A Gift of Gratitude
by Setcheti
Disclaimer: Don’t own them, not trying to.
Author’s Note: This was originally an answer to a
challenge offered by Christine, which called for
one or more of the guys to encounter a historic figure. George Washington Carver has always been
one of my favorite historical figures. No one knows exactly when he was born,
and in his many biographies the year varies from 1860 to 1864. What the
biographies do agree on, however, is that he
and his mother were kidnapped from Moses Carver’s plantation by slave raiders
when he was an infant, and while the baby was returned – and raised with
Carver’s own children - his mother was never seen again. It seemed obvious to me that a Confederate
soldier must have been the one to return the baby, because a Yankee would not
have taken the child back to the plantation.
The racehorse in the story is thought to have been either ransom or a
trade to secure the return of infant George, but I liked the idea of it being a
gift of gratitude.
Carver Farm,
Moses Carver ran to the
front porch when he heard Eli calling, afraid the raiders had returned and
wondering if they would be able to fight them off again without more loss of
life and property. His wife was already
herding their children into the cellar, and little Henry’s terrified face
infuriated him; the boy’s mother and infant brother had been taken by the
raiders and were in all probability dead.
Well, he would make the bastards pay this time. “Eli, where…”
“It’s jus’ one, Mistah Carvah,” the field hand
said, squinting down the winding road that led up to the farmhouse. “One of our boys, but then them others was
too.”
“Those theivin’ devils weren’t ‘our boys’, they were just wearin’ our uniforms,” Moses corrected. He, too, squinted at the slowly approaching
figure, noting the footsore limp and the dust-covered gray uniform. The man was carrying something as well, but
from this distance Carver couldn’t tell what it was. He frowned.
“All right, Eli, let’s go out to meet him and see what’s goin’ on.”
Eli settled his own gun
in the crook of his arm and dropped back a pace so he could cover his master’s
back. “You think maybe he’s got lost
from his unit or somethin’?”
“We’ll find out soon
enough.” As they drew nearer Moses could
see that the man was an officer and wore a saber at his side and a gun at his
hip, and he was carrying the odd-shaped bundle in his arms as though it were
something precious and fragile. “Ah’m lookin’ for Mistah Moses Carver,” the man called out in a voice heavy
with the sorghum drawl of
“I’m Moses Carver,” the
farmer said. “Who wants to know?”
The man stopped and
saluted tiredly. “Captain Ezra Standish,
suh. Mah men and ah came across a pack of renegades several days
ago, we were able to get out of one of them that your farm was the last place
they’d raided. They had this child with
them, suh, and we assumed he belonged to you.”
The bundle chose that
moment to emit a thin wail and Moses Carver almost dropped his gun. He darted forward to look down into the
swaddling blanket and found himself being stared up at by the baby he’d assumed
dead along with his mother.
“George! You mean they still had
him?”
The relief in the young
officer’s face gave way to a scowl. “He
was layin’ on the bare ground when we found them, ah
was amazed he was still alive.” He
carefully transferred the baby into Moses’ eager arms, then took off his hat
and held it over his heart. “We were too
late to save his mothah, suh,
ah’m sorry.
And the baby was very weak; we took the best care of him we could, but ah’m not certain it was enough.”
“He’s alive now, that’s
what matters.” Moses reluctantly handed
the baby off to Eli. “Eli, take George
to Mrs. Carver and tell her what happened, she’ll know what to do.” He then turned back to the man who’d brought
the child home. “I can’t thank you
enough, Captain Standish.”
The younger man shook
his head. “Ah’m
just sorry that the vile miscreants that perpetrated such an atrocity were wearin’ our colors, suh. Returnin’ the baby
was the least we could do.”
Moses smiled at him and
held out his hand, and was pleased with the firm handshake he received. “You still have my gratitude, Captain. What happened to the raiders?”
The younger man’s jade
green eyes darkened; he couldn’t have been more than twenty, but he suddenly
looked a much older and harder man . “We
captured or killed as many as we could, suh, but
regrettably some few got away from us.
You might warn your field hands to keep their eyes open in case any of
them return this way, and if possible advise your neighbors as well.” He sighed and put his hat back on. “And now if you’ll excuse me, suh, ah must return to mah men.”
He saluted again, then
turned and began to walk back the way he’d come. Moses stared at his retreating back for a
full minute before the limp once again registered and he cursed himself. Have the depredations of
this cursed War addled me so much I’ve started to act as mannerless
as a damn Yankee? “Captain
Standish, wait!”
