Remembered Names - Forgotten Faces: The Death of a Plantation

REMEMBERED

NAMES

~

FORGOTTEN

FACES

The Death Of A Plantation

T. N. Searcy

Copyright © 1998 by T. N. Searcy.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This book was printed in the United States of America.

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Contents

1.       No Place To Hide

2.       Rising From Ashes

3.       Plans For A Mansion

4.       The Master Builder Arrives

5.       Tyra Goes To School

6.       Moving Time

7.       Hog Killing Time

8.       Dreams of Freedom

9.       A Soldier Comes Home

10.       Ames Is Home

11.       Jarvis Takes A Wife

12.       A Family Addition

13.       The Silent Bugle

14.       A New Birth ~ A New Home

15.       The Courtship Of Loni

16.       A Wind of Change

17.       The Cotton Gin

18.       A School For The Colored

19.       A Proposal To Highpockets

20.       Ames Takes A Wife

21.       A Harvest For Highpockets

22.       My Land Is Bleeding

23.       The Bell Tolls For Cye

24.       A Stranger Comes Calling

25.       A Divided Land

26.       The Coachman Is Not Needed

27.       The Business

28.       The Trip ~ Tyra Comes Home

To my wife Lois, and our four sons: Ron, Robert, Phil, and Doug, who encouraged the old man to write a book. Special thanks to my sister-in-law Barbara Whitman, who served as an editor and historical advisor, and to my brother Darryl Searcy who gave invaluable advice regarding names and politics in the South after the Civil War. To All my friends and relatives who promised to buy the book if I would write it, you must now keep your word and do exactly that.

1

No Place To Hide

Shortly after dawn on a June morning in 1863, a regiment of General Wilson’s Union Army hit the Southern town of Cambia, Alabama like a thunderstorm. After camping overnight in nearby woods, soldiers marched into town with a vengence, setting fires to everything as they swept through. The civilian population was spared, but guns were fired into the air to frighten people. The big cannon was fired into brick buildings to crumble walls.

Folks were running in all directions, crying out for mercy, but none was shown to the small defenseless town. Before nine o’clock the entire town was burning and there was no way to stop the spreading devastation.

Soldiers confiscated large bags of dried beans and corn from the stores and took quilts off beds in many private homes. When the rampage ended the train depot and its water tower were still standing, along with numerous small shops.

As soldiers departed the town and entered Orchard Road for their push eastward, a torch was set to the circuit judge’s house. The family huddled nearby, watching in horror as the house burned. Servants fled down a dusty road, fearing for their lives and hiding in nearby woods.

Forming a single file, the soldiers moved along the road. Some had stolen horses to ride, and others were in overloaded wagons.

Many large homes near the road were burning. Smoke, dust, and a stench of destruction filled the air.

At Riverbend Plantation just outside Cambia, Cyrel Cye Sutton and his wife Cora, owners of the ten-thousand acre plantation, were having breakfast around seven o’clock that morning. They heard a thunderous roar from the direction of town. Windows in the mansion were open to catch the morning’s cool air. Cora stopped eating, and said to Cye, Is that thunder I hear?.

Cye pushed away from the table. It’s not thunder, he said, rushing toward the rear porch. I think it may be cannon fire.

Heavens, no! It can’t be! screamed Cora. We don’t have soldiers around here.

We do now, Cye called from the porch. The town’s on fire. Come quickly! I see smoke!

Cora rushed outside to join her husband. Three kitchen servants, Mandy, Della, and Yancy trailed out behind her.

Black smoke billowed in the distance. Again, a cannon was fired and its haunting roar echoed across the land.

If they come this way we’ll be burned out, Cye said to Cora, with concern in his voice. We must hide our valuable papers! Everybody come with me!

Cye rushed to his office, a small room in a far corner of the mansion. Cora and the three women servants followed.

Taking boxes from shelves, Cye passed one to each person. Hide these in the vegetable garden, he instructed. Call Tomba and Tyra to come here now!

Mandy and Yancy rushed from the mansion with a box of papers under each arm. Della helped Cora empty Cye’s desk.

Loni, a young half-white slave, was drawing water from the well. Mandy yelled to her, Go git Tomba and Tyra! Ya come too — go to de masta’s office. Git a move on! As the head servant in the mansion, Mandy was always yelling orders to the younger women and getting respect.

Loni tied the rope to the windless, and ran for Tomba and Tyra, calling their names as she ran. Mandy and Yancy hid boxes under sweet potato vines in the garden, then rushed back to the mansion. Hindered by age and

weight, Mandy could not run, but waddled onward as fast as she could.

In his office, Cye busily loaded down Loni, Tomba, and Tyra with important papers, including receipts for slave purchases, birth records, expense and income ledgers, and banking deposit receipts. Not saying a word to each other, but with a frightened expression on their faces, each person rushed back and forth, carrying something to hide.

