PenWomanShip

Yes, my dear Miranda, I was quite a heroine after my encounter with the Yankees. The story was told and retold in the family and the community, its claims growing with each telling. That was back forty-odd years ago, not long after your father’s birth. And do you know, you’re the only grandchild who has expressed an interest? So I’ll tell you the whole story, just as it happened.

The year was 1862, the second year of the War between the States, and the month was October, my favorite time of the year, when harvest is done, the woods stand aglow with color, and the air turns crisp. At that time, we knew of the war, of course. Rumors abounded in the community as the men talked of little else at church meetings and in town. Nathan Forest had marched off to join the war in June of the previous year, taking with him many of our finest young men, but up to that point, our lives had not been touched directly by the conflict. Living where we did in the Thick community near Chapel Hill, Tennessee, we felt relatively safe as the fighting took place in other parts of the country.

Your grandfather Edward ran the general store and spent his days there at the crossroads, a good two miles from our home. I was left in charge of the children and the farm, but had the help of our hand Joel and his wife Flutie who lived in a cabin on our place with Felix, the only son they had left at home.

At the beginning of the war, we had been warned to keep all of value under lock against marauders, so around my waist I wore a length of twine to hold the ring of keys required for the outbuildings: the corn crib, the smoke house, the supply shed where the tools and harnesses were kept, and the root cellar which held our winter store of turnips, Irish potatoes, cabbages and pumpkins.

On this memorable fall day, our neighbor George Humphreys rode over in the afternoon to inform me that the Clays had lost everything in their smokehouse and root cellar during the night.

“Musta been a band of ‘em,” he said. “The dogs set to barking, but with his boys off to war, Clarence was scared to poke his nose out. Since that stroke, he don’t get around so good and can’t fire a gun with one arm useless. So him and her laid in the bed a listenin’ whilst the dogs fell silent one by one. Come daylight, they found all three of them dogs knocked in the head, two dead and one near. Had to been Yankee soldiers, deserters more’n likely since there’s not been no word of fightin’ in these parts.”

I thanked him for the news and he rode off to warn others. Calling Joel from his chores at the barn, I said, “I’ll be riding over to the Clay place directly. Yankees have cleaned out their winter’s food supply. Fetch me a ham, some potatoes, and a cabbage or two.” I untied the twine from around my waist to hand over the keys.

“Yessum, Miss Emma, but you be careful, you hear? It ain’t safe fer no lady out on the road these days. You want I should go with you?”

“No, you stay and guard the farm. Bettie and Eliza Jane can help Flutie watch the baby. And you watch after them.”

“Yessum, I sho will. I’ll take care of ‘em, I will.”

“Tell Felix to saddle up Old Dexter.”

“Yessum, I will, Miss Emma. I sho will.” Joel set off for the barn to find his son as I turned to go inside. After instructing Flutie, I ordered Bettie, who was thirteen at the time, to watch after her sister and her baby brother. I pulled Edward’s Starr double action revolver from the top of the pie safe and loaded it.

“Bar the door behind me and do not leave the house until I return,” I instructed Bettie. “Open the door only for me or your father.”

I took a long look at my beautiful Bettie, bouncing baby John on her hip, and blonde Eliza Jane rocking her rag doll in the baby’s cradle. Reluctantly I turned to go, giving a prayer of thanks that we had no boys old enough to fight. We could have used boys to help on the farm, but we managed. Many who had depended on their boys were learning to make do without them and suffering the agony of not knowing their whereabouts or condition.

I lifted my bonnet and crocheted shawl from the peg by the door and stepped outside just as Joel led my little black horse alongside the porch. He held Dexter close to the porch while I eased the revolver into the holster attached to the sidesaddle and mounted in front of the tow sacks of food he’d tied together to hang on either side.

I called to my little brown mongrel, “Curly Jack, come.” He sprang from among the hounds which lay about the doorstep and bounded onto the porch. With a leap, he landed in my arms. I had trained him to ride, and he liked nothing better. Once I had him settled in front of me, Joel handed me the reins and tied the basket to the tow sacks. I bid him farewell.

“You take care, Miss Emma.”

“I will, Joel, thank you. You keep your shotgun loaded and nearby while you work.”

“Yessum. I sho will do that. I sho nuf will.”

I clicked my tongue and Dexter clopped across the yard and onto the road. So caught up was I in the beauty of the woods, the yellows, oranges and reds of the leaves, the nippy feel of the air, the intense blue of the October sky that, for a time, I forgot my mission and the hidden dangers which might be lurking before me; however, I was soon reminded when Curly Jack growled, then sprang from my arms. Never before had he done such a thing. With his neck hairs bristled, he headed straight into the woods.

I wanted to call him back, but thought better of it. He knew the way home. Should he confront marauders, I would not be able to save him. He was quick and small, brown like the fallen leaves, so his chances of escape were good should they attempt to shoot him. I doubted they would waste ammunition or risk revealing their presence.

I gave Dexter a kick in the ribs and rode on a little faster, the basket and sacks of food bouncing on his flanks. More alert now, I looked not at leaves, but deep into the woods, searching for signs of men. As I rode on, I tried to reassure myself, thinking Curly Jack had possibly caught the scent of an animal of some sort.

