the wall
THE WALL
My name is William Donelly and I am proud to admit that I have never run from any man in my life. It was the principle of the act of bravery that defined me. I am brave, in a sense, due to the many praises I got when I fought the great war. The civil war was a defining moment for American history that rattled the Feds and showed that the south was not messing with any bullshit from anyone. I fought like a madman for my brethren as I stormed Gettysburg, when the explosions of cannon fire threw mounds of dirt in my eyes. I was already filthy from a lack of a decent bath anyway….he he….I guess I had a dirt bath that showered me with rain that sparked determination in all my brethren around me. God damn the rain was terrible, but when the rain changed from dirt to blood and guts…….I still fought like a madman, killing like 10 federals with my bayonet and pistol. The rain of blood and guts was my brethren as Pickett decided on attacking the high ground where the federals were entrenched. My face was wet with blood and dirt as a piece of flesh hung on my arm. I held my sword and pointed it to the hill screaming for my men to attack. Yes, we practically walked to our deaths as the cannons were aimed directly at us. Then I heard the order, where picket decided to charge, while our adrenaline was still pumping. My heart was beating like the madman I was, where I was practically running up the hill. My hand was bleeding from clinging on to the dirt as the hill was becoming vertical. I was grasping on to branches, ground and rock as the federals aimed their Springfields at my dying kin. They were now reduced to a few, due the cannon fire tearing them apart on the grassy ground. Shit I never seen a man actually explode until that day……But I continued to go on as I climbed the grassy blood stained hill. I got close enough to actually see the federal’s faces, which were aiming with their Springfields to moe us down. I actually heard over that cannon fire a man screaming “ready aim FIRE” All I could see next was a cloud of smoke and all I could hear was men screaming to their mommas. I turned around for a instant and saw men’s bodies roll down the hill. I then looked ahead again to see the feds reloading their guns. They were behind a fence, knelt down in perfect position for the attack. Nothing could stop them from slaughtering our men as they were lined into endless rows. We didn’t even have enough alive to attack a single regiment. They were dying and all I could see was blue. As I looked around after being nearly deaf from the cannon explosions; I got angry. Not the angry when you fight with your friend or even an asshole, but when you want to tear the head off of someone. This anger was an instant thing that often drives men to do the unexpected. You hear of men shooting people over cards and such. I guess that this was that kind of anger, where you body reacts before your brain can stop it or reason with it. Yes, your body just reacts where you end up hitting your girl or punching a good friend. No one knows why the Good lord did that to us, but damn it is the greatest cause of murder and the greatest cause of regret. It’s all about timing and trying to stop yourself within a split second of ruining your life. Well in this case losing your life…..
“Then what happened?” a young man spoke
“Well, I killed a bunch of Federals with my bayonet and pistol” William Donelly boasted
“Is this really true sir?” spoke another man
“As true as the injun blood that flows in my veins” as William Donelly yelled in a way that made him feel that he was not being appreciated enough.
“Waste of life that war….over what…niggers” One of the men spoke with a disgruntled voice.
“The negro deserves to be free in my opinion and that is a fact” the young man spoke with much defiance to the other man.
“Ahhh niggers” The man spoke in his disgruntled voice “I got to go cause I am losing this hand and I am already down a lot of money”
The man left with a look of anger
“Fine Go, by the way Mr. Donelly do you agree with slavery?”
William Donelly leaned back in his chair against a wall that was old and wooden with a look of pondering what the young man said. William Donelly could be described as an old wily man with a bushy beard and an energetic personality especially when talking about the war or his other so called adventures. He wore a black jacket with a brown hat that showed that he was a man of this town. He often drank and gambled in this old wooden saloon. His town was in Kansas territory, where people just lived their lives in isolation. Every house, every building and every fence was built by the towns folk who believed that we should live our lives in a simple matter. Every man should hammer his own house and provide for themselves. This was either a very impressive way to live or a very shallow way to live. You were trying to show the world that you didn’t need then in any way. To me, this was shallow, a waste of living without modern technology but on the other hand it was impressive due to the fact that you didn’t need anything for yourself but the essentials. Were you trying to prove to the world that you didn’t need that stuff ? Or were you trying to make a statement that you were more resourceful because you didn’t that stuff. Less self conscious. Less selfish…etc. The idea that you were better than people with their unnecessary needs living in the city. I felt that this was the idea that this town was saying. Even the saloon seemed like a wooden mess, where the construction was one of dismal expectations. The saloon was far from being modern with old wood that was breaking apart. You could even see the holes in the roof and if it ever rained…..God help us all. The saloon resembled a giant box that was falling apart with a small bar in the corner. The bar didn’t even have water, but instead had a whole a lot of whiskey in piles of boxes. The corner, where I was talking to William Donelly, was the only table in the whole joint. I guess poker was how we passed the time in this boring place that lacked any form of enjoyment. Another reason, why I think these people were trying too hard to be frugal and cheap. They seemed to not improve any area that was not need which resulted in a town without any excitement……except of course…poker.
Oh I am sorry I forgot to introduce myself, I am Samuel white….I am a white man with 1/4 black into me, where I have avoided arousing attention. I was traveling through this old town when I was in the need of water and maybe food. My horse and I had to unfortunately share the only watering hole in this God forsaken town, I came to hate. They didn’t seem to have any black folk throughout the town from what I have seen. I may be part black but you could not see it due to my overwhelming white blood. I grew to enjoy the luxuries of being white but still respecting my black heritage. I mean, all I did was respect the Union, when talking about the war. My hair was straight and my skin light. This did not necessary meant that I hated the south for my ruse had even fooled the most attentive southerner. My voice was a mixture of a southern white and southern black dialect. I fooled so many people in this country that it gave me a sickness inside. I was really proud of my black heritage due to the fact my grandma was a dark skinned negro, who often talked of her African heritage. I could remember her talking of young boys fighting lions off for manhood. She talked very similar to Mr. Donelly by telling stories that intrigued the mind. She would talk of looking up into the moonlight saying that African warriors used to study the stars as well as the white man. Their idea of blessing a child was raising him up to the sky, much like baptism. She put everything in perspective that made life seem that white people and black people were not so different in terms of raising children to the strategy of fighting wars. They were different in terms of cultures but the basic way of raising children and finding love remained the same. I could attain to this by my other heritage, which was white southerner of wealthy status. I really respected the heritage so much but I wish my half-black mother would be more accepted in my family’s life. No my white father ran away with a black girl that made my family put up their noses at their love. My black grandmother always said that their union was a union of love and my life was an existence forced that acceptance, whether they liked it or not. I guess what she was saying that I was alive and there was a bond that could not be broken. The sickness was that I could not express the love I had for both cultures.
I came into town on my horse hoping to trade silver deposits for money at their town’s bank. My family’s business was one of mining and transferring it into money rather than the stereotype of farming, which was prevalent in the south. We owned a mining company deep in Nevada territory that was in the middle of nowhere that was won over a game of poker. Just Kidding, but it was not that dramatic as that. We just focused our savings into buying lands that contained silver deposits and ended up making a profit. I really should say “they”. I was allocated to simply moving some of the silver to obtain some money. I was to search for near-by towns and return with money by finding a bank to transfer with. So many towns in the area did this but they also knew who I was. So what am I doing in Kansas? I am stealing the money to start a new life, of course. My family only took me in to abuse me for being part negro and I was berated plus shunned. I was not a stake holder in the family business but a money mule, who got minimum wage. I was not going to accept this treatment in any way so I just decided to rob them one day. The idea came to mind, when I just got fed up. Kinda like those feelings, William was talking about. A split second of doing what the body wants but without the mind. My body felt tired of pushing around those bags of silver and my body spoke to me that I didn’t want to live like this anymore. Before my brain could stop me, I was long gone. Call it what you will, but life was meant for more. I ended up burying the silver in a ditch, just north of town, before I entered. They ended up being so cheap that they didn’t have a bank or even an hotel. I ended up sleeping on the steps of the saloon in the mud and rain. The only thing I was happy that they didn’t have….was the law. No Marshall. No Sheriff. No deputy. Perfect. Only if I could come out of the rain and find a decent place for my horse.
I basically lived into the saloon for it was the only place, where enjoyment occurred. The only place, where you could relieve your worries and have a little thing known as “fun”. Sure it attracted attention but by looking at these people….they could care less about me. They were worried about the mundane thing known as living the simple life. So I could care less about them. I met William Donelly after playing a few rounds of poker with the little money I had that wasn’t silver. I have been away in my thoughts for a few seconds and I was anxious to hear William Donelly’s answer.
William Donelly leaned up the wall with an inquisitive look on his face as if he was deep in thought. He was playing with the cards subconsciously while he spoke.
“I don’t think about …….negroes……in that war. I believe that the south was to prevail over being told by the federal government what to do. I believe that was the main intention of the war effort and it just happen to include…….negroes.”
I wondered why he paused and scrounged up his face, when saying negroes. It was a strange reaction from a man, who had many stories like my grandmother. I looked at him with esteem for I was impressed by his bravery, toughness, and integrity. He contained wisdom that elder of his age should not completely have. He told stories and gambled all the time. He usually won to. He went for his pipe at that instant of thought and took a smoke. I never knew why people, who smoked looked tough. The same could be said for drinking. This man did both. He shuffled the cards expertly with a solemn expression on his face, that showed he meant business, when he played cards. My next question got an answer to why he meant business.
“Why do you always sit against the wall, Mr. Donelly.
He didn’t speak for a while as I expected an answer from him. He then took a gun out of holster and slapped it on the table with a loud thud. I lunged back from my seat at the table to the sight of a killing instrument of the west. The gun was an old revolver that was slightly dirty with a hint of gray. I looked at him crazy-like as he continued to shuffle the cards with the gun just sitting there. It was like he predicted my reaction to exposing his gun. He smoked from his pipe and spoke with southern dialect.
“Wall is my protector; It always has my back. It’s my Jesus Christ. It is the only man I trust that will make sure that I do not get shot in the back. As you can see I make a living hustling people out of their money and they want to kill me for it. That is usually the fact. The west was won with steel and I reckon that I should have a fair advantage to fight back. Why should some pussy ass animal shoot me from where I can’t see. You're going to see son that this world doesn’t have rules and you have to make them to survive. The wall allows me to face my opponents face to face and not cheating like bitches.”
