacy. Since then, thousands of angry, soulless Georgia boys, wracked with a sense of dissolution, had straggled back, hoping to make some sense of what was left of their past lives. Scores had joined with mounted gangs, who now dealt terrible retribution against those they felt had betrayed them.

Still, Elias had other feelings, especially on salvation and the unknown. With resistance in the west vanquished, his vivid vision was that worse days were ahead for the ragtag Georgia troops. He also knew little would impede the Union army from unleashing its wrath upon this soil. It was because of this loathsome situation that he came to realize something drastic had to be done. And it needed to be done prudently, with prayers to God every night that it wasn’t already too late. However, he felt a sense of relief knowing his journey was nearing its end.

Having come up from Harnedgeville, Elias quietly slipped into the town of Jasper, safely reaching his destination. He checked his pocket watch; it was almost three o’clock in the afternoon.

His appearance seemed to be a simple farmer or trapper, even some wandering peddler. He arrived at a place where he’d often stayed.

Elias Allred, slim with a touch of gray around the temples dismounted in a dark coat and trousers, a banded felt hat and darkish brown boots. With a handled canvass bag in hand holding a few personal items, he’d hitched his horse. Entering a two-floor establishment made of yellow pine hewn logs chinked in red clay, his crisp blue eyes focused on the clerk as he walked toward him.

Representative Allred, he said with a smile. It’s real nice seeing you again, on business?

You could say that, he tentatively replied.

The clerk smiled.

Well now, sign the register and I’ll fetch you a key.

Elias inked his name, saying he was here for one day.

Curious, the clerk asked, Usually you stay a week, or more?

Elias forced a miserly grin. Sadly, not this time.

Okay, the clerk replied sensing a difference in his usual mood. If you don’t mind me saying, but you look a bit tense today, are you feeling alright?

I’m fine. I just had a hard and quite dangerous ride.

It’s a mighty shame we have to deal with all this trouble! he said, adding, Well, this should ease your mind, some of our home guard boys are now sweeping through the County to deal with the damn Yankee sentiment here. We’re real proud of our boys in gray, at least I am. You as well, I guess!

With a dead stare he said, Now all this trouble could’ve been avoided, but knowing it’s now a real bad, undoable situation, maybe it’s due time someone puts the will of God to work.

Perhaps so, the clerk sullenly mulled with a shrug. The clerk got the feeling, Allred’s expression and the tone of his words had meant something very different than the words he spoke. Now he wondered if he had revealed a little too much to Allred. He quickly switched subjects. Well, now that we both agree on it, let me say, be mindful breakfast is seven a.m. sharp so don’t be late now. Old man Peters has come down from his farm to sell his usual lot of harvest crops. He’s in room one and he eats more than the hogs he raises! Only a warning to you so you know. Oh yeah, he also snores like a bear tearing down a henhouse.

I’ve heard the many tall story of him, Elias told him.

The clerk smiled, remarking, Now you sound like a man who’s worn to the nub, so I’ll keep my mouth shut and let you go get rest for whatever you need to do later. He then gave him the key to room two.

Elias walked to the stairwell, only to pause. Turning his head to the clerk, he said, If I miss my chance for breakfast it’ll be the least of my worries.

The clerk gave him an odd stare.

Elias continued up to his room, then walked down the hall and halted. He opened the room’s door and went inside.

He rented a room for the night at the boardinghouse off the Blue Ridge Road near the edge of town. Any news of the war seemed distant to him. After all, Georgia had so far been spared such grief.

He had once declared that a tragic divide of this proud nation was avoidable. Alas, it had since become a life-and-death struggle between two entrenched powers. Yet he was determined to see that the right one prevailed. To him it was far more than just some glorious idea or the roots of wicked money; it was about righteousness. He sensed that some Greek tragedy would surely come about if this savage, unholy measures is left to its own devices.

Feeling like a knight from the Middle-Ages searching, hoping to rectify what he believed was a dishonor upon Georgia. Elias felt compelled to follow the dictates of his conscience. After all, he had thought himself a true Southerner, a Southerner with the fierce, dogged nature of a hunger-starved wolf.

During his ride, he had contemplated Governor Joe Brown’s decree that his county supply men to fill the ranks for the southern Confederacy’s defense. Hopefully, they would proudly take their secured places in the gallant cause, proving their honor and courage.

