The Song of the Mockingbird

CHAPTER ONE

The Confrontation

I awoke to the sounds of horse hooves, whinnies, and the rustle of dried leaves. It was still night – pitch black under a starless sky. I had made camp the night before, having traveled about ten miles from my home in Fort Ashby, W. Va. toward my destination of Slanesville. Lightning, my horse, stood by my side as he always did, not making a sound or moving a muscle. My ears perked to their keenest sense of hearing as I lay still without so much as breathing. Something eerie was happening. Was someone following me? Had I been under the watchful eye of some type of an avenger since departing the morning before? Why would anybody want me? I had little to no money with me and only the barest of necessities.

I had a handgun and a sidearm, but both were attached to my saddle on Lightning’s back. I didn’t dare make a move to retrieve either weapon lest I divulge to my stockers that I was awake and fully aware of their presence.

The sounds grew louder, closer, and more distinct as my heart pounded in my chest. I was convinced that whoever was upon me could hear my heart throbbing just as I heard it in my own ears. I could see nothing. The campfire I had made the night before had long since dwindled to hot coals then to ashes.

In a flash, I knew I was surrounded. The darkness shrouded those by whom I was encompassed, whether man or beast. With no time to think and no ability to control my reflex, I was on my feet groping all around me in an attempt to strike at the ominous beings.

Whoa there son! What are you thrashin’ at? You sure don’t think you can beat us do ya? a strange voice said with a laugh.

Who are you? What do you want? Why are you following me? I demanded.

Just settle down there, boy. You ain’t wantin’ to get hurt are ya?

I’m wanting to know what this is all about, I countered to my still-unseen foe.

You ain’t in much of a position to be orderin’ us around, are ya? You just cool your heels and you won’t get hurt.

What business do you have … Suddenly everything seemed to go deathly silent. I didn’t know I was alive for an undetermined amount of time. Slowly I grew aware of my surroundings again. I heard faint noises and voices, but I was groggy for some reason and couldn’t shake myself out of it. I opened my eyes. There was a brightly-burning campfire that both blinded me and hurt my eyes. I squinted against the flashing glare of the flames. My head felt like it had been split wide open as I tried once more to speak.

Where … I grimaced as a throb of pain seared through my head. I couldn’t continue. I didn’t know if I was too weak, too confused, or too paralyzed to speak. The heat and glare of the fire made me feel like I would throw up.

I tried to get to my feet only to feel a tug against my body, pulling me back to the ground. I was tied up. My ankles were tied together and my hands were secured behind my back. A rope around my midsection was tied tightly to a tree at my back. I looked around trying to focus my blurry vision on the images that surrounded me. I could only assume that the images were the men who had intruded into my camp. I was dazed as I tried to make sense of everything that was happening to me. Finally one of the men spoke.

Welcome to our little party, Jeb Carter, the man said laughingly in a sarcastic tone. We’ve been lookin’ forward to this for a long time. We hope you appreciate our hospitality.

I didn’t answer. I was too sick to even try to engage in a confrontation with anybody who spoke to me with a demeaning attitude. How did they know my name? What were they after? I didn’t think I had an enemy in the world but I must have been wrong.

Fact is, we feel so kindly toward you that we’re gonna take you with us just so we can take care of you and make sure you don’t get into any trouble with anybody.

I’m being kidnapped! The unspoken reality gripped my insides like the clutches of a hawk seizing its helpless prey. With the realization came a surge of determination to do everything – anything within my power to escape from my captors and prevent them from taking me hostage.

Please tell me who you are, I muttered.

Well, I see you’re a bit more friendly-talkin’ to us now. That little bump on the back of your head must have put you in a kindly mood.

Mister, I didn’t do anything to you. Why are you doing this to me? I continued to mumble.

Let me ask the questions. Why did you leave Fort Ashby and where are you headed?

I refused to answer until I knew why he wanted to know the things he was asking.

My sight was becoming clearer and I made out the shapes of five men sitting around the fire. I closed my eyes tightly then opened them again several times in an attempt to clear my vision. Slowly, I was able to distinguish the faces of the men. None were familiar to me. I was certain I had never seen any of them before in my life. The man who spoke to me had especially memorable facial features.