I slowly sat down as he picked up his revolver and I examined this cracked, chipped wall that he loved so much. He was sitting there just counting the money he had made from drifters such as myself. He knew that I was not going to go for the gun or try to rob him. I guess that he was a good measure of character to the point of risking his life. That took the balls that I was talking about. I really respected the man even though he fought for the south. He seemed to have some contempt for negroes but nothing too serious. Perhaps he could learn to like black people if he had a better understanding of my ¼ people.
The man did a further kindness for me by allowing me to sleep inside his saloon. I wanted to ask what was up with these people’s lifestyle.
Mr. Donelly smiled at that question with a small chuckle. “Well some people decide to live their lives a certain way and you can’t really complain about that. They feel that the good lord has provided them with everything that they need. Shucks, I reckon that is probably the most divine way to live since the good book said "Rich men can’t enter the house of the lord.” With that Donelly decided on asking me a question for a change. “Where do you come from son, you ain’t from any place around here. The way you talk is strange.”
I responded with a simple grin saying “Well your right about that, I ain’t from these parts at all. I come from Nevada up north. Just passing by”
Mr. Donelly seemed to ease up his tension-like posture. “Well you’re how I make my money son; people who pass by with a need to gamble. I am trying to save for a motel, but I ain’t quite reached there yet. I have been saving my money for the longest time in this old town and I still can’t call it home. It is run down and the people just ignore me. I only have conversions with my customers, who just complain about their damn money and how I took it. This place is a piece of shit and I am too old to be cutting wood. As you can see, this is how I live and it ain’t much living at that.”
I laughed at how he put that “So why are you here old man, why just pack up and leave. It seems that you doing pretty well for yourself old timer”
Mr Donelly, who was very good at shuffling his deck subconsciously suddenly flipped his cards clumsily in all directions. The cards were in every part of the creaking floor as if my question distracted him.
“Fucking shit……look what you made me do! Now I have to pick them all up!”
He looked at me with much displeasure as I was wondering what I actually did.
I spoke quickly “I will help you pick them up ……I’m sorry if I was bothering you. I’ll leave after I am done”
Mr. Donelly’s voice soften from anger to slightly irritated. “ Aww, You don’t have to do that. You can stay …..I just …I just…forget about it. It was my fault young man and no one elses. Just feeling a little crazy today that’s all.”
Mr Donelly’s voice then was much kinder “In fact, I will give you another hand for free, it ain’t like you going to win your money back anyway….for my temper and all”
“Okay, I would like that” With that I sat behind the table with my back near the door. Mr Donelly then shuffled the cards as he always did. I sat thinking that this man must have terrible mood swings for he was eating me out a few seconds ago and now he is allowing me to play for free. I was even more interested in this man wondering if his mood swings had anything to do with the war. A soldier is engineered to be merciless and must kill as soon as duty calls. That must be it, I am sure of it.
I sat on the table with my hand of cards which I had two pair of 3s. I knew that this must be it and I was going to win my money right back. A feeling of excitement went over me as I trembled under the table. I was feeling really good with butterflies in my stomach. I decided on pushing all my chips in this hand as my excitement went from good to very good. The old round blacken table was shaking a little due to my trembling, as I moved my cards in different places, so it seemed that I had a bad hand. I knew that he was probably going to lose his mind over giving me money. There I sat, Samuel White, a reluctant southerner with a dirty clothes turned criminal.
My hand looked so promising as I felt the old cardboard cards move through my fingers. Should I risk it all for my money back. Part of me wanted my money back, while part of me wanted to just talk to Mr. Donelly. I was suddenly nervous for I looked at Mr. Donelly with much fear. He was not nervous or worried but just stood there staring at me. I looked in his brown with a greenish tilt eyes that seemed to be studying me as they peered into my soul. I could say that he peered into soul for those eyes were emotionless, silent and calm. Hell his pupils were not even closing! What should I do? Should I take back some of my chips or feel confident and continue to play. I was pondering this for a split second and then decided to exchange my 10 card, which was the oddball of the bunch. I did it slowly not knowing those eyes were very observant to the point that he could read my mind. I got back a 9 which was as useless as the 10. But it should be enough right? I came back to attention from my thoughts to see the man playing with his chips. He looked confident at that point where I decided what the hell “I am all in” Mr. Donelly got a small grin on the side of his face and started laughing before I could put down my hand. “You got two pair don’t ya son” I was startled by that statement where I was looking behind me to see if he had someone signaling him. He chuckled some more while spreading his cards with 3 pairs of queens. I felt my heart skip a beat before I lost that hand. A feeling of saying to yourself “Did that really happen?” I looked stunned at Mr. Donelly, wondering if he was the devil. Mr. Donelly spoke saying in a cheerful voice “Poker ain’t about the game but how you read people and conceal your own emotions “For instance, all that trembling you did at the table showed me that you were playing with a good hand. The fumbling with the cards made me read you had two pairs or something involving four good cards out of five. The fact that you were moving only one card made me see that. So since the chances that you have a straight flush are unlikely, so I decided on gambling my three of a kind, which beats two pair. Another thing was your eyes were moving to two objects or the two pairs. That’s what your eyes revealed. I knew I got you by not showing my emotions to reel you in. I controlled my heart rate not to reveal anything to you. Just thinking of back home. Very relaxing…..he he.”
This man was a magician with magical powers through my eyes, which made me want to emulate him even more. I know I should be angry, but this is the first person who fascinated me. He probably knew that as well through my movements. A desire to want him to accept me went through my head. So I asked “If this is your secret, why tell me? I might have more money and you jeopardized your chances of winning it.” I looked directly at him and leaned forward to ask him directly. He leaned against his so called wall and made that pondering posture. He then spoke earnestly
“I did it cause I trust you for some reason. I know you won’t use it against me even though there are hundreds of other rules in poker. I see myself as a good judge of character so you won’t prove me wrong. Right Sammie?” It sounded like a nice gesture with a threat at the end so I cautiously nodded my head. “Besides we all have secrets don’t we Sammie”
I suddenly thought he used his attentiveness to figure out my name until I remembered that I mentioned it before his story about Gettysburg. He went back to shuffling the cards as if he been doing that since the beginning of time. I was now more interested in getting him to know me. When I was with my family, they could care less about talking to me or give a rat’s ass about my goals. That was how I got my faith in being black because my dominant white genes just weren’t enough. I was about to talk until he did
“So your family was about abolishing slavery and such. You did say that you were against slavery. I mean slavery wasn’t the reason I fought but you seem pretty damn passionate about it”
I quickly did the reaction he so desperately warned me about. I didn’t think before I spoke. “Well my family was a bunch of slave owners” I cursed myself for that but it was too late and I could not let him think I was a liar so I went with it. “Yes….yes we were slave owners but we freed our slaves after the war. Donelly continued to shuffle the deck looking away saying
“Well you must have lost a lot of money losing all that property”
“Yes true but it was the right thing to do”
Mr. Donelly smiled saying “So you owned slaves then after the war you decided to be an advocate for freeing after losing them”
I was now nervous because I felt that I now looked like a idiot to this man
“Well yes…….slavery is wrong on all sides of the coin”
Mr. Donelly leaned back and closed his eyes in a type of trance.
“I don’t mind negroes…Hell I don’t call them niggers like most southerners but I stay true to what I believe in…..do you understand what I am saying Sammie?”
I simply nodded as I listened further
“I honestly don’t know what the south would be like without negroes. It is sorta a way of life. Ya we took them from Africa but they have been in southern society for centuries. Maybe we enslaved them but we often don’t realize that we built America together. I walk down the streets of New Orleans and I can’t imagine a place without creoles serving food and the type of music they inspired. They are the fucking place. Creoles Sammie. The south may look down on these people but they walk among us and eat among us. Sometimes they even help raise our children. I ain’t got no hate for negroes, but I am a southern confederate who fought in the civil war. We lost….you know that son? The south don’t understand that we shouldn’t blame negroes but they do anyway. It was a government thing. All that spilled blood put a very nasty taste in the white people’s mouths. This is a bunch of people thinking that we should have won. Coming home beaten after being told what to do. That explains the violence, but they need to understand that black people are AMERICA! Just as the Indians roamed this land; the blacks help forge it to a society that has so much to offer the world. But don’t be talking that “I love slaves chant east of here though”. You gotta realize that people still hurt from that war. Do you understand son?”
The fact that this man was such a joy to be around made me feel that he was an inspiration to all. He believed in the south but didn’t want to hurt civilian blacks…a true warrior that respects life. My black heritage was something that I wished to reveal to him. I wanted to tell him that I was raised by a dark skinned black woman for the duration of my life. I didn’t know how he would react to the idea that his stories reminded me of an old black woman long deceased. It was actually hard for me when my grandma died and I was reluctantly taken in by my white family to be a free slave of some sorts. Well with what I was getting paid; it felt like slavery. The way he described his charge made me want to hear some more. It was vivid and surreal just like my Grandma stories about the warriors of Africa. She was an slave most of her life but heard the stories being passed down from generation. As the slave masters told stories of the American revolution in their plantation; she heard stories of great battles with rival tribes, where unfortunately the Prisoners of War became American property. History was history, by whoever told it in wherever the place was. But they all fought bravely in her stories.
I decided to add to the conversion about some of things that occurred in Africa. “I know of some African history. I mean …..I heard the stories from the slaves mouths themselves. They are a little primitive…”
William Donelly looked at me saying
“What did I tell you …stay true”
I looked confused at what that had to do with anything. As I stared down on the man.
“You should see how sharp one of them Zulu spears are. They are small at the tip, but sharp as a sword that a cavalry man would use.”
Donelly smiled at that
“I used to know some cavalry men back in the war; Kind of people who took their rank pretty serious. I guess that comes with the nature of the job; They had to sometimes charge men with just their swords against bayonets and rifles. That feeling of being brave, including scouting, made them feel like knights of Britain that didn’t take shit from anyone.”
Donelly leaned against the wall again with his eyes closed.