Cye handed a box to Cora when the two were alone. This is money, he said. It must be buried, but not in the presence of darkies. If the Yanks burn our mansion, we’ll still have this.

Cora ran from the room, clutching the small box.

Cye continued pulling boxes of papers from his desk and shelves. When Tomba returned to the room, Cye placed his hand on the old slave’s shoulder, and staring into his face, said, Tomba, we don’t know what the soldiers will do when they arrive, but they may kill me. If it happens, promise you’ll look after my dear Cora till our boys come home from the war. Will you do that?

Yassir, dat I do, Massa Cye. Ya knows I will. Tomba was an old man, having been purchased by Cye’s father in the early days of the 1800s. Now too old to perform hard labor, his main job was to blow his bugle at dawn to summon the workers for assembly. Cye depended on the old man to be a counselor to other slaves and a helper to keep young bucks in line.

Many slaves had gone to the fields at the crack of dawn. From their vantage point in the open fields they could see smoke rising in the distance, and see soldiers coming along Orchard Road. Some became frightened and sought places to hide between the rows of early corn and in the nearby woods.

The soldier’s caravan stopped on the gravel road in front of Riverbend’s mansion. A big cannon was being set up by soldiers, pointing its barrel straight toward the house.

Tomba rushed out to the road, waving his arms and begging the Yanks not to destroy his master’s house. My masta is a good man, Tomba yelled. Sir, please don’t burn his house.

A corporal pushed the old man aside. Go away before you get killed! he screamed.

Tomba’s pleading was in vain. The cannon fired and its ball crashed into a front wall of the mansion. A soldier ran forward with a torch and pitched it into a gaping hole. Several times the cannon was fired as more walls crumbled.

The cannon could be heard by workers in the field, its roar bouncing off pine trees in the bottomlands toward the creek, and for miles in the distance. Birds in trees flew away screaming. House servants ran outside still in their aprons, yelling at children to run to the fields. Dogs were barking and running in circles. The roar of the cannon jarred the ground. Red dust from the clay road rose to mix with the blue smoke of the cannon burst.

Cye and Cora, along with the elderly Mandy, ran to the storm cellar in a far corner of the back yard. They went underground and closed the trap door. There was nothing they could do to save the mansion.

Smoke from the burning mansion drifted quickly over the entire area.

Yancy, a young house servant, pulled vigorously on the rope of the big bell mounted on a high post in a side yard, calling all who could hear to come immediately to fight the fire. The bell tolled its solemn tone. Field hands saw smoke and heard the bell. They put down their plows and hoes and came running, but saw soldiers still gathered in the road with rifles pointing toward the mansion. They stopped running and hid themselves in the corn fields.

Smoke became so thick in the yard that Yancy could no longer breath. She dropped the rope and ran from the bell post to seek a hiding place.

A young soldier carrying a lighted torch ran through the yard as he headed toward the horse barns, a distance south of the mansion. Just as he approached the stable where Cye’s riding horses and fancy carriages are kept, he was confronted by Tyra, the young body guard and personal attendant to his master. Tyra surprised and frightened the soldier, and he stood frozen in his tracks for a moment. Without hesitation, Tyra rammed the sharp prongs of a wooden hay fork into the belly of the soldier, who gasped in pain and fell to the ground. His torch dropped beside him. Tyra retreated quickly to his living quarters, a small room at one side of the horse stables. Smoke was so thick no one saw the soldier go down. Other soldiers busily opened gates to cow pastures and horse pens, letting frightened animals escape.

With its mission accomplished the army regiment reassembled, coming together at the sound of the bugle boy. The march eastward continued to the next plantation mansion, some three or four miles down the road. The dead soldier laying on the ground by the stable was not missed.

With the soldiers gone, slaves came from hiding places and gathered at their meeting ground under a huge oak tree. There was nothing they could do but watch the mansion burn.

Tomba went to the storm cellar. Masta Cye, Masta Cye, the old slave called loudly. Yo can come out now. Dey gone, but de manse is all afire.

Cye, lifting the wooden trap door, could feel the heat. Oh! Oh, my God, he screamed as he saw the fire. What devils they are! He climbed the steps, closing the door behind him so Cora would not come outside.

Tomba stood beside his master. I’s done all I could , Masta Cye, he said. Dey all had guns.

I know, Tomba. It’s not your fault, Cye said as he stood motionless beside his old slave.

Part of the mansion roof caved in, walls were crumbling, the place was gone.

Cora and Mandy stepped from the storm cellar to face the unbelievable destruction. Smoke hung in the morning haze, flames flickered in smoldering ashes. Huge hand-hewn cedar beams that formed the house’s foundation still burned.

Cye stood alone, gazing at the ash heap that a short time ago was the finest plantation home in the county. Cora walked over to stand beside him. Tears were rolling down his face. His wife had never seen him cry, ever.

Cora was near a fainting spell. The smoke affected her badly. She was weak from fright and crying. Several slave women crowded around, wiping her face with a wet rag. Mandy held up Cora’s head while others fanned her with their aprons.