I asked you a question, Mr. Carter. If you value your life, I’d suggest cooperatin’ a little bit.

I can’t … Another sharp pain shot through my head, stopping me in mid-sentence as I winced from the pain.

I never did answer the man’s question even at the risk of his killing me, although I couldn’t believe this was his purpose. If he wanted to kill me, he had had plenty of opportunity before. He wanted something from me, and it was more than the answer to this simple question he had asked.

My thoughts immediately returned to plotting an escape. I was unsure of the time, but was sure it must be the middle of the night since my fire had died out before these intruders arrived. I reasoned that if these men had been trailing me they were probably tired and would sooner or later go to sleep. I must not allow sleep to overtake me. I must stay awake. My only hope of escape was in the prospect of all five men falling asleep. I must take full advantage of such an occasion and use it completely to benefit my escape.

I waited for what seemed like hours. The spokesman for the group had posted one of the other men as guard over me. He sat with his back to a tree opposite me, his rifle positioned in his hands for immediate action as it lay on his lap. My hopes of escaping drastically waned. I was panicking and near despair when finally I heard my sentinel snoring soundly. This was my chance – the only chance I would have for escape. The one factor that I had to my advantage was the fact that the men did not know where I was going. I distinctly remembered the spokesman asking me where I was headed.

I had contrived a couple of alternate plans for breaking free of my fetters in the event of an escape opportunity. I must enact my first plan and act quickly. Since discovering that I was bound, I had wriggled and twisted in an unsuccessful attempt to loosen the ropes with which I was tied. While I noticed a slight give in my manacles, sore wrists and ankles were all I had to show for my effort.

Although my wrists were tied behind me, my fingers were free though restricted. I felt on the ground behind me hoping to find a sharp stone with which I could saw through the fibers of the ropes on my wrists. All I felt were smooth, rounded stones or stones that were too small even though they felt sharp.

I was starting to break out in a sweat when I noticed my sleeping guardian had dropped his knife on the ground beside him. He seemed close enough to me that if I wiggled my body I could slide my legs and feet to where the knife lay. This was no easy task owing to the rope that was tied around my waist and anchored to the tree behind me. I had to make use of every inch of slack that the rope afforded.

Stretching and straining with all my might, I elongated my body to its limit, barely touching the sentry’s knife with the toe of my boot.

I have to kick my boots off so I can use my toes to grasp the knife, I thought to myself. Losing my boots would shorten my reach but I knew I would never be able to pick the knife up with the boots on.

I worked feverishly to jerk my boots from my feet. The ropes that bound my ankles restricted my movement and severely disabled the freedom of my boot-tops to slide off my feet easily. I dug my heels into the ground pulling against my boots. It was more of an effort than I had calculated and I was noisier than I wanted to be. The guard roused, shifted his body, and made waking noises several times and I feared that he would wake up, but he settled each time to doze into a sound sleep again.

Finally with my boots off, I strained even harder to reach the knife with my toes. The rope around my waist tightened, cutting off necessary circulation and precious air to my lungs. I felt like I would pass out. I knew my face had to be as red as a beet as I sweated profusely.

I can’t do this any longer, I whispered to myself. I just have to quit and give up any hopes of escape. Whatever these men are going to do to me they’ll just have to do.

With that thought, despair began to overwhelm me. I felt blood drain from my head as I sank into the clutches of hopelessness.

NO! I shouted at myself under my breath. Stop this! You can’t give up now! You have the perfect opportunity to escape! Keep going! Whatever you do, never give up!

With one new surge of adrenaline I strained against the ropes that wrapped around my stomach and those that cut into my ankles. I clawed desperately at the ground with my toes, feeling like my body would rip in half.

At long last, I felt the knife beneath my toes. I tore at the ground not for one second relaxing the pressure on the rope. Finally, the knife was sliding on the ground in the direction that my legs were pulling. I relaxed my straining against the ropes and breathed a deep sigh. Every muscle in my body went limp as I rested in sweet victory. I lay on the ground without moving for at least five minutes.