“Can you imagine going full speed on a vehicle as unpredictable as a horse? Just being bucked up and down as you approach an enemy infantry line. You know that they can see you so you scream a battle cry as they are reloading their ammo from both fear and insanity. They give a volley of bullets from a safe distance knowing they will have time to fire again at a closer range. It kills many but you press on and on. The gunpowder smoke becomes a wall of the unknown, but you don’t care. You are riding to your inevitable death; blinded by the smoke and your own ambition to kill. You get closer and realize that you have to get there faster, so they can’t reload in time. You whip that horse like he killed your father in order to go faster. You pass the smoke only to realize that you didn’t judge the distance in time, so you unhinge your sacred sword and take out your pistol. You say your peace with God. Then you reach the line and BAM! All hell breaks loose. Just Death is what remains as you become a part of the chaos, which was once a complete line formation on both sides.
I looked impressed at that description of what he said saying “How do you know that? Were you also a cavalry officer”
Mr. Donelly opened his eyes slowly and leaned forward. He sounded pretty serious
“Sometimes men tell me things that haunt them in war…you understand son? It’s a bond that we put on each other. We live to tell the stories that the fallen can’t. I am an old man but I remember every experience and every life I took. I even know everyone I saw die. They died for what they believed in. I ain’t going to tell you that I love negroes but slavery ain’t why I fought. I just tell you that. However you need to realize that those idiots out there; they are afraid to look at negroes as people….not the opposite.
I was taken back by his love for his soldiers, but did he truly see black people as people. I decided on testing him on that with a story by my grandmother.
“ Well war has been around for centuries and any man can show respect for his fellow man. My caretaker was a slave telling stories of when black people ran free. They weren’t no niggers but proud warriors that roamed the plains. They had communities and they did what any man could ask of them They hunted animals that would put the fear of god in you by how they were savage and ferocious. You can’t even kill some with a Springfield rifle…….too big, too tough. A man hides in the tall grass that is inhabited by all manner of wild animals to hunt for his family. Not go to a market. And all he has is a stick with a small pointed sharpen blade at the end. He is told by his tribe to kill a lion. This massive killer of an animal that can take down a 400 lbs buffalo and will use his claws and teeth to bloody rip apart any creature. By the way, this man is only 14 years old! He is probably more fearful then anytime in his life. He doesn’t become a man when he wets the bed but only when he does what is uncanny. He respects his father as a warrior so he actually searches for the most ferocious lion of them all. The lion looks at the young boy as some creature who is trespassing through his domain. The animal bellows a roar so loud that it could be heard miles around including the boy's village. The father hears it knowing that this is his son's true test as a man and worries about his son as a father at the same time. The lion hunches back to striking distance as it unsheathes its 2 inch retractable claws. The lion roars again showing its massive flesh ripping teeth that can tear through the toughest hide of almost any animal. But this is the soft skin of a 14 year old boy that has not even been touched by a mating female. He riles up all his courage and stands up tall and firm as he aims his spear. The lion begins circling him looking for a opening that will be a fatal blow. The boy also circles him along the tall grass...both waiting then instantaneously for something to happen.....then.....death occurs to one of the combatants. Can you believe it? He actually wants to impress his father so much that he will risk his life. All for a ritual….you don’t see that anymore"
Donelly stared at him with a face of a man, who just heard a better story. His face looked mean, but it soften into a faint smile while he was shuffling those cards
“I reckon them little boys had balls of steel. With a sharp piece of wood hunting a lion. Big muther like that. Okay that’s good, but it ain’t killing a man. Remember when I said I was part injun…….they hunted wolves and bears with sharp sticks as well.”
Donelly face harden back to his mean look. He was a man who pondered things that no man should think about.
“Killin a man is like taking an investment away from him…I ain’t no banker, but you took his life as baby away from him. Then his childhood. Then his manhood years. The investment is when he planned to retire as an old man looking after his children and grandchildren. He may not have children anymore so you killed them future kids as well. You robbed him of his investment that he put in. His nest egg for his life. I reckon that everyone is entitled to that……
With that Donelly smoked his pipe and finally stopping shuffling his cards.
I never took a life before but I heard stories of how that happened and I didn’t plan for Mr. Donelly to take my thunder. I talked now in a firm voice…
“You don’t think that Africans fight wars. Like the Injun in your blood, they look at it in a ritualistic sorta way. The men fight smarter than them idiots in the Civil war.”
Donelly lit his pipe in a curious looking fashion like he wanted to hear more
“Is that so youngster, who ain’t killed shit. Due tell”
“Well they used surprise attacks like the smarter people in Missouri during the war. They would creep at night ever so silently. All they had was a spear and shield to attack an enemy village. They creep to the sound of the night animals to conceal their movements. All the men would be asleep. That’s tactical thinking not like lining up right in front of the enemy to see who is shot to bits first. They moved ever so silently that you only heard the insects chirp. They moved so perfectly that they can see the enemy in their huts, who don’t even know they are going to die. When they are ever so close after crawling on their bellies and knees to camouflage with their surroundings. The war party leader raises his hands to signal everyone to stop and move in position. They surround the village only waiting on the war leader or chieftain only to signal. They are in enemy territory far away from their village ever waiting on the signal. They wait and wait until everything is right…then… the war leader screams to the point that birds are startled from their trees. Like you said “all hell breaks loose”. I would rather die by a bullet then wrestle with someone who is trying to impale me with a knife or spear. The amount of blood that wet the village’s ground from all that cutting and stabbing. Throat’s slit…..spears through hearts…….heads bashed with rocks……then cut open…terrible”
Donelly smiled for moment as if he knew something I didn’t.
“Didn’t you say that the prisoners became slaves…..that’s not honorable…especially the women and children………We didn‘t mess with much women and children compared to the union. Especially during Sherman’s march. Shit that's southern hospitality to respect the enemy. That’s HONOR boy”
I suddenly got angry and spoke without thinking
“Do you think black people are the enemy in that war. They had women and children as well. You may have not fought for slavery but it’s blood on your hands. Free blacks that were captured were put back in slavery like criminals of war. It that HONOR?!”
Donelly did an reaction that I didn’t respect….he grinned widely. I then thought he was laughing at me and he was not the man I wished him to be
“You do understand that people who wanted to abolish slavery were on all parts of the country. Including the south, youngster. You don’t know shit about me, so I appreciate it if you shut your mouth. I told you that I didn’t fight for slavery, so blame the ones that actually did that…..shit that’s a form of being racist.”
I felt that he had a good point but I felt that must analyze him further. I liked this person due to the detail he told these stories. Maybe I was reminiscing about my long dead grandmother, who would look out into the night sky on her rocking chair. It was her that gave me this pride or joy. I felt that she kept me from turning to my white side completely. I guess that I would be an Uncle Tom, who would look against my small black heritage. I guess any man would for why the hell would you want to be black. They were looked upon as a weak race that would be bullied forever. The white man looked like he was never going forgive to them for a war that took 600,000 lives……for many years it looked like….for many years…..even when the ghosts of the Civil War had their peace.
I was interrupted by Donelly talking again. He put down his pipe and asked
“Explain to me why the injuns are dying out and the black man helped it happen…..Shit buffalo soldiers….Niggers helped kill them with the Union!”
I first noticed that he called them niggers and also that he didn’t say the white man. I found this strange but insulting.
“The white man killed the injuns and not African Americans!”
“They helped and they flew the flag of the Union!”
The conversion had turned into a yelling match now. I needed some fresh air plus a place to vent my frustration. He was not the man I thought. I felt like I was making a connection but he had to say nigger.
“I will go outside for a moment …..I can’t take this”
I went outside to look at the town for a little. I sat at the very step that I slept at before Mexico. The saloon had a white cover on it that had protected me from the rain. I was quite dirty from the ordeal of sitting out in the center of town. I watched as the sun began to set over the west. I pondered, why in the world did I have interest in this man and why I could not leave this place. I had several pounds of silver dug under the ground and I was not in haste about leaving. I figured that my white family got wind of me not coming back. A smile crept upon my face with glee; I could see them spewing words of every racist variety to me for they never ever liked me……..Coon nigger spade etc… I was an indecent animal to these people and that was fine by me. They never showed love or compassion at my birth so I figured they wouldn’t give a shit about me as an adult. That didn’t bother me cause I had what their greedy little hands really loved…….money. I returned to thinking about Mr. Donelly, whose stories were very entertaining. Even though he not perfect; he could tell a yarn. It was almost like we were battling through telling stories and creating a friendship in the process. That was until he used the word nigger to describe an unforgivable act. I felt like battling him some more in this storytelling. It was like a fiddle contest, but with words and I felt that I could win. He was an expert fiddler but I could beat him with the smooth beat of early black music. I smiled even though I knew that I should really leave this boring place. I got up and returned back into the saloon.
I returned into the saloon staring face to face with my storytelling opponent, who was just sitting in his chair smoking a pipe
“No more about this spear nonsense cause even though I respect the guts it takes to fight an animal like that; that ain’t in the time period we live in. It is the time period of the steel if you know what I mean. If you don’t know how to use a gun and you're in a lot of argumentative situations…….Shoot…..You better just carve out your tombstone to save money for your family”
With that Mr. Donelly took out his revolver and smacked it right in the middle of the table.
“This is a colt revolver….the finest revolver every made…American made out of steel”
I interrupted as he took the revolver piece out and began loading it with bullets.
“Maybe you need to understand that people can’t afford or don’t want to live that way”
Mr Donelly grunted and coughed…probably from all the smoking that he did
“Ah I guess so……… you think it’s a privilege to own a gun cause we ain’t a dirt poor place”
“Yeah I would say that but not in those words……..I always believed that bravery is higher when the odds are not in your favor. For instance look at the Zulu wars.
Mr. Donelly looked confused saying
“The Zuko wars….what are you talking about son?”
I laughed at how ignorance could be looked upon as something mildly amusing sometimes.
“Zulu wars …ZZZ…UU…LLL…UUU wars…It was a battle between the British and Zulu nation that started in 1879”
He looked mildly interested until I said
“What they did pales in comparison to what the Indians did. They sacrificed their lives for what they believed in. Let me put it in terms that you can understand ……They were a shit more dumber and braver than those Civil War soldiers lining up to be killed. For the African Zulu warriors, they barely had anything to fight back with except (pause) a stick with a point.”