Smoke drifted away as the fire became a bed of coals.

The dead soldier lay on the ground beside the stable door. Someone called it to Cye’s attention and he rushed there to investigate. Kneeling beside the body, Cye rolled it over to see the face, and placed his fingers on the neck to feel the jugular vein. There was no sign of life.

Cye went to the door of Tyra’s room. Against the wall was a wooden hay fork with blood on its prongs. Calling out to Tyra, Cye asked, Are you alright, Tyra? He jerked open the unlatched door.

Tyra was seated at his work bench whittling on a piece of wood. Yassir, I is all right, he said.

Cye said nothing, but backed away and closed the door.

Motioning to the crowd of slaves watching the burned mansion, Cye called for Tomba to come forward. Better have someone hitch a couple of mules to a wagon and haul this young soldier up to the slave graveyard, he instructed. They may come back looking for him. If they do, we know nothing — understand?

I do as ya say, Masta Cye.

Cye went through the soldier’s pockets searching for identification. Inside the vest pocket was a letter still in its envelope. Cye opened it up. It was signed: Your loving mother, Mary, and was dated three months before in Pennsylvania. The return address listed the sender as Mary Pickens. Carefully refolding the soiled letter, Cye returned it to the envelope and put it in his pocket. Get Grass Snake to go with you, he said to Tomba. Take along Preacher Parable and give this soldier a Christian burial.

Yassir, Tomba replied.

Cye took the letter to his storm cellar, and put it on a high shelf between some boxes of important papers. As he came up from the cellar, he heard a booming sound of the cannon at the Pennyton Plantation, his neighbor’s place eastward on Orchard Road. After the cannon’s echo died away, Cye could see billowing black smoke and leaping flames. He shook his head in disbelief.

Three young slaves lifted the dead soldier into the wagon and Grass Snake carried him to the graveyard in a pine thicket, located some distance south of the mansion and the slave quarters. Working with three shovels, a shallow grave was dug. Preacher Parable said a prayer, and the body was buried without a coffin, in a far corner of the graveyard away from slave graves.

Smoke and dust from fires in Cambia mixed with that of burning mansions along Orchard Road to block out most of the sunlight. It appeared the sun had set for the day.

Negro children were frightened and some were crying.

Smoldering ashes of the Big House lay gray. Huge oaks and pines surrounding the mansion stood parched.

Farm animals roamed free, the gates to their pens standing open. Several mules were still hitched to plows in the fields, abandoned by men who dashed away to seek a hiding place, or to answer the call of the tolling bell.

Cye helped Cora to a bench by the water well, leaving her there in care of her loyal household staff. Walking quickly to the barnyard, he called out to Tyra to saddle his black stallion. Standing where the dead soldier had been lying, Cye used his foot to shove dirt and grass over a small pool of blood on the ground.

Tyra went into the stable, put a bridle and saddle on the horse, and led it into the sunshine. He gave the bridle reins to his master, but had nothing to say. Cye mounted the horse and rode away, passing through open gates as he inspected various buildings. The corn crib, milking barn, cotton house, sick house, the leather room, junk house, the blacksmith shed, horse stables, and all slave shanties, stood untouched. The situation would have been different had Tyra not stopped one soldier carrying a torch.

At the meeting ground under the big oak tree, a crowd of dark and saddened faces had gathered, all looking up to Cye for guidance. He had no words for them. The slaves that had hidden in far off fields were now straggling in to join others at the meeting place, confused and disoriented, with shock on their faces. They stood silently in the shade of trees. There was no talking, no birds singing in the trees, all was quiet.

The housemaids were gathered around their mistress, fanning to keep her cool. Cye saw Cora in the distance, and rushed to her side.

Mandy wiped Cora’s face with a wet cloth. She done heart-broke, Mandy said to Cye. De pore soul is heartbroke. Cye took Cora’s hand and knelt on the ground beside her. I know, he said to Mandy. Get a cool drink of water for her.

There was no work in the fields for remainder of the day. Slaves stood around in small groups, talking quietly, speculating what would happen next. Some older people cried silently, feeling pain and sorrow for their masters. Children played at the edge of the fields, and teenage bucks teased the girls.

Late in the afternoon, Cora called for her household staff. Prepare the supper, she said to Mandy and Della. Gather some vegetables from the garden, fetch some meat from the smokehouse, and see if you can find some cooking pots. Just anything will do, she instructed. We’ve had nothing to eat since our breakfast was interrupted by those awful soldiers.

We fix ya a good meal, Mandy assured her mistress. Ain’t no soldier gonna stop us from dat.

Mandy sent Della to gather greens from the garden. Loni and Yancy searched through stacks of old kitchen items in the storage house, looking for something to use over an open fire as cooking pots.

Yancy had an idea. Why not we’s use pots and pans from our house? she said to Loni.

Loni snickered slightly. You know dat won’t do, she answered. Der ain’t no white folks gonna eat from a slave’s cooking pot.