Such a small thing, such a short distance, but what a gratifying conquest it is, I whispered as I smiled and chuckled quietly.

Now to get the knife behind me where I can use it to free my hands. It seemed one triumph led to yet another obstacle.

Lying on my back, I used both feet to clutch the precious piece of steel that would serve as the key to unlock the door of this forest prison and set me free. I raised my feet above my head, still gripping the knife as tightly and carefully as I could. I knew that if the knife slipped from between my feet it would fall blade-first into one of my eyes or, worse yet, into my chest or stomach. The thought of such a thing nearly frightened me, but I refused to give way to fear.

Almost doubling myself at my waist I managed to move my feet and the knife past my head. As soon as I knew it was safe to do so, I released the knife from the grasp of my feet. It dropped directly behind my head, standing upright as the tip of the blade sliced into the ground.

When I sat up and twisted my body, seeing the position of the knife, I loudly whispered, Perfect! as I beamed like a kid at Christmas.

Scooting on my behind back toward the tree, I felt the knife with my fingers. Pulling it from its earthen sheath with both hands, I immediately turned its blade toward my back, aligning it between my wrists and began a sawing motion against the fibers of the rope. I was thankful the knife had been honed to a near-razor’s edge. It effortlessly sliced through the rope that bound my hands.

Working quickly, I used the knife to cut my remaining shackles. Free of my constraints I quietly placed the knife in my saddlebag and crept slowly and quietly to each of the sleeping men, relieving each one of their weapons which I threw deeper into the surrounding woods. None of them so much as stirred, for which I was grateful.

I climbed onto Lightning’s back and signaled him to move slowly as I guided him. We went to the area where my captors had tied their horses and released them, sending them on their ways in any direction they chose.

Realizing the noise of the moving horses could have awakened the marauders, Lightning and I continued briskly but discreetly, leaving the beaten path to navigate through the trees of the forest.

By daylight I had put a long distance between my assailants and me, but I was disoriented on my position in relationship to our true course. Using the position of the sun I was eventually able to navigate my way back to the road toward Slanesville.

Safely on course once again, I relaxed and breathed a sigh of relief that my terrifying ordeal was over.

CHAPTER TWO

The Arrival

According to the position of the sun in the sky it was around ten o’clock in the morning on October 12, 1904 when I arrived at the Emporium in Slanesville, WV. The morning hours had been crisp and frosty, but owing to my ordeal at camp the night before I welcomed the refreshing cool air. After I cooled down sufficiently I took a heavy long-sleeved flannel shirt from my saddlebag and put it on without buttoning it. There was only one reason for my move to Slanesville: my father had convinced me that I would stand a better chance of finding work there due to the greater amount of farming and logging that was done in that area. At six o’clock the morning before, I set out on my journey. My Mother had prepared a sumptuous breakfast of buckwheat cakes, sausage and bacon, eggs, gravy, fried potatoes and steaming hot coffee. That morning I bid farewell for the first time in my life to my parents and younger siblings to set out on a trek to find my fortune.

The best road from Fort Ashby was narrow and windy. Tree branches hung low over the deeply-rutted passage, at times requiring climbing off the horse and leading him by hand. Apart from the marauding band of would-be kidnappers, only once did I meet another person on my trip, and he was traveling the opposite direction. I stopped and talked only briefly to the man, whom I had never seen before and whom I sensed preferred to be left alone.

There were many lanes leading off the main road, but because of the heavy foliage, underbrush, and hilly terrain, I could not see where they led. I dared not venture onto these blind roads. I began to think I would never see the end of forested surroundings and that I had maybe missed a turn. The road was not well-traveled enough to merit the placement of milestones along the way. I had been only a child when I came this way with Dad one time before. He had assured me before I set out the morning before that I would easily find my way, giving me an idea out of his own hazy memory of the landmarks for which I should look. Alas, most of the landmarks Dad had remembered either no longer existed or I was headed into a different world entirely. I was painfully aware of the lack of houses and people to ask for directions. The one stranger whom I had met knew little of where he had come from or even how he got to the point at which I had met him.