Mr. Donelly all of a sudden looked interested
“Them Africans fighting the British…sorta like them Union black soldiers right?”
“Naw even braver than that, even though there was racism on both sides of the war to deal with. I guess bravery is really a point of view between having a sharp stick ,or being forever mistreated for your skin”
Mr Donelly slapped the table with his hands enthusiastic like.
“Okay I am a sold to this war…..So tell the story my friend”
I smiled thinking someone actually wants to listen to my stories and talk to me.
“Well imagine that you are hiding in the grass to attack a smaller populated fort in a circle around the fort. From a hawk’s view it could be looked upon as a large black ring with the fort snap dab in the middle. They know that you are out there but you are hidden out of range. The difference is that they have the finest rifles in the world and you have a small shield and spear made out of wood. A few of the soldiers of Zulu nation have to do something that no one in their right mind would do”
“What is that?” Mr Donelly spoke in interest
“They had to stand up from the grass and rush the fort. They know that they are going to die a death that has no purpose or meaning. All for their tribe, clan and country in a glorious ending. They are leaving behind a family for the simple purpose of seeing the enemy’s firepower and number of men.”
“How did they see that?”
“They saw by how much smoke was in the air from the blasts that killed those brave men. The British often fired in unison much like the Civil war.”
“ So your saying that those negroes died…to just see the number of men?…Shit…they could have just snuck in further”
“The safety of the tall grass ends near the fort. They wisely cut that grass so camouflage won’t work. It is almost how a lion hunts for prey. It sneaks up in the tall grass before sprinting for the kill. This ain’t much different in terms of the sneaking and sprinting ”
Mr Donelly smiled as he lit a match to light his cigar. His small cowboy hat put a shadow over his face, where the flame gave it an eerie glow. He shook the flame out and spit in the bucket over in the corner.
“Well I reckon that makes them negroes very brave, or very stupid”
I spoke in a tone that showed much respect to my story
“I don’t think so; they fought with dignity and honor, against impossible odds……much like your injuns"
Mr Donelly smiled with a face that could predict the future
“Naw not like my injuns…….they rushed them brits like ants attacking a picnic didn‘t they. Sure they died brave-like but they also died stupid-like. They rushed them with overwhelming numbers that probably made those Brits shit their pants. HeHe …..can you imagine all them negroes running at them at full speed unafraid of their guns. Hell your suppose to charge when the enemy is in less numbers or flanked…for all I know. Don’t you think them Brits were scared. Who knows what they will do to the prisoners…if they take any prisoners at all. Imagine your one of them Brits shaking your gun as a sea of negroes rush you. You're so afraid that you can’t even aim. You try and you firewhile pissing your pants. The smoke kicks up from all them English firing their guns. You cough up dust while the smoke is stinging your eyes. The only thing in your mind is to reload as quickly as possible before them negroes ascend upon you. You are crying up tears from the smoke in your eyes or you are just crying from the fact your about to be impaled by a sharpen stick. The only thing that allows you to judge distance is the screams from these so called savages…..and they are getting mighty close…..probably too close to kill with a shot …….cause distance is your friend. The smoke clears and the savages are upon you jumping over their many dead to cut you open. You are surprised that they ignore their dead and don’t fear death at all. You know that most of these negroes are past the tall grass and within the compound. You use split second judgment to screw on your bayonet while your comrades are still firing shots. You finally see the magnitude of negroes, which are like a sea of black killers flowing in all directions. They are too close now and even some attack the soldiers who stupidly didn’t put on their bayonets. They are stabbing them violently with their sharpen sticks with blood staining the ground. The men are in chaos; they wrestle one black, then two at a time, and finally being overpowered with five or seven. They scream their war cry to the heavens as they overpower nearly everyone and you sit in the center of this with your bayonet against thousand spears aimed at you in a circle…..probably praying to the good lord for a quick and painless death…
I looked at Mr. Donelly with much confusion and in amazement at his always good descriptions.
“How did you know that…?”
Mr. Donelly smiled saying
“I talked to a Brit that was veteran of that war. I have talked to a lot of people in my day, so they tell me their description and I put in a better way. He was very kind to me, when he told it to me. It's funny that you talk about the negro side of the war cause I heard it from the white side. It's funny that we look at bravery differently”
I even smiled to that
“There are often more than one side to every war, even though the victors often write it”
I grunted in solemn
“I wish that I could meet a lot of people, who were a veterans of any war. I don’t care what race, or creed. The stories that they could tell….it would be worth it to hear. I don’t know…it sorta reminds me of another story teller I knew…..a long time coming.
Mr. Donelly frowned
“You know stories don’t always have to be about war you know……your glorifying something that has caused more problems than solutions in the world. You think those men fighting all them negroes actually WANTED to be there to die in some God forsaken place miles from home. They were probably getting some crazy ass diseases in that burning heat…..for what…..a piece of land that’s worthless. (sigh) Even the blacks knew they were going to die…I guess for their God….but what if they had doubts…..Just be a damn shooting gallery for them Brits. That’s why I like the injuns…they fought smart….guerilla warfare”
I looked at him with much fear of what I was about to say
“The injuns were not much smarter….they, at first, fought like the Africans in the early days. They later died by the thousands for their bravery”
Mr Donelly looked at me with a pause then he spit in the corner and got up from his chair to pour himself some whiskey. It took him a while before he got angry…
“Bullshit boy, You don’t know about my ancestors or white people with your one-sided arguments! I ain’t no fool ….I know history cause I heard straight from the mouths of the fighters themselves! You can’t come in here with your know it all against me!”
With that he swallowed the whole whiskey flask and threw it in broken shards over at the wall he talked about. He moved slowly back to his seat with a red face and a pissed off demeanor.
“Well Mr. Donelly……a soldier is a soldier on either side he faces…..He fights for country or region….that is all. If we remove the politics; he is an expendable man who believes in his country but doesn’t realize that he is expendable in the eyes of his government…..to the extent to stop fighting. I am one sided because that is the side I only heard about. That is why I want to learn from you, Mr Donelly. I want to see your side of the argument and I think you’re a reasonable man so I want you to learn from me as well. Our stories are a link for understanding so you can pass them down to someone else. Its books that transfer knowledge to our world and talking it is only better.
I extended my hand to this short tough man as a gesture of friendship
He looked at me with squinting eyes and calming asked
“Where did you learn that from, son”
I extended to shake his hand firmly
“My grandmother”
He smiled at the corner of his mouth
“Really? She was a smart lass”
“You know the difference between bravery and foolishness is really determined by what you are fighting for. I don’t think that the Indians or Africans would invade countries with sharpen sticks against guns but they would definitely defend their country with sharpen sticks against guns as means to honor it. …..So I think they were some the bravest people I know”
Mr. Donelly’s grin widen on his bearded face that could use a shave. He spoke
“Did I tell you the one about the gunfighter that had killed like 17 men with barely any guilt on his conscience. That takes a cold heart to kill a man and not think about it, but I don’t believe that is true anyway.”
I was puzzled by his argument, where he said that he did not believe it
“Why do you think that if you talked to him about it?”
Mr. Donelly leaned back into his chair and looked a little uncomfortable for the first time.
“I don’t know…..I just feel it. It aint like your killing an unknown enemy in war…..you are murdering your brethren in a way. These are people that you see every day according to the gunfighter and then suddenly one day you have an altercation. You do that thing where your brain is only working for a split second and then it is over with. It makes you wonder if God has set up these moments to test what you will do to it. Someone gets mad and …shoot….that’s it, someone is dead. This particular gunfighter happened to be the cause and the reaction in many different instances…….but only he managed to survive to old age.”
I pondered this for a moment and decided to say my piece
“So you are saying that the fact that he was skilled is why he survived to old age?”
“Naw…I am saying that his life was like a game of poker…..you gotta have a winner and also a loser. He just happen to always have a winning hand in this case. I mean he could have had skill but when you play a hand with 18 people then always someone must win and the rest lose. I guess that’s why gambling is sort of a futile attempt to believe that you will beat the house. I guess I am talking about luck in the game. You have days where you win and lose but this particular gunfighter had days where he won but many where the other guy just lost. It always depends on your hand……Luck or God’s favor, as I call it, for that moment in time.”
I thought about that and all of sudden had concerns for Mr. Donelly, who was just sitting there smoking a pipe.
“Maybe that story is not just a tale but luck. A lesson aimed specially at you for that particular moment that you talked to this fellow. I was a another part of that luck, where I put two and two together.”
I smiled at him thinking that he should get the message
“I make a living hustling people and that comes with the territory. Shit I know that my luck will run out but I live for the moment until it does. I reckon that if you don’t look for trouble, you should be fine. I am sorta like a sheriff…..trouble comes looking for me. That’s why I have the wall to guard me and there is really no way around that.”
I looked around the bar at this old cracked wall and leaking ceiling and thought that he was defending a pile of dirt pretty much. It made me wish that this town had a sheriff or some kind of law enforcement to at least give him a chance. I watched him sit against that so called wall and for moment felt kinda jealous that the law enforcement was a chipped broken down wall. I almost wanted to help protect him, where we could have a business together and talk about all the stories we wanted. It was a strange friendship we were creating here. Maybe I was just lonely for the only friend that I ever truly had was buried at Elkwood cemetery….my grandma. I decided on walking out of the broken down saloon look around this town. It was like I was considering living here for just someone who reminded me of the one person I had loved. The place was poor and it always rained a pitter patter on your face. The people were not friendly and kept to their frugal ways. It was cold and muddy and the buildings could be condemned. Perhaps this town could be brought back to life with the money I had. Give Mr. Donelly a real saloon with actual paying consumers. The sky was never blue with moving fluffy puffed clouds but always gray with a overcast. If purgatory had a origin….then this place was it. The stories were what kept it alive in this little saloon. If only there was a way to preserve those stories to a larger audience by making the town alive again. I could not make the sky blue, but people could spread these stories and make the place a lot brighter. I thought perhaps write a book but I was not very good at writing. The stories could spread out due to people passing by this town and then spread them out further to other towns. I closed my eyes thinking of a transformation, where this town had a sheriff, a saloon, a market, a blacksmith…etc My imagination ran wild as the rain hit my closed eyelids and my head tilted toward the sky. My grandmother’s and Mr Donelly’s legacy would not end at this town or elkwood cemetery but stay alive through the transfer of human beings. I slowly opened my eyes which ended my fantasy of being a business/story teller and returned to the reality of being in the middle of nowhere. My money was stolen goods and they are probably searching for me right now. I frowned at the thought of never having a fantasy in the first place…….the unification of cultures. But this man Mr. Donelly gave me hope and a purpose to dream. I smiled at that thought as I returned inside the bar.