He had beckoned the young men to fight for the freeman’s rights against the encroachment of that wickedly dangerously black Republican Yankee administration in Washington. Several hundred had heeded their county’s clarion call, if for no other reason than for the sake of their family pride.

Elias mulled over the haunting words as if scarred by a hot branding iron that had been spoken at the beginning of the War Between the States. He also knew those sentiments hadn’t come from the virulent mouths of fiery slaveholders in the lowland plantations of Georgia but from his own county’s grand jury proclamation back in February of 1861.

Curiously enough, James Simmons, one of Elias’s closest acquaintances, who had ardently pleaded for Georgia to not take this course, was a delegate to Georgia’s secession convention. Simmons’s words had fallen on deaf ears; however, he had declared he would yield to the will of the majority for the sake of unity and the defense of Georgia and his county.

But since then everything had changed. Most of the sympathy and support for the Confederate government had severely ebbed here in the mountains. Now, Elias Allred about to take a drastic step. He had believed this day was bound to come, since a notorious act of defiance against the authorities under Governor Joseph E. Brown had taken place.

The display took place in Jasper weeks after Georgia had seceded. Elias vividly recalled hearing of the event, in which a U.S. flag had been hoisted up by several unknown men in the dark of night—clearly meant as a bold, open act of defiance against the Confederacy. The flag had stayed flying for several months.

As Elias learned, it was the last U.S. flag to wave in the southern Confederacy. The provocative act was soon brought to the attention of Governor Brown in the Georgia capital of Milledgeville. Surprisingly, his less-than-forgiving staff saw the Governor as oddly cautious, if not sympathetic. He understood the situation of those mountain people, and he refused to send troops to quell any disgruntled folks or to cut down the flag.

Elias knew of this open statement to the people of Pickens County too. Brown had said, Let the flag fly. It was over our fathers, and we all loved it. We have only been compelled to lay it aside by the injustice that has been practiced under its fold. If the people of Pickens desire to hang it out and keep it there, let them do so. I will send no troops to interfere with it.

The flag was eventually downed by the winds of a strong storm as war raged between North and South. That was three years ago. Now the terrible, bloody war had come to Georgia’s doorstep like a vengeful fist, and, as Sherman promised, Georgia would howl.

A clattering rumble in the still July morning interrupted his thoughts. A watchful dog barked as the sounds of horses hooves echoed from the road. A party of twenty young riders made their way down the abandoned, tree-rimmed street at the fringe of town. A mix of jangles, creaking leather, and the snorts of horses masked the groans of a tired, gray-clad Confederate Home Guard patrol that halted in the center of town. The filthy lead officer had his men water their horses at the town’s well. It seemed a welcome spell. The party would soon be bound for parts unknown.

Elias stirred restlessly, and his eyes cracked open. His wispy dream abruptly ended, and he murmured under his breath, Blasted noise! His squinty eyes slowly drew in the morning light.

The north-central Georgia town of Jasper, the seat of Pickens County, had seen increased Confederate cavalry movement in response to a massive federal army under Major General William Sherman, who had begun his campaign into Georgia, this past spring.

Rumors had spread that some Yankee patrols had foraged into the county. The local citizenry had been on edge, and this feeling deepened into fear in the midsummer of 1864.

As morning’s light eked through the top-floor window, Elias felt no different. His deep blue eyes shifted to the window, draped with long white curtains, as noise came from the street. He’d heard the voices and commands and didn’t have to look to know what was down on the quiet and dusty streets of Jasper.

In a somber mood, he noticed a fellow in civilian dress remaining on his horse but thought little of it. He mumbled under his breath, It seems these fellows come around here real curious. It’s like they’re looking for something, but they never stick around very long, they leave as quiet as they arrived like as the others have. They’re likely planning on joining up with General Braxton Bragg’s Confederate Army of Tennessee boys in defense of Atlanta.

Then, reaching down under the blanket, he gently pulled out a loaded pistol and placed it on the table beside the bed. For a moment, he stared at it as if it spoke to him.

With a flick of his wrist, he flipped off the rumpled blanket. He gave a heavy stare toward the window peaked his interest. His bare feet swung over and plopped down on a knotty pine floor. The drifting thoughts he had in the deep of night gave way to an uneasy reality.