The young man turned
around with a questioning look that also showed a measure of suspicion. “Somethin’ else ah
can do for you, suh?”
“I’m forgettin’
my manners, you’ll have to forgive me, Captain.
Won’t you come up to the house so Mrs. Carver can add her thanks to my
own? We’ll be sittin’
down to supper soon as well…”
The captain
laughed. “Ah appreciate the offah, Mistah Carvah,
but your lady wife would most likely thank me to stay out of her nice clean
house,” he declared with a dimpled grin, gesturing at his dusty uniform and
muddy boots. “And ah really must be gettin’ back, it isn’t wise to leave the men on their own
for too long. But thank you just the
same.”
Moses wasn’t giving up
just yet, even though he understood the wisdom of not leaving a bunch of green
young soldiers to their own devices for any length of time. “Are your men close by, Captain Standish?”
“Ah have them camped
about five miles from here,” was the answer.
“Given recent events in this area, ah thought it wise not to be too
close to anyone’s home.”
“That was wise,” Moses
agreed. Then his eyes widened as a new
thought struck him. “Wait a minute, you walked here from your camp?”
“No suh,
ah rode,” the young man corrected quickly, but a shadow passed across his
face. “Most of the way, anyway. Mah horse misstepped himself some little distance from here and ah
had to…well, ah had to put him down.” His
expression said it hadn’t been easy for him; Moses could sympathize, being
greatly attached to his own mount. “Ah
hadn’t a shovel with me to bury him, so if you happen to see any carrion birds circlin’ in the next day or so that will most likely be their
target. Ah hid mah
saddle and gear in the bushes near where he fell, ah plan to collect it on mah way back.”
“In that case,” Moses
said firmly, circling around the other man and clapping a hand on his dusty
shoulder, “I must certainly insist that you at least come up to the house and
refill your canteen before you begin your return journey, Captain. And while you’re no doubt correct that my
wife would be none to happy to have her floors muddied, she won’t begrudge you
a seat on the porch.” He winked at the
younger man. “After all, that’s where
she makes me sit when my boots are dirty.”
Captain Standish laughed
again and gave in gracefully, allowing the farmer to steer him up the packed
road toward the house. “In that case, ah
shall most gladly accept your offah, suh – and the chance to refill mah
canteen would be much appreciated. But
only a few minutes and then ah really must be on mah
way.”
“Understood.” Moses was getting an idea; he really did not like
the idea of the young officer walking five miles back to his men carrying his
dead horse’s saddle and tack, and from there having to buy whatever nag his
paltry wages could procure on short notice – unlike the Northern soldiers, most
of the Southern recruits owned their own mounts. Showing his guest to the well, Moses excused
himself and went to tell his wife what was going on and to fetch Eli again.
When he came back the
young captain had just finished drawing up a second bucket and was rinsing and filling
his canteen with the cold water; the first bucketful had obviously been used to
clean himself up, and without the masking layer of dust he was a handsome,
well-featured young man, clean shaven and fair skinned. It looked like he had also beaten as much
dust as he could off his gray coat in an effort to make himself as presentable
as possible, and if Moses hadn’t already been sure of his decision that
gentlemanly gesture would have decided him.
Seeing a young man like this gave him hope for the South, and hope these
days was a precious commodity. “You just
come on up on the porch and we’ll sit a spell in the shade before you head
back,” the farmer told him, leading the way and indicating a comfortable seat
before taking his own.
Susan Carver appeared on
the porch a few moments later and the young captain immediately stood up and
bowed to her when Moses introduced him.
“A pleasure to meet you, Missus Carvah. Will the child be all right, do you think?”
“He is very weak but he
should survive,” she replied. “We
greatly appreciate the care you must have given him, Captain Standish.”
The young officer ducked
his head. “We did our best, ma’am. We found a few cans of milk when we took the
renegades’ camp and got him to take some of it from the knotted end of a
handkerchief. But ah wasn’t able to get
him to take much…”
“It was enough,” she
assured him. Her smile slipped a
little. “His…his mother?”
“The details are not fit
to speak of in the presence of a lady,” Standish told her, and Moses saw the
darkness cloud his green eyes again. “Mah men and ah got there too late to save her…but ah can
assure you, ma’am, the animals responsible will nevah
do it again.”
Her eyes filled with
tears, but she nodded. “Thank you,
Captain – for everything. Now if you
will excuse me, I must get back to the children. Do take care of yourself, sir.”