Seems like dey would when dey ain’t got no pots no moe, Yancy said.

We find sumptin heah, Loni said as she continued searching.

Late in the day, livestock had been returned to the pens, mules brought from the fields, and a crowd had assembled at the meeting ground. Cye instructed Grass Snake to send everyone to their shanty. The slaves lined up in a single file as they had been trained to do, and marched away to their homes, each one dropping out of line at the assigned shanty. Soon, trails of smoke began rising from rock chimneys as fires were lit to cook supper.

Cora asked Mandy to see what she could find in the barn for making beds. I’m worn out, she told her servant, and need to go to bed soon as it turns dark.

Mandy could not bear the thought of her masters sleeping in the barn. No, Mandy said, shaking her head, not ye sleepin’ in no barn. I sleeps out der and y’all can have my shanty.

Cora appeared astonished. She had never looked inside a shanty before, and certainly could not bring herself to sleep in one. We’ll see what Cye wants to do, she said to Mandy.

Mandy went to the barn in search of horse blankets and fresh hay.

Cora was feeling better and began moving around the grounds. Cye came to her on his horse. Cora, if you’re feeling alright on your own, I’ll ride down the road a piece to see how the neighbors are doing.

Go ahead, Cora said. I’ll be fine.

Cye rode away at a gallop, heading toward the village, passing confused people standing along the road. Many were dark with ashes and exhausted from trying to save their goods from the burning houses. At the edge of town, Cye found Circuit Judge Otha Kelly’s house was gone. A small outhouse and the bell pole were still standing. The judge did not own a plantation, but the soldiers mistook his big house as being one owned by a plantation master. He was a lawyer by trade, and served as political overseer of three small towns in the area, riding on horseback from one town to the other for town meetings. Only a few slaves used as household help were in his ownership.

The mansions in town, once surrounded by flower gardens, huge trees, and climbing vines, now lay as heaps of ashes. Stores along Main Street were gone. The blacksmith shop, feed store, drygoods store, grocery, the candle stick factory, the clothing store

— all gone. The judge’s law office was no longer standing.

People wandered the streets aimlessly, not knowing what to do next. Homes some distance from Main Street were spared. The sawmill near the street was gone. There would be no place nearby to purchase boards for rebuilding.

Cye rode his horse down Main Street in silence. People were not talking, just looking at the disaster. At the far end of town, Cye crossed over the railroad tracks and followed Orchard Road, returning to his property.

The staff prepared supper on an open fire, using iron pots and clay bowls retrieved from the storage shed. A pot of turnip greens, hot peppers, fried ham, cooked plums and ho-cake cornbread, eaten off tin plates, tasted extremely good to Cora and Cye. The household staff filled their plates and went to Mandy’s porch to eat.

What was the situation in town? Cora asked Cye.

A mess, he replied. Everything’s gone except the depot, and part of it is damaged.

Tears came to Cora’s eyes. Life will never be the same for this county, she stated. How will people ever manage to rebuild — may the Lord have mercy.

Life will resume, Cye predicted. People around here are of good stock. They will rebuild.

I wish our boys could come home, Cora pined, but right now they have no home to come to. My, how I miss them at a time like this.

The mansion was only part of home, Cye said. "We still

have our life, and we will rebuild the mansion — I promise you." Cora sat staring at the ground. The evening air was filled with the aroma of supper cooking in the shanties. Many slaves had small gardens behind their huts where they grew summer vegetables, such as collard greens, peas, squash, okra, and peppers. Meat was salted or smoked pork, venison, wild turkey, ‘possum, and rabbit, always fried. The slaves had no ovens for roasting. Salt was the only seasoning, supplied by the master. Cornbread was cooked as a ho-cake on a flat iron skillet, browned on one side and then flipped over to brown the other.

After supper, as the sun was going down and night approached, the people congregated at the meeting ground under the big oak tree. At first there was very little conversation. One man pulled a harmonica from his pocket, a long ago gift from Cye, and began playing a tune familiar to the crowd. Soon the mass of people was swaying and humming a spiritual. The humming broke into words and hand-clapping, one song led to another, and then another. The activity took minds off the big fire, the soldiers, and the fear and confusion that went with it. Older people often told stories at these evening gatherings. This time was no different. An old man started telling about the time all slaves would return to Africa, and be able to meet the spirits of their long-gone relatives. Young people knew very little about Africa but believed it to be a far-away land existing on a scale equal to Heaven.

As sunlight turned to darkness, the story telling stopped, singing faded into the night, and families retreated to their assigned shanty, lit a candle, and prepared for bed.

The parents slept on a wooden frame bed with a corn shuck mattress and children bedded on floor mats. A quilt or two, and split-open corn sacks, served as cover in winter, but in harsh winters the shanty gave very little protection from the cold.