Elias gingerly edged toward the top-floor window of the musty, log-laid room, and there he saw the cause of all the noise. With a cold glance, he squinted through a knothole. He gazed at a home guard on the road as he rode off. By the sounds of the other men’s rowdy voices, he understood why they all were in a spirited mood.

Then the commanding officer gave voice and hand gestures directing that the mounted civilian be pulled from his horse. It was now evident that he might be a draft evader.

Elias could see that the young fellow had his hands bound and his neck collared by a rope tied in a noose. Elias shook his head while he drew on his memory of those who had been scooped up for little or no reason or had been thought of as disloyal. He felt deep empathy for the young fellow and hoped his family was told, and soon. He knew too, that good men were in scarce supply in these parts, and the poor, unlucky fellow might vanish from this earth by nightfall.

As he slowly turned away, Elias went over to a bedside table where a Bible lay. He sat on the edge of the bed and groggily rubbed his flushed face. He then hunched forward, stretched out his hand, grasped the book, and drew it toward him. Thumbing over the pages with a twitching finger, he found the passage where he’d left off the night before, and, with stoic silence, read the passage again. He hoped to regain the inspiration he so badly sought.

Thinking over the plan that had led to such an uneasy night, Elias knew it was perilous. At first, he gnawed on the notion to go it alone. While resting his forearms on his lap, he mulled over the contrary opinions offered to him from a trusted close circle of friends. He gave it more serious thought. He now came to the hard realization that, considering the rigors and risks to come, this was something too harrowing for just one man.

You need at least a dozen men, he recalled one friend had suggested. In that way, you’ve got plenty of protection!

Many names were bandied about, but Elias felt five were enough. He told them, That’s plenty, since we need to travel fast! As he thought of whom he’d ask, he knew he needed those he could truly trust with his life—ones who wouldn’t fail him in a bind. He knew they must keep this plan to themselves and possibly their closest family members.

Pulling off his nightshirt, he dressed, putting his woolen stockings on last and tugging them up. He finished dressing in more suitable attire for an affair so early in the day.

Elias paused a moment and looked around. He then went and sat at a small table. There, on scrap paper, he took to pen and ink, and wrote a brief but endearing letter to his wife, Martha. He planned to hand it to the desk clerk; in the event something dire happened to him, Martha would get the letter. He methodically folded it in thirds and tucked it in the front pocket of his coat.

He left his rented room, closing the door. He went down to the front desk and gave the letter to the clerk, explaining what he wanted him to do. Now, see that she gets this at once, all right? he firmly added.

Sure thing, replied the thin-haired clerk. Say, did you hear the latest news about our boys?

Well, I’ve been riding awhile … haven’t heard much talk. So, what was it?

The clerk raised his brow. In that case, Mister Allred, let me be the first to tell you about the news that we’ve scored a great victory over those Yankees down at Kennesaw Mountain—stopped them cold. The talk says they were seen in retreat.

Retreat, is it?

That’s what they say. What do you think of that? he said, grinning.

That’s some news, all right! he replied. But I’ll tell you what I really think … I think it’s all come far too late.

With a glum stare, the desk clerk put Elias’s letter into a mail slot behind him. He turned back to him. I’d say that’s a curious kind of answer, but I reckon you got a right to think the way you want. Anyway, he added, I do favor any sort of belated victory over none at all, Mister Allred; don’t you think so?

I favor decency over deceit. As for being too late … it’s become dangerous to think out loud these days, so I’ll keep my mouth shut for the time being.

I wouldn’t go spreading that kind of talk. But I guess I can’t blame you. Anyway, have a good day, Mister Allred. Take it slow now. It’ll be a hot one today by the way sweat is flooding my arm pits.

Being fair friends with the clerk, Elias knew that his wish for the letter’s delivery would be honored.

