Here's another in my series of very different stories entitled "Spring Storm."

Spring Storm


By now few men in the company could still keep track of how many patrols they had made. Though the hill people in the northwestern part of the state were generally Unionist in sentiment, there somehow never seemed to be any lack of bushwhackers to contest the issue. So it was that Corporal Reed and his fellow troopers had once again to head out from Fayetteville, to spend a few days riding up and down the Ozark hills, checking in on every least settlement, reassuring their fellow Unionists that they were protected, letting those of Secessionist loyalty know they were watched, and always keeping their eyes open for any rebel activity.

They had been on patrol for two days now and had begun to feel quite saddle-sore. Two days they had had of hard, rough riding and no sign of the enemy. It was a dull war, and yet Reed supposed he must count himself fortunate. He had seen what the war looked like when it ceased to be dull.

They rode now through a valley where they had yet to see a soul. The place had been settled before the war, by unionists. The Seceshes had run them all out in the spring of ’62. Nobody had returned. The fields were overgrown now and beginning to go back to wilderness. Most of the rail fences had disappeared, no doubt feeding one side or another’s campfires. When they checked the remaining houses and outbuildings they found nothing worth a cent left inside.

“Keep your eyes open!” Captain Bennett ordered, as they filed down the road from the latest deserted farm. “This is a fine place for an ambush.”
Most of the men had seen enough patrols to know that very well. A little earlier in the day Reed could have used the Captain’s reminder. They had seen a glorious morning, with mostly clear skies and pleasant spring breezes to keep them cool. The birds had sung cheerfully among the budding woods and underbrush. Even a man who knew better could almost forget that harm could happen on such a day.

In the last little bit clouds had rolled in from the west. The sky grew darker now. Now the breeze that stirred the treetops felt a bit ominous. Reed glanced around at the darkening hills and woods and wondered whether hostile eyes looked back at him right now, perhaps over the sights of rifles.

“Captain!” cried a trooper nearby. The trooper--it looked like Private Miller—pointed toward a nearby patch of wooded high ground. Reed saw movement. His hand tightened on the reins. He reached for his carbine.

A shot split the air. Several others followed in rapid succession. Reed heard a ball pass close to his head. Frightened horses neighed and reared. The Captain ordered the company to light for the nearest timber.

The next few moments were a chaos of scrambling, shouting horses and men. Shots continued to sound, some from the hills, some from Reed’s own men. The Captain shouted another order that Reed could not make out over the ruckus.

Then the skies opened and the rain poured down. The rain blinded Reed and his horse. He lost control of the animal and found himself galloping through the timber. Branches scratched his face and arms. Somehow he saw larger boughs through the rain just in time to duck or dodge them.

Finally he mastered his spooked mount. Already he felt soaked to the skin. He could not see any other men around him. From up in the sky somewhere he heard a deep, rolling rumble.

Shelter…he needed shelter. A little way off he saw a dark mass that might just be a building of some sort. It proved to be an open shed. Murmuring a prayer of thanks, he guided his horse beneath it. He dismounted and tied the mount up. Then he found himself a spot of dry ground beneath the shed where he could sit.

A brilliant flash lit the gloom. Hard on its heels followed an ear-splitting boom that echoed through the valley. Another flash and boom succeeded that one, and then another. It reminded him of the cannon fire at Prairie Grove a year and a half earlier. Only Heaven’s artillery sounded much louder, and infinitely more powerful.

Through the rain Reed saw someone moving toward the shed. He rose to a crouch and drew his side arm. No sooner had he done so when a man stumbled out of the rain and into the shed.

Reed recognized him immediately for a bushwhacker. The man wore ragged, patched clothing that bore little resemblance to a uniform. Most men in the war-impoverished region looked ragged, of course. What made the man clearly an enemy was the rifle he clutched in his hand.

The man had gotten completely under the shed’s roof before he realized that Reed was there. He started, mouth open in disbelief. Reed fixed his eyes on him, side arm at the ready.