At approximately 8:30 a.m. I emerged from the dense woods through which I had traveled for what seemed like hours. The sky was clear and the sun shone brightly on the mostly open fields and meadows that lay to the left and the right. During the first part of my trip, I had been too busy navigating and watching the road to enjoy the colorful fall foliage, but now I felt at ease and began to look around me. On not-to-distant hills and on into the mountains beyond, the sun glinted off the crimson, orange, and yellow leaves that painted the landscape a bright fiery color. Evergreens stood out like ever-watchful sentinels of mountain, valley, and dale, showing their changelessness and reliability. Maple leaves that had fallen to the road were often dappled with spots of red, resembling drops of blood against the bright yellow background provided by the maple’s natural transformation. While the road on this side of the woods was no better for navigating, I was able to enjoy seeing the fields and leas, interrupted only by occasional rock breaks and clusters of blushed, pigmented trees. Once in awhile I would see a fence row, indicating that there at least at one time had been people farming the land. The closer to Slanesville I got, the more signs of life I saw. I stopped at the first house that was close the road to ask if I could expect to arrive at my destination on this mysterious passage. The elderly man I had talked to assured me that I was right on course.

Slanesville was not as large a community as Fort Ashby. Hanks’ Emporium, a church building, a few houses and a blacksmith shop with a watering trough, clustered close to a crossroads, was the extent of the town limits. Hanks’ Emporium seemed to be a beehive of activity. Four buggies, three wagons, and six saddled horses were tied to the hitching post in front of the store, and men, women and children were coming out and going in to conduct their business. A few women stood outside, engrossed in their private conversations to the exclusion of all else.

The store was a large three-story wood frame building with a high porch that spanned its entire outside width. Steps went up on each end of the porch with one wide set of steps in the middle of the front. Beyond these steps was a set of double doors through which to enter and exit the store.

I dismounted my horse and tied him to the hitching post in front of the emporium. Due to his ability to burst into a full, lightning-fast gait at a second’s notice, I had named him Lightning. He was a young black sleek Stallion that Dad had given to me on my eighteenth birthday.

As I walked toward the store, a heavy-set, soiled, unshaven man who puffed on a cigar approached me and asked, You a stranger in these parts, son?.

Yes, Sir, but only as far away as Fort Ashby, I carefully answered.

What’s your name?

Friends call me Jeb.

That’s fur away enough.

Sir?

Fort Ashby. I say, that’s fur away enough. Folks around here don’t care too much for Fort Ashby.

I detected that this man had but one thing in mind: to pick a fight. I did not answer his last statement but continued up the front steps and into the store through the double doors.

Once inside the store, I stood looking around, taking in as much of it as I could. Like most general stores I had been in, it had an atmosphere of community, conversation, camaraderie and a welcoming enticement. There was, however, a certain charm that this particular store had, which is maybe why it was called an Emporium. Besides the normal things offered in a general store such as staples like coffee, flour, and sugar, the emporium had a good assortment of cheeses, candy, fresh fruit in its season, and even some exotic things like oranges and dates. One corner of the store was devoted to clothing, shoes, boots, hats, gloves, scarves for the ladies, handkerchiefs, and other hard-to-find items. The hardware section had kegs of nails, bails of wire, hammers, shovels, picks, and larger farm equipment like plows and mowing scythes. Things were hanging from the ceiling for lack of anywhere else to store and display them and kitchen utensils lined an entire section of one wall. Bolts of material occupied a separate room that included needles and spools of thread. In a room to the rear of the store, gunny sacks full of seeds of different kind were stacked beside rolls of fence wire. The local post office was also housed in the emporium, tucked between the kitchen utensils and the bolts of material. There were just too many things to take in all at one time and I stood in amazement at all the things people could get into a store of this size.

Can I help you? The man behind the counter who was addressing me looked as if he had worked in a livery stable or a blacksmith shop, owing to the muscular build of his six-foot, three-inch frame. His hair was thin on top and graying. Two of my hands would have fit into one of his and his face did not belie his imposing presence. His square chin and broad forehead gave an immediate impression that this was not a man to anger or take advantage of. His coveralls were made up of enough material to supply me with denim trousers for the next three years.