He left the rooming house and headed off down the road to the house of James Simmons. He’ll pay his dear friend an important visit. Arriving at the two story Victorian style home with two stone chimneys on each end, atypical for the South, he gazed around seemingly guarded in his approach. He wore his long, black frock and matching suspendered wool pants. He then removed his tan brimmed hat. He walked up the wooden steps to the porch entry and quietly entered as if he were expected. Once inside, Elias was greeted by a few people. They told him everyone was waiting for him in the large front room. He saw the activity and walked in with his hat-in-hand. His eyes then caught Jim Simmons off to the side and Elias gave a firm nod. The family members of the five men he carefully chose for something dangerous were also there. After Simmons, he stepped to each of the others and shook their hand. One of the men was the Sheriff of Pickens County, Bob McCuthen. Next to him, Miles Berry and to his right, the youngest of them, John Evens, arguably the best shot in the County. They’ll accompany Elias on a secret and perilous mission. No words were really needed between them, just knowing there was a deep-seated trust and loyalty. Slowly, Elias turned to their families with a somber stare knowing that some doubtful fears remained.

One of the wives approached Elias. She seemed curious about his wife Martha. Please excuse me if I get personal but why isn’t your dear Martha here? she asked.

He paused then gave the reason. Well the truth is, Martha is very much against me doin’ this. She said she just couldn’t bear to see me ride off, feelin’ I’ll never return. So, fearing she’ll become so teary eyed that she’ll look like some fool. So, I didn’t want to force her. She remains back in Harnageville until my return. Such a silly woman, he snickered, half-jokingly wanting to lighten the mood.

Why, I can understand her feelings, she replied. The woman walked away as the chatter died down.

With most of the families gathered closely, he told them of his seeing a vision of the mind— a sort of oracle, he told them. He believed it was God’s wish that he do this deed. Elias then asked if they would accompany him on his quest in seeking deliverance. He was delighted when every man agreed. A time and day were mutually agreed upon, and all shook hands in a firm commitment—perhaps even a sort of unspoken bond.

Earlier on the day of their departure, each man went about in quiet preparation: saddles, loaded pistols, gunpowder, and caps, as well as ball-muzzle loads. Bowie knives and canteens were also laid out and cleaned for use. Later that day, amid brimming eyes and passionate parting words, little could disguise the worry of family members. They told the men the home fires would burn in their anxious hearts awaiting their safe return.

None of the men wanted an overly emotional send-off, so each bid his family a quiet, solemn goodbye. Then, one by one, they discretely left and led their horses on foot toward a stable at the far edge of town. There, in the swelter of the late day, in what Elias once termed, God’s fiery kiln, the five brave men gathered in secret. Their dire expressions seemed to embrace the reality of the moment as they gave a last check of fastened saddle straps, bridles, and guns. Then each mounted up. With few words spoken, the six now appeared poised.

Y’all good to go? Elias asked them. Now, if y’all want to back out, now’s the time to do it.

Each man gave a confirming nod while taking a firm grasp of his horse’s reins.

Elias politely nodded and then spoke words of inspiration. May all of us stay safe and be steadfast and righteous in our diligent ride. And may we do our parts in putting a sharp sword to the serpent that bites us.

That sounds good to me! one of the others voiced.

All right, then; let’s head off, he said. And follow my backside. Stay close if you want to keep seeing it too, for I’m going to have the wind at my back like the old devil himself fleeing a hot-blooded Sunday morning revival meeting. Dispensing with any further pithy sentiments, he swung his horse around. He was the first to leave.

In a warm brew of late afternoon in early July 1864, the others followed suit. They slipped out of the town of Jasper, Georgia, the Pickens County seat in north Georgia. Hoping they were unseen, the small party headed into the brilliant sunset, their long dark figures dancing amid a cloud of swirling dust.

It wasn’t long before knowledge of the ride spread through the families of the riders and quiet, feverish prayers were being murmured. Still, gossip persisted that the party would never return.

Meanwhile, the hour waned into a spawning dusk as Elias Allred led them on a long furious ride following deep ruts of a wagon road. It was thought that President Andrew Jackson had had the road cut in order to march a tough, hardtack army from Tennessee southward to fight the ghostly Seminole in Florida’s swamps thirty years ago. Elias wasn’t sure if the whole story was true, but he thought it made good talk as his party pushed on.

Hearing faint but distinct sounds echoing in the warm haze of the craggy gorge ahead, he halted. While he listened, he gently untied the corked old cedar-wood canteen strapped to his saddle and guzzled some cool, quenching water. He was all too certain the sounds were crackling gunshots, maybe a dozen. He knew trouble had let itself be known. He felt like the angel of death had now laid down an ominous gauntlet, daring him and his party to keep going straight into his razor-sharp teeth.