When I reached the Clays’ farm, I delivered the food and instructed them to send word when they needed more, but they knew that would not be necessary. Other neighbors would share, and I myself intended to return with further provisions as the winter progressed.

Though I would have enjoyed a fireside chat, I bid them good day and set off toward home as the shadows lengthened. Deep woods stood along a good portion of the road home, blocking all sun. I pulled my shawl tight around my shoulders and held Dexter to a brisk trot. He seemed as eager as I to reach home.

I soon came upon Curly Jack, sitting by the high side of the road not far from where he had jumped off. Pulling Dexter to a halt alongside the embankment, I called to the little dog. He leapt straight into the air as if on springs, and I caught him and set him in place. His presence served to reassure me, his ears being far keener than my own. His safe return helped convince me I had nothing to fear.

We had traveled on about half a mile when Jack tensed and gave a low, rumbling growl. I peered ahead into the gloom and spied two bearded men in ragged Union uniforms. They stepped out of the woods to block my way.

I pulled Dexter to a halt leaving several yards between us and the soldiers, not wanting to draw close enough for them to be able to take hold of Dexter’s bridle. Curly Jack bristled. “Hush, Jack,” I whispered, as I slipped my hand toward the holster. I could only pray that these men had been raised to respect ladies.

When the Yankees started toward me, I pulled out the revolver and shouted, “Halt! Step to your left, both of you.” I spoke with far more boldness than I felt, as the beating of my heart thundered in my ears.

Each looked to the other, unsure what to do next. Then the older of the two, a large man who held a rifle, began to ease toward me. “All we want is your horse. We ain’t going to hurt you.”

I fired. Dust flew up between his boots, and he jumped back. I raised the revolver a little higher and pointed it toward his heart, willing my hand to stop trembling. As I did so, the other man began to edge toward me on the left.

“Halt!” I shouted again. “I cannot shoot you both at once, but I will take you with the gun first, and then I will shoot the other. I never miss a squirrel.” I prayed the good Lord’s forgiveness for such a lie. “Now stand together well off the road,” I ordered.

The big man must have decided the horse was not worth the risk, for he stepped to the side of the road and motioned for the younger one to do the same.

As soon as I had enough room to pass outside their reach, I said, “If either of you tries to touch the bridle or me, I will shoot.” Then I kicked Dexter into a full gallop and charged past them, holding the reins and Curly Jack with my left hand while I kept the revolver trained in their general direction with the right.

With my heart pounding faster than Dexter’s hooves, I rode into the yard calling for Joel. He ran from the barn, shotgun in hand.

“Lord have mercy, Miss Emma. You all right?”

Assuring him that I was, I related my experience. As I started toward the door, I looked up to see Flutie and the girls looking out from the doorway, their faces registering grave concern. I asked Joel and Felix to take one of the hounds with them to guard the barn, then carried Curly Jack inside with me and stationed Bettie at the front window and Eliza Jane at the back.

Edward arrived from the store to find us still watching, our weapons close at hand. We spent an uneasy night, with Joel and Felix in the barn with one dog, and the rest of us in the house. Flutie did not want to leave her cabin unguarded, but we convinced her to sleep upstairs with the children. She tied her dog to a tree near the cabin so he would alert us should anyone approach from that direction, which was unlikely considering there was no road.

I stretched out with Edward on a pallet spread near the door. Sure the dogs would bring to our attention any intruder, we slept, though restlessly. At morning light, Edward saddled his horse and set out to gather the neighbors to search for the bandits.

“We’ll scour these woods till the scoundrels are found and the stolen goods returned. They can’t have got far on foot.” He rode off, his back straight with determination.

Edward returned not an hour later to notify us there would be no search. He learned the Yankees had waylaid Curwood Agee, a cocky little dandy who had become wealthy through buying up land and household goods when families fell upon hard times. Agee had unwillingly provided the Yankees with a wagon and a fine team of mules. They had stopped him not long after I passed, also relieving him of his coat, hat, trousers, shoes, and a fine gold pocket watch. While we did regret the Yankees being so well provisioned for their escape and sustenance, we took some comfort in knowing the vulture, Curwood Agee, at long last, had received his comeuppance. And I was quite the heroine for protecting myself and escaping, while a man fell victim.

This story is based on the following account written by my dad’s cousin Ludelle Cathey Dickey:

Emma E. or Grandma Wilson was quite a character. She ran her household with a firm hand but well organized. She carried a large ring of keys on her belt at all times, to keep the people from stealing the meat, corn, store room supplies, etc.

She had a little dog that she trained to ride the horse with her. Once while coming to see my Grandpa Columbus and Mama Jenna, the little dog jumped off the horse and ran off into the woods, but she rode on. When they came to the corner of the woods lot, there was a corner post made of stones and there sat the little dog ready to jump aboard and ride the rest of the way.

During the Civil War, Grandma was riding Old Dexter to visit her daughter Bettie E. White when two Yankee soldiers stepped out of the woods into the road, one on either side and told her to halt. She stopped before she got to them and pulled out her pistol, told both of them to stand on the same side of the road and if either tried to touch Dexter's bridle or herself she would shoot them. They took her at her word and allowed her to pass which she did at a run.