Yes, Sir. My name’s Jeb Carter. I’ve come to Slanesville looking for work. Do you know any farmers or saw mills that need help?

Hmmm. Let me see. Where’d you come from, son?

The man outside had asked nearly the same question but with a different tone and attitude completely. I was sure the man in the store was asking out of a desire to help me.

Fort Ashby, I readily answered.

Isn’t there any work in Fort Ashby?

All the farmers there have more help than they can pay now, and the grist mill will only hire married men.

There might be something you can do around here, but it might take me a day or so to know for sure. Where are you staying?

I just did get into Slanesville and I don’t know anybody in these parts, so I don’t have a place to stay.

My wife and I live in the upstairs of the store and have an extra room with a right nice bed in it. Why don’t you stay with us for a couple of nights?

I would be mighty obliging to you for letting me stay with you, but I don’t want to stay where I’m not earning my keep.

Well, ‘til you find something else you can work here in the store for your keep.

Thanks a lot, Sir. I’m mighty happy to meet nice folks like you. I reached out my hand to shake his.

My name’s Harold Hanks. I’m the owner of the store.

Mighty pleased to meet you, Mr. Hanks.

I had noticed Mr. Hanks repeatedly looking at the rope burns on my wrists, but he said nothing about them.

I was tied up last night, I said without any mention of the rope burns.

Huh? Mr. Hanks responded.

The rope burns on my wrists. I got them because some men came into my camp in the middle of the night last night and tied me up.

Mr. Hanks shook his head quickly and blinked his eyes as if trying to awake from a dream.

Oh. I’m sorry. I wasn’t even aware that I was noticing … He trailed off as I picked up the conversation.

Oh, that’s ok. I don’t mind – really. I continued by telling both him and Mrs. Hanks of my virtual imprisonment during the night. Both were very sympathetic and showed their concern for my well-being.

How old are you, Jeb?

Nineteen, Sir.

Call me Harold.

Yes, Sir, Harold.

And stop calling me ‘Sir’.

Yes, Sir – I mean, o k.

We both laughed together.

I went out to where I had tied Lightning and got my saddlebags and the roll that I had tied behind the saddle. I didn’t have many possessions, but Harold allowed me to buy some things that I needed out of his store by working off the cost of them. I felt like I would be in debt to him forever, but he assured me the debt would diminish faster than I could imagine. I really think he was giving me twice the credit for my work against my bill. I couldn’t see how I could so quickly pay off the things I bought when I was only making three cents a day.

Mrs. Hanks’ name was Harriet and she insisted that I call her by her first name, too. The Hanks’ looked to be in their mid-forties, quite an advanced age for people living under the threat of typhoid, tuberculosis, tetanus, and diphtheria, along with threats of infection from injuries, food poisoning from tainted meat and canned goods, snake-bite, and accidental injuries. Harriet was a kind lady who demanded respect. She was probably five feet, nine inches tall, carried herself erectly, always had her auburn hair attractively arranged on top of her head, and had the figure of a woman twenty years her junior. She maintained an immaculate house and was as good a cook as my mother. Both Harold and Harriet welcomed me into their home and treated me as if I had been their own son.

The Hanks’ had no children with the exception of the five babies buried in their back yard. Two, both boys, had failed to survive birth, one daughter had died at nine months from whooping cough, another daughter at nineteen months from an infected ear, and their youngest, a boy, at three from being trampled by horses. Harold and Harriet told me that he had wandered off one morning while they were busy tending the garden. When they missed him, Harriet quickly turned to see him in the road. Terror filled her heart as she saw a man driving a team of out-of-control horses pulling his wagon swiftly bearing down on the little fellow. Harriet screamed, began to run toward the road with Harold fast on her heels, and watched in speechless horror as her baby was crushed beneath the hooves of the horses and the wheels of the wagon.

I enjoyed working at the store, not only because the Hanks’ were so pleasant to be around, but also because I found it a challenge to weigh and measure things people wanted to buy and to assign the proper pricing for them. I learned a lot about people, about running a store, and about taking responsibility for my own life and actions.

Harold put me in charge of inventory, which meant that it was I who ordered the things the Emporium stocked and also I against whom the