Mr Donelly seemed unaware of my thoughts and he should rightly so. He now stood a chance of obtaining bags of valuable silver with little effort on his part except being an excellent story teller. But what puzzled me was how good he was at telling stories. A cruel thought came to mind…….What if he was making it up as he went along. No his detail was too impeccable and informative to just make it up. But by the look of him….doubts filled my mind. I never noticed that he was extremely short to be a soldier and sort of old to be that brave. His wisdom was in the right place but lacked the physical appearance to fight in the war and to also be a hero. I could not dare to question him due to his temper and my desire for his complete trust. He sat there with a brown cowboy hat and bushy unshaved beard. He just leaned on the wall with a sorta fat stomach with a pair of spectacles. He expertly shuffled the cards, but was he as good with that gun as his attitude speculated? The doubts lingered in my mind mainly because it gave me a pain in my heart to put this much admiration into a person only to be colossally disappointed. Even though I wanted to believe him because of his kindness taking me in; I began to put my thoughts to a more realistic perspective. I began to sit on the stool in this claustrophobic bar in order to interview him further. I felt in my heart that his descriptions were too detailed to be heard from a liar. But……what if?
I sat there staring him in the eyes hoping I was wrong. But I knew a question that would reveal his honesty, which was a question that he seemed to avoid in all his ramblings. It was the defining question that every soldier has heard and often answers honesty especially to himself……
“Mr. Donelly, were you ever afraid?”
Mr Donelly continued to shuffle his cards without looking up and without changing his voice or demeanor. He sniffed in a huge breathe and He look extremely confident for a moment before he looked away. He then gave a look of a thinking man as he scratched his beard. Then all of a sudden, he gave me a look that he never gave me before.
“Every soldier, every man, who has something to lose over something prove, is scared. If he is not scared then he is lying to you and maybe himself. If he has something to prove over losing his life then he is a fool that doesn’t understand what he has got himself into. Listen to this story that a very old man had told me when he was a lad. Shit it was a miracle that he got to live that long with so much guilt.”
I looked uneasy that Mr. Donelly sorta avoided the question about himself so instead he would tell another story ….as if he was stalling for something. I simply changed my expression from doubt to one of curiosity and interest, which was a respectful truth.
“It was the battle of the Alamo and the days of anticipation for when the surrounding Mexican army would finally do the final assault to finish off the prideful Texans. The days were long and hot ,where you anticipated death because of a overwhelming force was about to ascend on a poorly defended villa. You just sat and waited for the slaughter that was going to overtake you. You believed that maybe you were going to have some support from fellow Texans but courier after courier gives you the disappointing news that help just cannot come. The days are boring and frightful, where you ask yourself why are you here. When you look over the Alamo’s walls , all you see is brightly colored Mexican soldiers setting up their massive artillery with scores of marching soldiers multiplying their ranks by the hundreds. The question comes up again …..why are you here?…… after your supplies have to rationed. Every time you look up again over the wall, you swear that you see even more and more Mexicans just staring at you in your poorly defended villa. The commanders feel confident that they are doing the right thing as you have always had doubts. You have had doubts since the Mexican commanders had promised safe passage for the fort. The question burns in your head like a hot steel arrow as the days pass by……Why are you here?….Do the commanders believe in something……Do the soldiers fighting for Texas believe in something………But if you have your doubts, are you believing in something. Maybe you don’t believe. Maybe you think that this a foolish waste of resources and life to make a statement to Mexico. Maybe you should talk to the commanders and the other soldiers in their non coordinating uniforms that make them think that they actually an army. Hell one of the soldiers in the Alamo is a Mexican defector still in a Mexican uniform. Why can’t I think like them…..Why can’t I go and fight to the death like a hero. You then realize that you are not afraid but ashamed of yourself having….well….common sense. You don’t realize that you are not alone but no one wants to be a coward and run away. Look Samuel, that soldier didn’t know that everyone was afraid as they huddled in an old fort waiting to die. I don’t know what would have happened if someone had spoke up. Pride is a funny thing that blinds common sense”
Samuel looked thoughtfully at that statement and felt he needed to add something
“Common sense is something that often blinds pride……their sacrifice is what inspired the Texans to rally from impossible odds to defeat Mexico”
Mr. Donelly smiled at that and said
“You don’t think it could have gone another way? If I recall a very well known general fought hard and bravely in that war in order to get respect. He was ranked highly in his military class and carried a demeanor of class, resilience, respect, intelligence, and order. He even was known to command black troops during the Mexican war we are talking about. Hell, every sort of American fought in the Mexican war and this great man, who commands awe and distinguished honor, fought through this war where he climbed the ranks”
I looked perplexed at who he was talking about for I knew many who fought in wars involving black people due to my interest in the subject.
“You got me perplexed sir….who are you talking about?”
“I am talking about a soft spoken hard nosed veteran that scared the living crap out of the Northern Americans to the point that if they shit their pants that they would have to ask him for permission”
“Who”
“General Robert E Lee”
I looked at him just sitting there with a grin in the corner of his mouth that made me instantly hooked on anything that he had to say after that point.
“Yeah kid …..the man himself which I even had a conversion with…but you were talking about pride in the soldier’s heart”
“Okay he fought in the Mexican war and you somehow spoke to him….what does that have to do with being afraid?”
Mr Donelly got and stretched saying
“Fear is common sense as well…..or you succumb to being inspired by anything without caution”
Mr. Donelly sat back down as I was anxious waiting for him to conclude the story, which was revealed by my eyes never leaving his”
"The conversion that I had with the man was that he is a man, who respects the will and welfare of a soldier. As much as he loved his wife, he knew that his duty calls as he anticipated the worse for his hometown of Virginia. By taking the impossible task of leading the men of the Confederacy, he left a wife that he had planned to invest much love and time as they would sit on their porch and grow old together. But duty calls and he had sacrificed all including the repercussions of the Northern army of the Potomac. They later turned his home into a graveyard in front of his wife as hate for his bloody victories as a commander. Imagine that Samuel…..your home is being ravaged with corpses by your longtime enemy and there is nothing you can do about it. Every yard of ground contains a dead man that you send there and your wife just watches in horror and silence. You can’t fight an entire advancing army, who was intent on stopping you by spilling all the blood of the North and South on the ground. He made an error at Gettysburg only to see his brethren die in the hands of an entrenched army on the high ground. To lose is to see all the sacrifices at Antietam, Fredicksburg, Atlanta, bull’s run all go to vain. To come so far only to lose. To walk through the hospitals where all Americans of both North and south brothers are mutilated in order to survive. They will be cripples to their dying day. The long 100 plus mile marches through the hot southern sun while he had hope……hope that didn’t believe in slavery but the fact that he could not lose…as if things were meant to be the way he fashioned it for his men and all of the south. When he signed the treaty at the courthouse he came back a defeated man that had hope, which was not non aggressive but started by an idea. Do you know where this idea had come from…….The idea of secession, the belief that if Texas could be free from overwhelming odds so could the south…….the idea of the ALAMO!”
“So sacrifice so long ago was the driving force that made him lose fear, which might not have happened under the circumstances of the Alamo……interesting”
Samuel looked stunned at the revelation that this man had come up with and the fears that had occurred by a man that didn’t know the fears of the men of the Alamo.
“Inspiration that drove someone, who would later become a legend that didn’t completely satisfy him. Decisions that in fact haunted him throughout the night despite his mass admiration. A lot of what ifs travel through this great man’s brain like what if he had actually passed Gettysburg and continued on to Washington. He probably thought about all those things till the end of his life. He thought of lost comrades like the infamous Stonewall Jackson and wondered if things would have been different if he was at his side at Gettysburg. Hell, he would give anything for him just to survive he war and grow old. He then realizes that his friend and confidante is a dead corpse rotting in some cemetery much like the other 600,000 people that died in the madness of this war. They slowly become a memory that fades from your thoughts as every man must move on. Lee had actually paused to think that it was all this fault, even though nobody blamed him that much. For they knew that they would not have even been a contender if it was not for the brilliance of Robert E Lee. He knew that they felt that way about him but still had the humility to blame himself. This man’s picture for some time hung in every saloon in the south as they showed him the utmost respect for a man that gave them hope to defeat an empire like the United States of America. Shoot for someone who blamed himself, he put up a fight like no other.”
Samuel was taken back by those words even though Lee actually fought for slavery
Mr. Donelly looked me in the eye and spoke some things that was almost impossible to experience.
