A CONFEDERATE SCRAPBOOK
July 7th, 1871
Barstow Trading Post, California
It had been well over a year since Joshua had waded out into the warm muddy water of the Colorado on that early morning. Over a year since he heard the sound of the rifle fire, and watched his brother's lifeless body float back past him to the other shore. Over a year since he had grasped onto the hand, throwing away every last ounce of strength in his body to help that hand pull him onto the other shore. The free shore. The California shore. Over a year since he had looked at the smiling face that belonged to that hand. A white face. And a voice that seemed almost dream-like in his deep weariness. "C'mon, boy. You're safe now. C'mon up here. C'mon." He never really did get a good look at that face. He didn't see much of anything that dark morning. Just fragments of faces. Quick blasts of sound. Flashes in the darkness. All he could really see, over and over again, was Pete's still body floating under the moonlight in that muddy river.
Even today, when he closed his eyes, he could still hear the gunfire, and see Pete floating back towards the other shore, as if it was happening again right then, right there. As if nothing had changed since that moment, when he realized he'd never see his brother again. He remembered that he cried that night. He didn't recollect having ever cried anytime before. It was a new feeling inside of him that night, and one he still felt some guilt for. For he knew he was crying for his brother. He knew those were tears from an emptiness that he had never faced yet in his forty odd years. But there was something else. Elation. Euphoria. An exhausted sense of victory. He knew even at that instant that those were also tears of joy. Because there he had sat, having walked half-stumbling half-carried for an unknown amount of time to a warm fire, sitting with a blanket around his shoulders and a trembling tin of coffee in his hands, a free man. Even the curious, ragged looking soldiers in their mix-matched uniforms sitting around him had said it. "Why you cryin', boy? You're a free man now."
He was a free man now. His brother had bought his freedom for him with his life. And the good Lord had accepted that payment. It was a debt he knew he had to work off for the rest of his life.
"Lawdy, but it's gonna be a hot one agin today, " he exclaimed to nobody in particular. The supply wagon had arrived late last night, and he was just now getting around to unloading it, having spent most of the morning repairing the corral fence that butted up against Barstow Trading Post, where he had been working doing odd jobs for the owner for the last year since his weary arrival in Califonia. He was dropped off here by some of the California Regulars, a few coins in his pockets along with a small slab of bacon, with no plans on where to go next, no thought of what he was going to do, and no idea as to where he was, other than that it was somewhere called the "Mo-HAH-vee" Desert. He still got a chuckle when he thought about those small, spiney, bent trees that covered the land around him sharing his name.
"Joshua. That damned wagon ain't gonna unload itself, you know. I don't pay ya to stand around starin' at the damned wagons. I pay ya to unload the things."
Joshua turned around at the sound the tall, thin, balding man with the scratched spectacles standing on the porch of the trading post.
"Oh, yessah, Mister Everett, sah. I was just gittin' round to startin' on this here wagon. Have it all unloaded in jus' a jiff, there, sah." Joshua smiled. Bill Everett was a hard man, but a good man. Well, good for a white man, he supposed. He paid him for his work, something Joshua had never had before. Hired him on the same day he stepped half dazed into the trading post from the blazing desert sun. And Joshua was a hard worker. Always had been. He did a little bit of everything for Mister Everett. Unloaded the weekly supply wagons that came in to stock the store, did repairs around the dusty homestead, even served up that nasty warm concoction that Bill Everett passed off as whisky to the passing immigrants, lonely miners, and thirsty army patrols that seemed to ride in on a weekly basis. After a month of sleeping on the kitchen floor, Bill Everett had ordered plywood from up north so Joshua could build himself the small shack out back that he called home. Mister Everett didn't even charge him a bear's-head nickel for the food he ate. No, maybe Bill Everett was a hard man, but he provided for his wife and three year old daughter well, and he provided for Joshua well too. Joshua had even managed to save a bit of money up. Some day he was going to go up north, and see for himself this grand city they called San Fransisco.
"Didya git that back fence on the corral mended like I told ya?" Mister Everett asked. He coughed once, and spit on the ground.