Cye and Cora slept in the carriage house that night. Mandy had Grass Snake move the family carriages to other sheds, and she prepared a bed for her masters by spreading a layer of hay on the floor, and covering it with clean sacks. Horse blankets were used for cover, and a folded blanket served as a pillow.

Restful sleep escaped Cye. He lay awake most of the night with concerns of rebuilding a home. Neither lumber nor furniture could be purchased locally. There was plenty of timber on plantation land in the creek bottoms, but the sawmill was gone. Before dawn, he stepped into his boots and walked outside to clear his mind, leaving Cora asleep on the floor. Over the horizon the sun arose with a bright new day, smoke had cleared away, and it was time to begin putting life back together.

Only a small portion of Cye’s wealth was lost with the burning of the local bank. Money to rebuild the mansion should be no problem. A box full of Confederate bills was hidden in the garden under potato vines. A large amount of money was hidden in the storm cellar, and a box of gold pieces was buried in a far corner of the yard. The bank in a neighboring town would loan money to wealthy plantation owners such as Cye, but at this point it was unknown whether that bank was destroyed, too. When it was certain a war would soon come, Cye wisely converted a majority of his wealth to gold and deposited it in 1859 with a bank in Canada for safekeeping.

In the pre-dawn Cye retrieved a shovel from the garden shed and went to the burial place in a corner of the yard. The clay pot containing gold was easy to find, being in a shallow grave. He removed the pot, and refilled the hole, moving away from the area before being seen by early-waking slaves.

In the carriage house, Cora had awakened. Will you fetch the box of money from the garden that I asked you to hide yesterday? Cye said to Cora. I want to put it all in the storm cellar and lock the trap door. Cora dressed quickly and went to the garden. She dug into the loose soil and pulled out the box containing paper certificates in numerous denominations. Cye took the box, and the one containing gold, to the cellar.

The slaves were awakened by Tomba. He awoke early each day and walked along the dusty trail leading in front of the line of shanties. Knocking on each door, he had everyone up and eating breakfast at daybreak. When there was enough light in the fields for work, he stood atop a stump and blew his trumpet horn to summon the workers for assembly at the meeting ground under the oak tree. The people lined up in columns like soldiers. Cye climbed atop the stump and counted heads before work details were assigned. He called out in a loud voice: The plowboys move out to my left side, over here by Grass Snake, he yelled, pointing in the direction. Some twenty-five men moved out of ranks to join Grass Snake.

The men who will spread animal manure on the fields, move next to the table, Cye instructed. Fifteen men moved to the spot.

All people hoeing cotton yesterday, you should do the same thing today, Cye yelled. Move to a place near the water well. At least fifty workers, about an equal number of men and women, followed the orders.

I need six gals to pick fruit, and six to peel and lay it out for drying, Cye called out. Will the gals who did that job last week return to the orchard and continue the job today. Twelve women left the formation.

All remaining workers will go to the bean fields and continue pulling weeds, including clearing fence rows. That order cleared out the remaining people. Their supervisors joined the respective groups and all moved out at once to start the day of labor.

Elderly women, too feeble to work in the fields, did not have to attend morning assembly. Their job was to care for small children while mothers worked the fields. Some elderly men and women gathered eggs from hen houses, milked cows, and took water to field hands.

From age five, the young slave children were taught simple tasks; how to sweep the porch of the big house, or how to cut flowers in the garden and bring them to the servant’s entrance.

Some children, age seven and older, turned the windless of the well to draw fresh, cool, water from a deep well at the rear of the mansion. A two-gallon bucket of water could easily be brought up by a seven-year old. By age twelve the boys were sent to fields to learn farming, and girls worked in vegetable gardens, or cleaned the house.

There was no school for children as it was illegal to teach a slave how to read and write.

Cye never referred to his workers as slaves, preferring to call them darkies, workers, or the people. A good worker was held in high esteem and often rewarded with a day of rest, a bag of homemade candy, or on rare occasions allowed a trip to town on the back of the wagon when Cye was going to sell garden produce or to buy goods. In town a slave was not allowed to leave the wagon, and certainly could not buy or sell anything, even if he or she had the money, without having written permission from their master.

By mid-morning this first day after the big fire, workers were busy in the fields, and old women had milked the cows and driven them off to pasture. The children, filled with fear the soldiers would come back, stayed near their shanty homes. The older children climbed high into oak trees to scan the horizon in search of soldiers, unaware the soldiers had moved onward toward Atlanta.

Cye called out to Tyra, Saddle our horses, he instructed, and bring them to the carriage house. We’ll go in search of lumber for rebuilding the mansion.

Tyra was a strong buck of nineteen years. One of his regular jobs was to accompany Cye and Cora on riding jaunts, and to care for their personal riding horses. His raw body strength increased his value, according to Cye.

When Tyra had the horses ready, he waited for Cye at the carriage house. The two men rode away with Cye’s black stallion in a gallop, and Tyra riding about five horse-lengths behind.