Elias’s fingers dug into his vest pocket. He took out the timepiece given to him by his father and flipped open the lid. In the dimming sunlight, he could barely see the hour hand, but he saw enough to know it was just after eight o’clock. Closing the cover with a soft snap, he tucked it back into his vest as he continued on his way up and along the edge of the hairpin curves of the windy road toward the hill’s crest. Amidst the abundant patches of sweet summer berries, he didn’t stop to pluck some tasty nibbles in fear of being seen on such high ground. His main focus now was on finding the locations of any Yankee troops cutting a swath of terror while they marched pell-mell through the mountains of north Georgia.

It was no secret that the eventual prize for the Union army would be the capture of Atlanta, the hub of the Deep South.

They came upon a dark, shrouded valley below. Wearing his long black frock coat, badly soiled by dust, dirt, and years of use, he pondered on the foreboding bottom hollow. He nudged back his wide-brimmed hat, which had seen better days, and felt as though a piece of hard gristle was lodged in his throat. However, he socked his riding boots deep in the brass stirrups and made a calculated decision. Firmly prodding his horse, Elias made his way down into the murk, and mire of the dark woods, with a murmur of a prayer on his lips and raw gumption teetering on his shoulder.

In a hard descent through thorny thicket brush, he sunk beneath the silhouette of a mountain peak. His face, once scorched by sweltering heat, now cooled as a blueberry sky, and sparkling flies and disquieting night critters, made their existence known; however, he knew all too well other critters would roam like a scourge of rampaging demons.

Being deeply superstitious, he prayed he wouldn’t second-guess himself by not going on. His eyes veered to the silvery, polished moon slipping behind clouds with the feeling that a bad omen could come with a moon of madness.

Elias’s disquiet stemmed from his being a devout man of God. He was well versed in holy scriptures and believed in the prophecy of the coming end times. He suspected the rapture, and that it may have now come to this place and time.

Still, he garnered comfort in his soul while possessing a profound strength in clutching his old frayed Bible to his pounding chest. He sensed God’s very hand and trinity seeping through like thick ink on a wet, spongy page. His jackknifed arm caressed the book ever tightly to his long, ruffled dark coat lapel. His wary eyes peered into the darkness for anything awry while he tapped a finger nervously on the black book’s spine.

He remembered when General Sherman and his treacherous hordes of blue-bellies had invaded their land and brought their woeful way of war to Georgia. All Sherman did, he knew, was to come along and tear off the scab of a long festering sore that now boiled over onto everyone’s lap.

Whether a burn or a boil, it really wasn’t worth a spit of difference to him. He knew this fight now meant one had to choose—to be either right or wrong, good or evil. And if one were wrong either way, retribution could come awfully quick at the point of a gun. Elias always figured it was good practice for a fellow to make peace with God before it was too late. He remembered his old granddaddy once saying, Nothing steers a man away from his good sense more than drifting away from the Lord’s word and dear grace. It’ll surely land one right into the lap of stupidity and cause sheer desperation of the mind.

The worry his dear wife expressed came to mind too. She feared his journey was far too risky, and he really couldn’t say she was wrong, for these mountains now swarmed with waylaying, partisan bushwhackers.

In a low mumble, he said, I bet y’all are out there waiting to pounce on some unwary fellow. But, he added, I sure know better!

Fearing that the clack of the hooves of his horse, Missy, might betray him, he hoped the crickets and gentle rustle of the breeze hid his presence. Meanwhile, he wondered if he had tied himself to a twister’s whirlwind; would it suck him in and blow him away like a mere speck of dust?

Abruptly, he gazed back at the four other men who were in his company. By now he could only wonder if they too felt the same as he did, as if a mighty inspiration devoured them and they needed to go on by God’s urging.

Elias figured they should soon be approaching the location where Sherman’s roving Yankee foragers reportedly were last seen.

Gazing to the heavens, Elias removed his brimmed hat and placed it over his heart. Pondering a moment, he muttered out the words of a simple, self-conceived prayer. Oh, dear and only God, he said with soft passion, "I’ll be a might obliged if you