“You set that down and I’ll put this away,” Reed greeted.

The man carefully laid his rifle on the dirt floor, keeping his eye on Reed. Reed holstered his own weapon. “Reckon the Lord done decided there ain’t goin’ to be no more fightin’ today.”

The bushwhacker managed a little bit of a smile on his heavily bearded face, visibly relieved. “I reckon you’re right.”

“Have yourself a seat,” Reed offered.

The man seated himself a few feet away. By now the thunder and lightning had moved on. The rain continued to pour down.

Reed and the rebel regarded each other. The man had that lean and hungry look he had seen on most Secessionist prisoners. Reed observed that his weapon looked like an “Arkadelphia rifle,” one of the makeshift arms cobbled together in the southern part of the state. He had seen a captured example demonstrated. The thing’s range and accuracy were no better than that of a shotgun. He felt sorry for any man who had to carry one.

“Never thought I’d be coming in out of the rain with a Yankee.”

The comment offended Reed. “I’m Arkansawyer born and bred. First Arkansas Volunteer Regiment. I’m no more Yankee than you.”

“So you’re one of them turncoats that’s been running us ragged all over these hills. How come you decided to fight for the blue-bellies? They pay you good?”

“I could ask you what they pay you to fight so some rich men in the flat country can keep on having somebody else do their work for them, instead of eating their bread by the sweat of their own faces like the Lord’s word says.”

“Wasn’t my idea that the Yankees come into our land and started telling everybody what to do. If they’d go back home I’d like nothing better’n to go back to mine.”

“Yeah, I can understand that,” Reed said. “All I wanted was to stay home and be let alone myself. Then about two years ago the Seceshes come through and run all the loyal families off up into Missouri. My younger brother didn’t run fast enough. Hindman’s men caught him and conscripted him into the rebel service. I figured then I was going to have to fight for somebody, so I joined up with the First Arkansas.”

The man stared at Reed. “Ever thought some time you might end up shooting at your own brother?”

“Last I heard they shipped him east to serve with an Arkansas regiment there. Reckon he’s fighting for the big planters over there what started the secession talk in the first place.”

The man seemed in no mood to continue the argument. He and Reed sat and watched the rain in silence for a while. Reed wondered where he had come from. He surely was no conscript, or he would have given himself up by now. Did he fight because he believed what the rebel leaders said about states’ rights? Had some encounter with Union forces given him a grudge of the sort that had contributed to Reed’s own choice to enlist?

He recalled what he had said earlier. Reckon the Lord done decided there ain’t goin’ to be no more fightin’ today. He wished the Lord would stop it all for good. He maketh wars to cease unto the end of the earth, the Psalm said. He breaketh the bow, and cutteth the spear in sunder; he burneth the chariot in the fire. Would he see that happen in his own lifetime, or did that lie further still in the times to come?

The rain slackened. Reed wondered whether to try taking the man prisoner. He could probably do it. It was his task, after all, to help put down the rebels. It might keep the man alive. But then he had as good as given the man his word that he would not try anything. This was no day for fighting, or for leading men captive.

The rain soon came almost to a stop. Reed got to his feet. “We’d best be taking our leave of each other now.”

“I suppose we had.” The bushwhacker got to his own feet and took up his rifle.

Reed untied and mounted his horse. He started in the general direction he reckoned his company would be. The rebel headed in more or less the opposite direction. Both men warily glanced back at each other until they were out of sight.

When the scattered company regrouped and called roll every man was present. One man had a flesh wound in his right arm. Another had lost his horse. The Captain assigned these two to ride double on the wounded man’s horse, the wounded man riding behind as best he could manage.

A sweep through the nearby woods turned up a couple of old campfire sites but no other signs of the enemy. The company found a good place to bivouac and began hunting for dry wood. The sky had begun to clear. They would probably have good weather to continue their patrol tomorrow.