2

Rising From Ashes

The nearest town, called Pollard, was several miles from Cambia, located west of the creek and over the hills. Cye followed a wagon road that extended through pine and gum trees, briar patches, and dogwood trees. Around noontime, he could see the town in the distance, shimmering in the heat. There were no plantations in the area as the land was unsuitable for large scale farming. The little town fronted a dirt road paralleling a railroad track. There was little in the community to destroy, so the Union Army passed it by, or perhaps did not travel the back roads to find it. Cye was greatly relieved to see the town untouched, and went directly to the sawmill. Dismounting, he told Tyra to mind the horses while he went to see the mill owner. A number of slaves were at work hewing logs to square that could be sold for log cabin-style homes. White men worked there, too, preparing loads of lumber for transport to the railroad siding. A large saw, powered by a steam engine, was extremely noisy.

The mill owner, a man named Buck Merlin, saw Cye approaching and greeted him with a hand shake. His hands were sticky with tar, seeped from the green pine lumber. The two men headed toward a small office away from the mill. Walking through log piles and green lumber, Cye could smell the strong scent of pine tar.

You heard what happened to our town? Cye asked.

No, I ain’t, Buck said. What happened?

The damn Union Army marched through yesterday, Cy blurted. Burned the whole town.

Buck removed his hat. Shaking his head in disbelief, he asked, You mean Cambia?

That’s right, Cye answered. Just marched right through and burned it all. Stores, homes, the bank — everything. Then the dirty scoundrels headed east and burned every plantation home along the road.

Riverbend?

Just the big house. Barns and the carriage house are still standing. They left the outhouses, my smokehouse, sick house, and they didn’t torch the darky shanties.

That’s a shame, Buck said, I didn’t know soldiers were in this area.

Looks like they caught us all by surprise, Cye said, wiping sweat from his brow. Cambia’s sawmill burned to the ground, he added. I came over here to see if you have lumber I can buy to rebuild my house.

We have some dry stuff, but doubt if it will be enough for a big house.

Sell me what you have, Cye requested, and I’ll take the rest in green wood. It’ll cure in the sun while the dry wood is being put up.

I’ll do what I can, Mr. Sutton, Buck promised. Do you think everybody in Cambia will be needing lumber?

Sure will, Cye answered. Let me put in my order now, and you will be hearing from others as soon as they come to their senses. Everybody seems to be in a stupor right now.

Can you pay in cash?

Some cash now, Cye said, and more later when I know how much I’ll need.

Buck reached for his inventory ledger lying on a small table. While Cye paced the floor, Buck counted the lines filled with writing.

"I have about twenty stacks of dried timber, all good pine, and about fifteen black walnut beams for underneath the house. They

measure twelve feet long."

That’s a start, Cye said. I’ll take it all. Figure the cost.

Buck reached for a paper with some writing and figures on it and started listing the prices.

While you do that, can I water my horses at your well? Cye asked.

Please do, Buck replied.

Cye walked outside and motioned to Tyra, who stood holding the bridle ropes in the shade of a giant oak tree. Tyra led the horses along a path to the edge of the lumber yard where there was a water trough, hewn from a large cedar log. The horses drank from the trough, and Tyra cupped his hands to scoop up a drink for himself.

Back inside the office Buck asked Cye, How will you transport the lumber?

I have six big wagons, Cye said, and my darkies are excellent drivers.

Very well, Buck said. You can have all my dried lumber, and the walnut foundation beams, for eight thousand dollars.

How many loads do you figure that will be? Cye asked.

About fifteen, stacked five feet high.

Do you have nails and floor pegs? Cye asked.

No, I don’t sell ‘em. Down by the creek you can get wooden pegs from a man named Washington Smith. He makes ‘em.

How far from here? Cye inquired.

Maybe a quarter mile.

Can I pay you five thousand now, and the rest when I pick it up?

When will that be?

In a day or so.

Good enough, Buck agreed.

Write me a receipt for the five thousand, Cye requested, as he counted out the bills.

Spell your name for me, please, Buck said.

Cye obliged, spelling, C-y-e S-u-t-t-o-n, as he stood to leave. My wagons will be over in a day or so, he added. Maybe tomorrow. Within two days we should be finished hauling.

Very well, Buck said. Will you be coming back with the wagons?

Yes.

I’ll see you then, Mr. Sutton, Buck said to Cye.

Good afternoon, Cye said as he turned and walked from the office toward Tyra and the horses.

Cye and Tyra mounted their horses and proceeded down the road to purchase wooden pegs. The place of business was easy to identify, as the yard was filled with drying brush and small limbs. Work was done under a large magnolia tree in one corner of the yard. A fire was burning nearby where unusable debris was discarded. The man and his two boys were hard at work.

Cye stepped down from his horse. I’m seeking to buy floor pegs, he said to the man.

How many? the fellow asked, as he spat tobacco juice on the ground.

Enough to build the floor of a large house, Cye said. I’m Cye Sutton from Cambia.

The man offered a handshake. I’m Washington Smith, and these here are my boys, he said, pointing to two young men busily splitting small logs.