“I know about the devotion to this man in every Southerner……I met someone who fought for him in a bar. He went by the name of Thomas Ackgree and he ended up losing it all in the war. He lost his farm because soldiers would take the animals for rationing. Could you imagine that? Your life possessions gone in the name of a war that you supported on that particular side. He told me that his wife left him when he decided to join the Confederacy. He never again saw his wife and kids until much later in life. Too late to raise their two boys and baby girl, who were adult teens by the time he entered their lives again. They never forgave him for leaving their ma. He fought all right in one battle until a round hit him below the hip and his brief stay in the military was a painful one. He sat on a surgery table as they pumped whiskey into his mouth until flowed across his face to keep the pain away. Then two men grabbed his arms and held him down until they put a damp rag in his mouth till he choked. They did that so he wouldn’t bite off his own tongue from the pain. Man his pain was about to come….Good Lord…… As they touch the skin with the jagged bloodied saw….this man told me that he decided to scream. The jagged points began tearing skin with a little amount of blood flowing down the leg. He could feel the motion go deeper in his leg and at that moment the pain was excruciating like a singular feeling that you were being cut deeply. The pain was like being slashed by a sword but not for one swing; The sword would be slashing you for a longer period of time than one second and it was as slow as molasses. By this time, the surgeon is covered with large amounts of wet red blood on his hands as he stops due to fatigue. The saw cannot be seen due to the fact that it is stuck in your leg like an ax in a tree. The surgeon continues with the pain now effecting your brain as a powerful sensation that is just pure madness. He is losing control of being aware of your surroundings to screaming with that wet rag down your throat. He bites down hard on that rag as that is the only thing you can do as the saw rips through the nerves and blood vessels. The pain follows the movement of the saw through your leg but leaving a path of lesser but excruciating pain. The pain’s most potent part is where the saw is as it is about to hit bone. By now the surgeon and the two men holding you down are drenched in blood. …..Your blood. They do their job admirably for this is routine for them seeing this type of horror. By this time they reach the bone and the pain changes from excruciating to mind numbing. By this time the doctor is cutting at a faster rate due to the hardness of bone. It's like he is cutting a piece of wood that is difficult to cut. His mind passes out and the only movement or action that he can do is scream with this rag. The last thing his eyes see and his ears hear ,as he begs God to kill him, is his bleeding flesh hanging next to the saw as he hears the sound of his bones snap. His leg is hanging on a piece of flesh like cattle from a butcher! At least the sensation of universal pain is gone down to a singular pain, for there was nothing left to feel hurt. The doctor quickly cuts that piece flesh for it is his lifeline to what was left of his leg….. like cutting a steak. The people are now drenched with blood to where their clothes are just wet with dripping stains all over. As he goes out of consciousness; He last remembers seeing all the blood on the surgeon, the two men, the table, the floor, and the saw, where on the floor it is spread over a circle. Hell the doctor and all his assistants were splashing in puddles of his own blood like walking in the rain. The blood had squirted everywhere and he never forgets the saw that has fed on the blood of an uncountable amount of arms and legs.
He wakes up in less pain as he tries to move his body but one part is not working. He tries to remember how he got on this hospital bed but the traumatized brain won’t let him. He feels a sharp pain as he tries to move his left foot but it’s just pain. He suddenly realizes that he does not feel the covers on his left leg and the fact that he can’t feel any sensation at all…..no covers….no bed…..he feels no movement. He lifts the covers ever so slowly, only feeling that sharp pain in his hip but no leg. He sees that his leg is gone only replaced by some bandages on his left hip. ………It is gone!
Samuel White looked very interested and amazed by the amount of detail yet again. He would defeat him in a story telling contest for sure. The detail was incredible….almost too incredible. Samuel had some more questions about this man. It was amazing that this man had lived knowing all these people but there was some suspicion in the truth. He seemed to avoid the necessary questions with a story…..a vivid story at that. Some parts of the stories didn’t seem to make much sense and the knowledge was just too good. He was hiding something. I looked at his tough demeanor and wondered if there was more to his story. I allowed him to continue on though
“Then what happened Mr. Donelly?”
“Well the man showed his mutilated self to his friends and later his family, who would reject him. He lived the rest of his life as a cripple without hardly any war stories. He later got petty jobs to support himself, which were not very glamorous due to the fact his leg was cut from the hip. He struggled his whole life, lost everything and had nothing to show for it. When I met him at a bar……..he looked at a picture of Robert E Lee hanging simply in the corner. You know what he did? He yelled the Confederate Yell and promised everyone drinks in honor of the Confederacy with what little money he had. Devotion to a cause is a funny thing ain’t it? It makes us believe that we are a part of something greater than ourselves and we don’t ever worry about ourselves but we will die to the last man for a cause. I reckon that the black soldiers, who were freed from slavery thought the same way about the Yankees. Soldiers on both sides of the war needed to realize that devotion is a two way street…..a street that gives us hope when we are down and makes us a member of something that is quality and quantity strong.
Samuel was taken aback by his reasoning and storytelling. It gave him a feeling of being a part of something as well. The way the man detailed the story was like being there and experiencing this form of bravery and even pain. You could see yourself in Thomas’s side just viewing his leg being cut off. It was where you could actually hear him scream to the good lord for the amount of pain that he was in. You only wished that his stories would never end due to the fact it was a time machine into the past. I grinned at that because every story is a time machine in the past or even the future for some authors. Some stories lead to revelations and some lead to the edge of scientific imagination. Some gave you suspense and some took you to a new world that will never exist……yet. We as people do not know the future or all of the past but as time goes by we will extend in both directions as technology improves. A book is the simple way of getting you into the future or past but it is up to the author to clean the window of that time machine so that the picture is not blurry.
I felt that I should propose that we maybe write a book or something…. Storytelling was my life of some sorts, mainly about black people due to my grandmother. I felt that this man had a gift that was beyond the average story teller and I didn’t care if he was lying or telling the truth. I decided to not make this a one fiddle battle so I told a story of my own…
“That was pretty good Mr. Donelly but you ever heard the story of how the Negro soldiers stormed Fort Wagner with such pose and bravery. Their story was told among the White Union soldiers for years to come about how a bunch of so called former slaves with tattered clothes and no formal education became the symbol of fighting for your rights as just being a person….. A person……A person who can walk down the road without being harassed for who you belong to. A person who does not have to be whipped like a animal due the fact he is in the position to be educated or free. A person who will never lose the scars of whip marks on their back but use it as a reminder that nothing comes easy……even freedom…………. The war had two sides to it ….Mr Donelly……two sides. Anyway imagine that scores of former slaves, runaways, and even Free men, trying to make the wrongs of slavery right, coming in huge crowds. This is love for their fellow man Mr. Donelly because these men do not have to fight for anything but want to help their fellow incarcerated human being. Most have felt the whip for doing barely anything wrong, but are about to march back to that very place that had took away their dignity as a man. To actually see the rows and rows of cotton fields that many men, women and children worked under the hot sun and whipping foremen. Maybe it is therapy for most of the occupied plantations are now barren with long lines of tortured people walking up the road to freedom. You cannot hear the whip crack anymore or the yells of pain……only the silence of the disciplined black soldiers just watch in jubilee. They think freedom for my people at last as the hot red sun sets to the music of crickets chirping. You return to the place that my forefathers had suffered in….that was their story, this is mine as a soldier in the United States army. You try to hold back the tears but you are now a man about to see true carnage and you will hopefully live to see this glorious day……to pass it from father to child. You will see the way the white man fights to where bravery is the only thing keeping you from running as your black comrades die around you. You stand and fight as the rebels move toward you with their guns blazing. The smoke only shields you from death….it is a constant reaction……fire and load…fire and load…..you barely aim but your shot is true. People are dying in the hundreds who told the stories of their bondage. But their sacrifice is beyond that of a mere man but an African warrior. Perhaps in death of our brethren is something Jesus Christ will bless us with. Don’t I go to church for hours at a time so maybe Jesus will bless me, as well, for I am a child of God. We are African warriors running in heaven to the drumbeat of Jesus Christ when we die and the plains of the savannah reside in heaven as well. So don’t mourn the dead so quickly for we are fighting for our freedom and they have sacrificed themselves toward heaven along clouds and plains. The tall grass sways back and forth, where they are not stained in blood but where people run and play to sound of the drums…..
Mr. Donelly stared at Samuel saying quietly “that was beautiful….It really was but you forgot about Fort Wagner”
Samuel could see that he had touched Mr. Donelly in a way that made him question his choices in life.
“I am not finished Mr. Donelly”
I smiled and closed my eyes and just softly spoke.
“Imagine all lined up along the beach for a suicide mission. You are the frontal attacking army that is expected to take the most causalities. You know that it is most likely that you will not live or worst….not be a whole man or a cripple. You feel that all the battles were somewhat suicide but this….just storming onto a well armed fort that can be only taken on one path….is insane. You think of the negroes that will be free and you think that this is the only way. You stand together as brothers, which puts a warm feeling over the fear. Your white commanding officer orders you to march and you gallantly take the first step toward the fort ever wondering what is past the horizon. The marching makes you look around that you are among brethren that make you whole. You march still as dusk is about to become night. You look at the sea, which is a blessing for it peaceful, calm and tranquil but it also was a pathway for slave routes. The fort is coming up into view from a distance. The marching makes you sweat a little but your thoughts are interrupted by the seagulls screaming. They will feast upon many black and white corpses tonight as your marching intensifies. You slowly go faster thinking that this is really going to happen. The commanding officer yells “ready bayonets!“ for we are going to do some hand to hand fighting. Hand to hand fighting is not an instant death that you hope for, it is physical and merciless and that makes you fearful since you screwed your bayonets on in the first place. You are now moving subconsciously due to the sound of the big guns hitting the sand near your regiment. The sand covers your face and uncomfortably goes in your clothes You now hear “charge” and you realize that you were running anyway toward the madness, sure death, and chaos but more importantly so you don’t killed by a cannon blast. You hear the many explosions of cannon blasts as they sail toward you. You don’t think anymore but run head on into the chaos, where a cannon shell hits your regiment. You see your friends flown in the air with body parts flying off in all directions. You think that the sea as splashed some of her cool water from her waves. You open your eyes only to be cooled down by blood and tissue. You wish that it was anything but that. You run and run until to you see the bright rebel flag in view. Countless has died just getting to this point as the cannon explosions rip apart the regiment. You look for your colors as he runs with your flag…..you sigh relief for he is safe. You continue on until you see spikes pointing toward you, where the fear of being impaled becomes a reality. It is death from cannon fire if you slow down, but hurry you will be impaled. You jump around the spikes and nearly drown due to the mot of muddy water. You cough out the unexpected water and push yourself toward the fort. Your commanding officer swings his drawn sword to command you up the walls of the wooden fort. You see a row of rebels on top of the fort aiming down on the negroes trapped in the spikes then the mot. You are safe at the edge of the fort but are powerless to stop the onslaught of death to your brothers. They are shot in the spikes and some die from drowning in the mot even being just injured. The pathway of hell is over but that ain’t even the tip of hell itself. At that moment you think of the colonel, Abraham Lincoln, your commanding officer, Fredrick Douglas, and others who orchestrated the emancipation of thousands of men. You run up the fort and go in with bayonets ready……Death, seagulls, rebels, the colonel…My, what people must think when they are about to die. You huddle up against the walls of the fort, ready to fight to the last man. You know the enemy is a determined enemy, who will fight to the last man as well. The fort’s colors flap in the night breeze but your confidence ensures it will so be a federal flag quite soon. The night’s air smells of death and decay as what is left of our regiment fires up at the rebels on the wall. The screaming of black soldiers of all tones, loud to soft, cause you to run without fear or doubt. Your gun is true as the screaming gets farther and farther away…….men are dying behind me in the blood filled moat. You hope that is not true, but you know that men have just died. You don’t know why your running so fast towards death but you remember. In the chaos, you hear that “the colonel has fallen!” many times over the screams. He never saw inside the fort and you feel that he will have those colors, watching from heaven above! You climb with your bleeding splintered hands as the soldiers below shoot the rebels from above. You pull yourself up from the edges of the fort as you notice that you were not the only one up the fort. Your brothers have joined you beyond their fear of death and fear of being a feast for the sea gulls. You and your brothers overtake the rebs on the top of the fort as soldiers prepare to enter. The fighting is fierce as it becomes hand to hand combat, where the cannon fire from the feds that exploded from a distance …….ceases. The bayonets and knifes cut a lot of soldiers on both sides and for the first time you don’t hear the eardrum shattering explosions from the cannons. “Rejoice, we have ceased their guns, prepare for the rapture!” You are being beat back by the rebels until your small efforts show effect. The white federals, who originally mocked you, storm the fort to much appreciation for your efforts. The blood is thick and red as throats are slit and torsos cut open from bayonets…….The wooden planks are covered with northern white, African, and southern white blood. The battle rages on until the night as you now can’t see who you are killing or who is killing you. You see people being hit to death with rifle blunts and being stabbed by bayonets…..you will die as well for you have failed to take the fort’s colors. But don’t grieve brother, nothing you have done is in vain…..they will talk and talk they will do, from South Carolina to Great Britain. So young brothers and sisters, don’t weep for me cause your freedom is my medal and your progression is my reward. I may lie on the sand, while being looted for my valuables and buried in a mass grave……..Your memory of me, as well as your freedom gave me the victory tonight.