"Oh, yessah. Good as new. Good as new, sah." Joshua walked over to him with a smile, and took him by the arm, pulling him towards the fenceline. Bill looked along the uneven rails, and then moved to each post, shaking them as he passed. When he reached the corner, he turned around.
"Yes, indeed. That'll do mighty fine there, Joshua. That's some good work you done. That should hold ol' Grey in just fine." Bill said, thumbing towards the dusty gray mare that nibbled at a pile of hay under the shade of the stable.
"Thank ya, sah. I thinks it'll do the trick jus' right. Yes indeed."
Bill smiled as he shook the end post one last time, before allowing a look of feigned seriousness cross back over his face. "Now, how about that there wagon, eh?"
"Oh, yessah. I's gonna git to that right now, sah."
Bill pulled a hankerchief from his vest pocket and wiped the sweat from his forehead. "Good. You get on that and we'll have some chow ready for ya when yer finished." he said, looking off towards the distant hills. "And then we'll go an'...an'...an' what in the blazes is that?"
Joshua looked in the direction that Mister Everett was pointing. A huge cloud of dust was rising up from behind the nearest hill, about two miles away. It seemed to grow larger as he watched, filling a good portion of the eastern horizon. "I can't rightly say, sah. Looks like some riders a'comin' in, maybe."
"A whole hell of a lot of riders, to throw up that much dust. Bess!" he yelled into the trading post. "Bess! Grab me my lookin' glass an bring it out here!"
Joshua continued staring at the ever-growing brown cloud. It gathered at a point near the closest side of the hill, and that gathering point seemed to be moving closer by the second.
Joshua didn't see Bess Everett slide up between them. "What is it, Bill?" she asked, handing him a small telescope.
"Shhh!" Bill hissed in reply, as though if it was quiet enough, he would be able to tell what the disturbance was simply by listening.
"What is it, Joshua?" She asked again.
Joshua looked down at the small, chubby woman holding the smaller, chubbier little girl in her arms. "I don't rightly know, ma'am. Must be some sorta riders comin' this-a-way, I s'pose."
"It's riders, alright." Bill said, still peering through his small brass telescope. "Hundrids of 'em. My good God. It looks a whole damned army comin' up around that hill." He brough the telescope away from his eye, but kept his eyes focused on the hills.
"That doesn't make any sense." Bess Everett piped in. "There haven't been any Califonia Regulars out this way in three days. And there never are hundreds of 'em 'round here."
Joshua reached across, and took the telescope out of Bill Everett's unprotesting hand. He brought the eyepiece close, then back to his chest, clasping the warm metal in both hands momentarily, trying to calm his trembling. He finally looked through.
He could feel a tightenss in his stomach slowly work his way up to his throat. In the distance, through a dusty fog, he could see horses hooves. Flashes of gray clothing with red highlights. The glint of brass and steel in the sun. And at the tip of of cloud, a gray rider holding aloft a white and red flag.
He dropped the telescope from his eye. "It's them Confederates. Lawdy. It's them Confederates, sah! Oh, Lawdy! It's them CONFEDERATES!" The depseration in his voice turned into panic. "The whole army of 'em, sah! The whole army o' them Confederates. Oh Lawd above! A-ridin' right thissa way! Comin' to takes away all a' California! "
August 3rd, 1871
Part of a note captured from a California Regular dispatch rider
We have effected a successful rearward advance north into the lower San Joaquin Valley. I will be set at the gates of hell before I allow this command to be surrounded and captured in a like manner as the division in San Diego. The Confederate army is still three days behind me, and I continue to harrass and confound his advancing columns. I will continue to march north, in the hopes that Genl. Thompson and his regiments can safely join with this force south of Stockton. I still thank thank good fortune that that freedman from Barstow Trading Post was able to alert my command as to the sudden appearence of the second enemy force moving north through the Mojave. A rather suprising, but not altogether unexpected, manouver, even by the infamous Stuart, but thanks to the timely and loyal intelligence by our freedman friend, and the dilligence of my command, he did not catch us offguard. God willing, I will continue my northward movement, and be ready to face Stuart before he reaches Sacramento, and bring victory to our glorious cause, and confusion to our enemies.
Your Faithfully,
Field Marshal John C. Fremont
Supreme Commander, Armies of the Republic of California
September 1st, 1871
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