Cye nodded a greeting to the boys, who appeared to be thirteen and fifteen years old.

What kind of pegs? Washington asked. We have red cedar that looks good in a floor, and we have oak, hickory, and wild cherry.

Cye looked around at the piles of pegs on the ground, and several stacks of sacked pegs along a fence. He picked up a cedar peg and placed it to his nose to smell the fresh aroma.

Building a big house, are you? Washington asked.

Some size, Cye said. I can’t say exactly just yet.

I heard the Yanks burned down your town, Washington said.

They did, Cye answered. Just yesterday.

Too bad, Washington stated. Wish that darn war would end before my boys here are old enough to go.

I understand, Cye said. I have two boys, and both are off fighting.

Did the Yanks burn your house?

They sure did, Cye answered. Burned my home to the ground and left nothing but the barns and some small buildings. My wife and I had to sleep in the carriage house last night.

Washington walked over to the row of bagged pegs against a fence. These here pegs are dry, he said. You can pound ‘em in the holes and they won’t shrink.

That’s what I’ll take, Cye said. What’s your price?

Five dollars a bag — in gold.

How many pegs to the bag? Cye asked.

Three hundred.

Very well. I’ll take two bags with me today, and give you ten dollars in gold. Set aside five more bags with my name on them and I’ll pay you when I pick them up, in about two or three days.

The man motioned to one of his boys. Count out five bags here, he said, and set them aside for this man.

The two men shook hands, and Cye and Tyra rode away toward town.

At the small bank in the center of town, Cye tied his horse to the hitching post and went inside to do some business. Tyra waited with the horses.

Cye removed his hat and was seated in front of a loan officer’s desk. He introduced himself as the two shook hands across the desk.

I need a large loan, Cye stated, enough money to rebuild my house and buy furniture. The Yanks burned everything yesterday.

I just heard about it, the officer said. Understand they burned the whole town.

That’s right, including our bank and sawmill, Cye replied.

I’m over here now to buy lumber from your sawmill for rebuilding.

We are slightly short on funds, the officer said. You know, the army has borrowed from all the banks and left us with very little. How much do you need?

I can’t say exactly, but something in the neighborhood of twenty-five to fifty thousand in gold.

I will have to go before our Committee for approval on such an amount, and you will have to put up some —

Yeah, I know, Cye answered. Tell me how much guarantee you want and I’ll do something.

We’ll need a note or promise to repay on the entire amount.

Very well, Cye countered. How about a lien on the house with five acres of land, and I’ll throw in the value of ten good slaves. You can auction them.

The man leaned across his desk and said in a low voice, Sir, we don’t take paper on slaves anymore. They won’t be worth a darn if the South loses the war.

You’ve got a point, Cye said. How about the house and ten acres?

I’ll put it before the committee, and you’ll have an answer by tomorrow afternoon.

That’s very kind of you, sir, Cye said.

The officer started to write on a paper, first putting down Cye’s full name. Now, what is the name of your farm and where might it be?

Riverbend Plantation, Orchard Road, Cambia, Cye answered.

I’ve traveled by there, the officer said. I know the property. The large two-story home among big trees off the road.

That’s it, Cye answered. But, as I say it’s there no more. They burned it.

My sympathy, the officer said. Just sign your request application here, and if the committee approves we will then draw up the lein papers on the new house and ten acres.

You have been very accommodating, Cye said.

Thank you, sir.

Shall I return tomorrow? Cye asked.

Yes, after one in the afternoon.

Good day.

Cye and Tyra headed for home. It was after dark when Cye reached the plantation. Cora had eaten, but sent for Della to come around and warm dinner over a bed of hot coals so Cye could have a warm meal, his first since breakfast.

Tyra stabled the horses and put out hay and water for them.

Cye told Cora about his successes, the large amount of lumber he found, and the loan application he signed at the bank. Have you given any thought about the size or design of the new house?

Not much, Cora answered wearily. Perhaps we should keep it simple this time, maybe — , she paused. I don’t know, really.

How many rooms? Cye asked.

Oh, dear me, Cora said, holding her forehead in her hands. Let’s plan five bedrooms — four on the second floor, and a master bedroom on the first floor. That’s two less than we had before.

The boys will be back after the war, Cye remarked. They can have rooms upstairs.

Yes, and guest rooms will be upstairs, Cora said. By the way, what do you think of having Tyra build the kitchen cabinets? He does such beautiful carpentry work, just like that freed colored man in New Orleans. Everybody is trying to buy his four-poster beds, and pie cabinets, and settees. I think that rocking chair, and tool cabinet that Tyra built for our other home were just outstanding.

I like that idea, my dear, Cye agreed. He’s such an artist with wood that I have no doubt he would do an excellent job. I’ll talk to him tomorrow.

Tell Tyra that we both want him to do it, Cora suggested. Do you think he could be relieved of all other duties until the job is finished?