Mr. Donelly looked away with some remorse and leaned back on his chair. I wondered if he was sad at my story ,or sad that he was on side that promoted slavery. He took off his hat and scratched his head vigorously as if there was fleas in it. He put down the cards that he had been fiddling with and only then stopped drinking all that whiskey. He stopped scratching his hair and then scratched his beard, for that was how he thought about things.
“I want you to really know that I didn’t fight for slavery……you put that story so beautifully damn…I…I….didn’t mean for my forefather’s to mistreat the blacks like this. The war to me was about independence from someone, who was telling us what to do. It’s similar to the revolution, back in the colonial days. When someone tells you to do something that you can’t even reason with them about it…..aw shucks…..it’s like the British and taxes. We could not have a say so it insults you a little……I know that slavery is wrong but why not try something that isn’t so forward. I just believed that people could be free to have a government with less control over our lives. Ain’t that what we fought against in the revolution? I feel that many people overshadowed the evils of slavery in order to have that belief. But I saw one of those plantations when traveling up Tennessee and I could not even began to believe what I saw. People just working to death and being whipped like cattle. I thought….which is it?……what am I fighting for? Some of boys and I felt we may be just soldiers but we have could have words. I knew that after seeing people dying by the thousands that there has to more than just this! Everyone needs a cause but at what cost to what you believe in? It's like politics almost, you vote for usually one main cause but are stuck with 50 others depending on the candidate. Shit in all the madness of these things you often ask yourself……..WHY?
Samuel White just looked at a man that seemed that he was trying to separate good and evil but can’t come to a final decision. He looked confused and angry at himself but had the decency to admit his faults, which many man could not in most terms due to peer pressure. Yes the peer pressure to think like everyone else and just accept it. Mr. Donelly was looking down and all of sudden began to weep. His tough demeanor seemed erased as just a man with his conscience. He big wrinkled face looked up and began streaming tears in the crevasse’s of that wrinkled face. He was breathing hard and coughing, while his similarly wrinkled hands were shaking. His head looked up and he looked me straight in the eye with his faded bluish eyes. The eyes looked shiny, for tears were still flowing down them. He spoke while shaking his head in what seemed like he was fighting with himself
“I…. I….can’t do this anymore”
With that he looked up at the ceiling and got up to looked at the chipped wall behind him. I was obvious that he could not look me in the eyes again for some reason. He stared at the wall for a whole minute. His back was to me when I was about to pat my new friend on the back to simply ask what was wrong. As He wiped the tears from his eyes; I, at first, thought that he was sad about slavery and I planned to comfort him. I didn’t care how tough he really was; we had a bond and it was one that I thought would last. He was my friend despite our story duel and I worried about his welfare. I would protect him because I liked him not only as a storyteller but as a human being that was one of God’s creations. A man who can tell a story like that could show the world a different viewpoint. I smiled that I could show him protection that the wall could not. Before I could do any of that, he spoke in a quiet, remorseful voice
“I am not who I said I am. I am just a imposter who tells stories that are not mine. I was never in no army for the south. I never talked to General Lee, or anyone else in that matter. I am a fake that has told one story too many. I am a liar, Sam and that’s all I am. I stole those stories from people and copied it word for stinkin word. Hell the only thing I do is play poker. I ain’t no hero and I sure don’t know how to use this gun. I never killed no one before Sam. Here I talk about death like it is the greatest thing in the world. You know what I did?”
I shook my head in confusion. I spoke with a comforting tone
“I don’t know what you did but it is all right if you made up those stories. I still think that you’re a great story……..”
With that he spun around and yelled
“I DIDN”T COME UP WITH ANYTHING BECAUSE I WAS A POSTMAN WHO STOLE LETTERS FROM THE DEAD AND THE LIVING!”
Silence ran in the air as I could see that this was something that showed me that I was dealing with a fraud of some sorts. The friendlier side of me still felt sorry for him still and I wanted show that it didn’t matter until he continued to incriminate himself.
“I worked for the post office as a mailman who stole letters from veterans of many wars that were sent around the country. I always singled out war mail because I liked to read it. I was a crazy man of some sorts because I would sit in the middle of night in my younger years and read the stories to myself. I would then imagine myself as the people or as someone who knew the people. It was my imagination, as you call it, that made me believe that I was a knowledgeable war hero. I just read the letters day after night. I am nothing but a thief, who is of the most deplorable kind. I rob the hopes of brave, warrior, men trying to talk to their loved ones for maybe the last time. I am nothing…..I am a pathetic criminal….and that is all that I am.
With that he lowers his head in shame and sits back in his original position …..whimpering. His once strong demeanor is lowered to that of a mere coward that was too much for me to handle. I could only forgive so much in my heart. I know that he admitted that he stole those letters so he was a good person. He was an even better person, for my story was what broke the camel's back. I wanted to forgive him but his pathetic weak persona had ruined the plans that I had for him. I was a bit crazy to have feelings for a person like that. I had opened up to this person things that I didn’t even understand about myself. I was a grandma’s boy of some sorts that could not let go of the power of these stories. I just felt that if you could show people that they were not so different then you could change the world. I all of sudden got mad that I let myself give in to this person…all that talk about the wall……it’s my Jesus Christ I thought in a mocking voice in my head. I actually got jealous of a chipped, jagged, old wall and was willing to give my life for this man. I guess I was going to give my life for this man because I had planned to donate money to the town. The sudden impulse of sanity and reality had hit me at that moment. ………I was actually going to go through with it? At that moment someone entered the crusty, old saloon to interrupt my thoughts.
We both looked at the doorway on that rainy night and saw three men just standing there. They were all tall with dirt all over their faces as they wore brown worn out cowboy hats. The first one had a cleaner brown long coat with darker clothes. The second wore the same brown long coat to the heels of their boots. He had a blacken beard with sullen eyes and a flannel cloth on his front pocket. The third that seemed to be the leader was old with a nicely trimmed mustache and a black coat. He was smoking an old cigar and chewing at the end of it like it was steak. The shadow of the hat had covered his face but as he approached the light of the lamp, he was easily recognizable. He walked with a demeanor, which was quite opposite to Mr. Donelly right now as he sat down on one of the make-shift seat barrels. He put out his cigar and through it on the side. The droopy circles under his eyes turned to look at me then quickly returned to Mr. Donelly
Mr Donelly was mystified on who this person was as he picked up a whiskey bottle and put it to his head. He then used his arms to wipe the distilled whiskey from his face. I watched this all unfold with much curiosity and in the corner of my eye I noticed that his two friends were just standing against the exit. It looked like someone was not coming out due to being blocked in. He then spoke with a gruff, western accent.
“Who do I got to shoot to get service around here?”
Mr. Donelly spoke with a fearful accent, while wiping away any evidence that he was whimpering
“I….I am the saloon owner. What can I do for you sir? We have alcohol, smoking,…..”