“Thank you, ma’am. It was mah pleasure
to be of service, ah only wish ah could have done more.” He waited until she had gone back into the
house before putting his hat back on. “Mah apologies, Mistah Carvah, but ah really must be headin’
back if ah am to reach camp by nightfall.”
“I understand.” Moses stretched and got to his feet. “But I believe that won’t be a problem,
Captain. The way I see it, the least we
could do for your trouble is to provide you with a ride back to your men.”
Eli appeared around the
corner of the house just then leading a handsome chestnut gelding with a white
blaze face. The animal was already
saddled and bridled and the young captain bit his lip. “Ah…thank you for the offah,
suh, but ah cannot take your horse as ah have no way
to return him to you.”
“You won’t be returnin’
him, he’s yours.” Moses held up his hand
to stop the younger man’s protest. “No,
Captain Standish, you listen to me.
Libby was quite dear to my wife and I and her children are like our own
blood; you can’t know what it means to us to have George returned to the bosom
of our family after thinkin’ him dead along with his
mother. Now I was given this fine piece
of horseflesh by one of my neighbors as payment of a debt; he’s of racin’ stock and worth a good three hundred dollars for his
bloodlines alone but he’s unsuited for farm work and too high-strung to be a
mount for my wife or any of the children.
I think he would make a good horse for you, though, he’s been trained to
a treat and is not at all gun shy.” The
farmer took the lead rein from Eli and pressed it into the captain’s hands with
a smile. “I will not take no for an
answer, young man. This horse is yours,
a gift of gratitude from our family. His
name is Orpheus.”
“Orpheus?” A slight, amused smile quirked the captain’s
lips. He stepped forward and gently
began to pet the animal’s nose and after a moment the horse snorted softly and
nudged him with its head. Standish
chuckled, recognizing the gesture. “Ah’m sorry, mah friend, but mah pockets are empty at the moment. Ah shall rectify that oversight as soon as
possible, ah assure you.”
“He’s just over two
years old,” Moses said, smiling; he’d been right about the young man’s
relationship with his horse, apparently.
“The only bad habit he’s got is not likin’ to
stay in the stable, but that’s the racehorse in him, I think.”
“Won’t be a problem
where we’re goin’,” the captain said softly, almost
sadly. He patted the horse’s forelock
once more and then straightened. “Ah
can’t deny that ah need him, Mistah Carvah, or that ah’d love to have
such a fine intelligent creature as this…”
“Then get on him and
go,” Moses insisted firmly. “I know you
have a saddle already, but this one was custom made for him and my other horses
are too broad across the withers to wear it.
Now mount up, Captain! You need
to get back to your men.”
Captain Standish
hesitated…and then the horse nudged him again before lifting it’s head with a
whicker and trying to bite his hat. He
smiled a little sheepishly when Moses and Eli laughed and then held out his
hand, sharing another firm handshake with the grinning farmer. “It wasn’t necessary, suh,
but thank you all the same. Ah promise
to take the best care of him ah can.”
“I’m sure you’ll spoil
him rotten,” was Moses’ reply. “Both of
you take care, Captain, and I’ll remember to alert the neighbors about the
renegades that escaped.”
“Our squad is to meet up
with Colonel Anderson’s forces in two days’ time, ah shall alert him to the
situation as well,” the young officer promised.
He shook hands with Eli as well and then swung himself up into the
saddle and patted Orpheus’ proudly arching neck. “Again, you have mah
gratitude, Mistah Carvah,
and ah hope young George recovers from his ordeal; in just the short time ah
knew him ah found him to be a charmin’,
sweet-tempered child.”
“That he is,” Moses
agreed proudly. “Best of luck, Captain
Standish.”
In answer the younger
man saluted sharply before nudging his new mount into a brisk trot up the
smooth-packed road. Moses and Eli
watched until the horse and rider disappeared from view and then turned back
toward the house. The faint complaining
cry of a hungry baby drifted out to them and they smiled at each other. “Yep, Mistah Carvah, ah think baby George he’s gonna
be jus’ fine,” Eli said, shaking his head.
“Hand of the Lord mus’ be on dat child to get him saved like dat
and brung back home safe an’ sound.”
“You may be right, Eli,”
Moses agreed thoughtfully, glancing back at the now empty road. “The Lord works in mysterious ways, that’s
for sure. Perhaps he has some special
destiny planned for George Washington Carver…and maybe for Captain Ezra
Standish, too.”
Fin