Yes, he can, Cye promised.

Go talk to him now, Cora urged.

He’s tired, and so am I. First thing tomorrow will be fine.

One more thing, Cora said. I would like to have a bath upstairs for the boys and guests and one downstairs for us, with bath towel cabinets in each bath — you know, the way we saw baths in the hotel in Mobile, with a big copper tub for bathing and a toilet in the house where waste falls down a chute and goes into a hole in the ground under the house.

Early the next morning before sunrise, Cye went outside the carriage house to smoke his pipe. He walked around the grounds, listening to sounds of the plantation coming alive. Roosters crowed in the chicken yard in the distance. Candlelight glowed in the shanties, lighting one by one. Pans rattled as the darkies prepared breakfast. At the crack of dawn, birds in the trees chattered and flew off into the morning grayness.

As the sun rose, a young slave walked across the barnyard to perform his morning duty of feeding mules that later would be taken to the fields. Tyra came from his quarters and went to the stable to feed Cye’s stallion and Cora’s personal horse.

Cye called out to Tyra. Come to see me when you finish feeding.

Yassir, Tyra called back.

Soon after sunrise Cye instructed Tomba to summon the workers for assembly. The old man had been waiting on the front porch of his small shanty since before dawn, his bugle at his side. His footsteps quickened as he walked to the assembly area, and like an actor on center stage Tomba blew the bugle loud and clear, its notes piercing the crisp morning air. Workers came forward and assembled in a large formation under the big tree.

Cye stood on a stump and called out to Grass Snake: Take your workers to the corn farm. Work them hard today. We’ve all been lax with our work since the fire. Now it’s time to get back to our labors.

Next, instructions were shouted to Tator: Move your workers out to the cotton fields and continue your weeding.

Foddy, Cye called. Where is Foddy? There you are, hiding over there. Take the young bucks, at least this many, he held up five fingers, to the creek bottom land and walk along the fences. Make sure there are no rips in the split-rail fence. Foddy nodded that he understood. The women who usually work the vegetable garden, take your hoe and get every weed today. Everybody get in groups now. The men with Grass Snake move over here. Cye called, pointing to his left. The ones with Foddy over here, straight in front of me. The ones for the cotton field go with Tator over here to my right. The women move around here to my back. The groups moved quickly to the designated areas.

Now, go to it and work hard, Cye yelled. Tomba will send the water wagon around two or three times today, and grub will be brought to you. The crews moved away in direction of their jobs.

The fields spread out in all directions from the living area. Nearest the shanties was the big vegetable garden, covering ten acres or more. Beyond that, rows of corn extended far to the south and east with velvet green leaves waving in the morning breeze and glistening in the sun. The cotton fields took up hundreds of acres of terrain sloping southward and covering much of the bottom land. All remaining land, about two thousand acres, was covered with pine and oak, much of it in flood plains along the creek, north of Orchard Road.

The men with overseer responsibilities were given extra privileges for themselves and their families. Sometimes it meant an extra day off for the whole family and food from the smokehouse, such as a pork shoulder — never a ham. Often their children were given molasses candy, amber colored with roasted peanuts, made by Cora and her household staff. The men would perform extra work and do an excellent job if it meant a treat for their children.

Cye went to the carriage house and found Tyra waiting outside. Follow me, he said. Let’s step inside.

Tyra followed and stood just inside the door.

Cora had dressed in some old clothes brought from the storage shed and was digging through supplies in a side room.

Come out here, dear, Cye called. Tyra is here to talk about our plans.

Tyra appeared anxious. A call to meet with the master in his quarters usually meant disciplinary action of some kind, and it had been only a couple of days since Tyra killed the Union soldier. He waited in anticipation of the unknown, standing motionless in his bare feet, in dirty trousers too short for his long legs, and in a dirty shirt with only two buttons in front. The male slaves wore shirts in winter only, but Tyra was given old shirts to wear any time he accompanied Cye on trips to the village.

Cora came into the room. Tyra stood like a bronze statue, the sunlight at his back. You may sit, Tyra, Cora told him. Take that chair beside you.

Tyra was always silent, only speaking when asked a direct question. He was an orphan, and was bought at auction at age twelve. He remained a loner, generally a recluse in thought, and preferred to work alone if allowed.

Cye pulled a stool closer to Tyra, leaving Cora the one remaining chair.

What we have in mind, Tyra, is to see if you can be the carpenter to build kitchen cabinets in our new mansion. We’ll show you where to put them and what Miss Cora wants, and you can work on them all day, every day, until the job is finished. What do you think?

Yassir. I’s coulds do it.

Since these cabinets will be in the big house, they must be your very best work, the very best you can do, Cye stressed.

Yassir.

Cora had been drawing on a piece of paper. See here, Tyra? she said. "This straight line will be a wall, and I want cabinets along this wall from the floor upwards as high as a women can reach, with shelves inside, pretty doors that will close, and there will be a window in the wall to let sunlight in,