The man interrupted him rudely
“I want to play cards…poker…I am feeling lucky today….hehe”
With that laugh the other two at the door popped up toothless grins
Mr. Donelly may not be any killer but he knew something was wrong with his face. He spoke uneasy like
“Would the other two gentlemen want to play their hands…..some of the start money is on the house”
The two men’s grins changed from pleasure to mere desire to play. They looked like children asking permission to go outside as they stared at their boss. The boss smiled with actually teeth and gestured for them to play. These men obviously had gone to the doctor to have teeth pulled for their eating habits. The gums were as black as a negroes due to their decaying teeth. The leader seemed content until he did a quick motion and said
“They can play if this young gentlemen standing with us sits down for some poker. Hell I will put some in his pot”
I nervously sat down on one of the barrels as all four of us sat around a half circle, where Mr. Donelly was in the center. The table had some booze and shot glasses on it but really had nothing else but cards and two people not knowing what was going on. I looked around at these men, who seemed to be the toughest characters that I have seen. They were definitely the real deal. Mr. Donelly just dealt the cards by tossing them to each person…five at each person. Something inside of me wanted to leave due to the guns under their coats now exposed. Was I being a chicken that I criticized Mr. Donelly of? These are the men that I used to idolize……warriors….not like Mr. Donelly. Something chilled in my bones that these men didn’t kill under valor. I signed with much fear that would just not go away, where Mr. Donelly was of more comfort to me. I would just see how this would play out
The man with the white, nicely trimmed mustache yelled “Call” where Mr. Donelly tossed him a card expertly and he responded with a loud swear of “Fuck”. He cussed the whole time, where I had to smile discretely to Mr. Donelly expert card playing skills. He grabbed a whole bottle of whiskey and poured himself a cup, where he swallowed it with one gulp. He burped a fowl sounding belch and went back to playing cards. The two others could not help from laughing with jokes about their mothers and Mr. Donelly’s mother. I felt they were not just laughing at their jokes but at one of us in this bar. I looked at the hand of the two men which were out as they leaned back into their chairs waiting patiently….for what. These were big, strong men that had to do something for a living and I was scared to ask what? The leader was down to his last chip as Mr. Donelly had won almost all his money back and then some. He was looking pissed at Mr. Donelly but always watching his surroundings with the corner of his sullen eyes. He never looked at me, which was a relief. A thought came over me, where I noticed that noone was looking at me, which was kinda improbable. They should look at me once or at least talk to me but they didn’t. This gave me jitters in my stomach for something was not right. I learned from Mr. Donelly that the trick was not to let them see you staring at them, when playing poker. Then I heard the man speak angrily
“Fuck you …How are you winning so fucking much?….that’s all I got”
“I am sorry about that”
“You're sorry? Aw shit, I got some more for you!”
With that he expertly drew his firearm in such a fast speed, while getting up from the table. He pulled back on the hammer.
“I got some currency for you …old fart!”
With that he pulled out something hairy on the table where Mr. Donelly was dealing. The hair at first looked like an old animal pelt. That was until you looked closer and saw traces of some form of leather. I stared at that and saw it was human skin! The hair was a scalped man for it stood on the table like someone who was underwater to the point of their hairline.
“Got any lip for me old man?”
The other two men got up slowly as this was routine but didn’t aim their guns at Mr. Donelly but at me
“If I was not on business I would show you something old man…you’re a thief…..No one steals from Wallace Henry”
I looked him in the eye now for he was now deciding whether to shoot Mr. Donelly.
“Wallace Henry…I heard that you shot like 8 men in cold blood. Your that famous bounty hunter who takes no prisoners. You scalp em and bring back the bodies”
“That’s right shit and I work for the marshals up Missouri”
Mr. Donelly actually smiled something
“Well I heard you got excommunicated from the marshals due to your survival rate on prisoners”
“Well you want to find out?” He aims the gun closer to Mr. Donelly’s face
Mr. Donelly calmly smiles
“Naw you’re a living American legend ….I am honored to have a famous gunslinger in my saloon. This run down piece of shit place welcomes you. Hell this Samuel White was the only customer that I had for a while. If I had known it was you …..I would have cleaned up a little”
With that compliment he eased on the hammer and aimed the gun up. A smile crept on the corner of his mouth
“So you heard of me? That don’t change anything about us……who are you anyway?”
“My name is Marshal Donelly and I am a veteran of the Civil war…hero in fact. I even had the pleasure of meeting Robert E Lee. I was talking about this with my half-black fellow over there”
I spun around looking at him wondering how he knew that while half of south carolina didn’t know.
“Yeah …shit the nigger don’t even look like…well….a nigger. That’s why we shouldn’t breed with those monkeys.
"Soon we will all be niggers and jim crow will be the law of the land”
With that the two men began laughing out loud as one of them grabbed me and put a barrel to my temple
“So what quarrel Mr. Henry do you have with Sam over there?”
“Well it looks like this nigger had stolen money from his own family……I woulda put him back on the banana boat ungrateful ass nigger”
Mr. Donelly looked at me with curiosity with a eyebrow raised up
“I didn’t fight in the Civil war against niggers, Mr. Henry but which regiment did you fight for?”
I was taken back by his half honesty towards my people but this wasn’t the time
“You didn’t fight for niggers? You ain’t one of those nigger loving abolish people…are you”
“No but I understand what is right and what isn’t Mr. Henry…never mind that….what regiment did you fight for?”
There was a long pause
“I was in the 1st Tennessee regiment, I saw action up in Gettysburg …damn blue Yankee fucks. They slaughtered my whole brigade at Culp‘s hill. How did you know I fought for the south”
“I heard about you as a lawman Mr. Henry…..Do you think that war has gone on too long…..soldier to soldier”
The pause was now even longer
“What do you mean old man”
With that, Mr. Donelly signed a breathe of relief as if he was concentrating for a musical. He leaned against the wall as if he was doing a hymnal and the wall
“We fought as soldiers but more importantly brothers in a brutal conflict. We marched in the rain, the hot sun, ate tick tack, told stories, fought with all our hearts and never gave up for four years. You know who made us give up…General Lee…not because he gave up, but because he wanted us to live…as men and fight the way we fought in life. He cared about us as human being that fought for a cause; not to hurt black people, for that tarnishes our cause, but for what we believe in as men. He shook my hand right here and I knew that at that moment……we will never be forgotten as soldiers…But more importantly as brothers in arms. It is a bond that pushes us to be one people of destiny. When we look upon each other …we know what separates us from normal men……..the call of destiny. We were meant to be warriors and die in battle never forgetting our bond. We didn’t lose because our cause will never be forgotten. General Lee even said “If you live your life like you are a soldier then you will live the finest life there is”
With that, Mr. Henry lowered his gun ever so slowly and his sullen eyes showed a sense of remorse for the first time here. His head went down and looked upon the ground. He looked at me briefly and just stood there with no emotion or response. It looked like he was imagining the slaughter of the Confederacy up in Gettysburg and thinking of all the horror he saw. This tough son of a bitch was actually sadden and tearing up. I thought of how he saw his friends die up Culp’s hill and the rolling up of the flag of the Confederacy so long ago. I guess war did that to a man, especially a war that people died by the hundreds all at once.
One of the men held me with much confusion to what was going on.
“What now boss…we scalp em after we get the money”
“Yeah boss…should we rough him up a little for the silver”
The man who had walked in the saloon a monster would now leave a decent soldier. He speaks quietly for the first time.
“Just get the silver from him and let him go”
The men looked confused for moment until he yelled it
“YOU HEARD ME JUST GET THE MONEY AND LET HIM GO!”
I showed the two men where I buried it and that was that. The return trip had me wondering what in the hell just happened. With that the three men left the saloon, which forever had changed three lives. I looked at Mr. Donelly with such esteem that I sorta had in the beginning. But I had to ask…
“Why did you lie for me like that?”
“I sorta had opened up to you and disappointed you at the same time….I owned you something”
"He could have killed you but you decided to vouch for me?"
Mr. Donelly smiled and leaned back into his chair. He began staring at me with that wily grin until I heard a bunch of clicks
"What sound is that? It sorta sounds like a very loud cricket"
"Naw it is the sound of our mutual friends demise if he had aimed that gun at you or me again"
"You had that gun aimed at him all this time under that table? You told him that story that even made me nearly tear up!"
Mr Donelly got up to pour whiskey and returned to his wooden seat. With that he offered me some for the first time although I was very young. I took it with much confusion.
"Sam, Life is a game of poker where you spent every moment trying to read the other players emotions to determine his hand so you can benefit for the rest of your life. If you are not sure in poker, however, you got two choices.....fold, bluff, or be cautious"
"That's three choices"
"No it isn't...fold and bluffing is one category in the game of life, while caution is wondering if you're going to piss someone off that they kill you in cold blood over a game. Remember that feeling of not thinking or temporary madness?....For some people it happens quite often more than other people"
"What I am saying that murder ain't a fair part of the poker game we know as life but it is a part of it. Hell it is simply cheating in the game so you can take the better poker player chips or not give him the satisfaction of winning. You understand?"
I nodded my head
"Well these men I could read their poker faces when it came to killing so I had my gun aimed Mr Henry as I played my hand with a story of a soldier. If he had done anything out of the ordinary I would have blown that asshole away. True, I used my poker skills to determine that he was a southern and I am still proud to be one but a killer is a killer....
"It's funny though?"
"What Mr. Donelly"
"He was playing his hand in the game of life as well for like that gunslinger that I talked about. He was going to die and finally lose his hand if he had discharged his gun. Not in a famous gunfight with a professional but in a rundown saloon in the middle of nowhere against a man who has never shot anyone. Sure the two henchmen would have gunned us down, but there is too much irony in this mess. Anyway when you play poker.....you will eventual lose.....more chance of that the more you play. Only God deals the cards.
My heart was beating like those drums I described as I listened to Mr. Donelly. Maybe this man was no warrior or killer that I emulated..... He was something better. He avoided the chaos unlike Mr. Henry and Only took up arms in defense. A controlled defense where he alone had the advantage to just survive. Without war, this is the only sane way to live. It would be a better place to if more people thought like that. We told stories to each other but it was stories of other people's hell. Behind the colorful uniforms, guns, shields, swords, arrows, spears, horses and bayonets, there was a darker side of madness, insanity, darkness, death, suffering, hunger, disease, surgery. It was like seeing a famous gunfighter come into a bar then realizing that he has come to kill you. I certain point of view I guess. People see only one side to it until they experience it. I still had one question to Mr. Donelly.....
“How did you know that I was black?”
“I been playing poker for the longest time and I could read the contours of your face.”
“Where did you hear that last story you told Henry”
“It was a letter from a young man named Michael Todd, who was near the courthouse and actually shaken General Lee’s hand. He unfortunately died of Gangrene later in his life. He felt that shaking General Lee’s hand was the greatest honor in his life. It was addressed to his wife, who died in childbirth”
I looked at this man who had tamed a vicious racist man and saved me at the same time. I had immediately forgiven him and decided on being his friend. But if he was to be his friend, there was one thing that he had to do for me….
“You know that we could return the letters to the families or put it in a museum.”
Mr. Donelly then perk up to his energetic self from his somber and serious mood
“OR we could write a book and get rich. I hear that printing presses are the thing now”
I laughed at that statement and realized I was playing with a PROFESSIONAL poker player, who is just another term for PROFESSIONAL liar that was the BEST poker player that I have ever seen. Only the wall knew his hand.
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