Edward Lee - The Black Train

The sergeant shouts in glee. He drops his rifle and runs toward the other sentries. “Get water for the major and his men, and tell everybody that we just crushed the Yankees at Chickamauga!”

The news spreads like a virus. Whistles, hoots, and shouts of celebration rock the air.

When the sergeant returns with a watering detail, the major’s brow rises. “Sergeant, what is goin’ on here?” and he points to the wagons and the naked crowd being filed into the barn.

The sergeant pauses. “Prisoner processin’, sir.”

The major removes his hat and brushes his hair back. “But I thought we was sendin’ all Yankee prisoners to that new place just south’a here, Andersonville.”

“These here are civilian prisoners, sir.”

“But…I don’t see no prison here, Sergeant. Just that big barn.” The major starts to walk toward the barn. “I’d like to know what’s goin’ on here—”

“I-I beg your indulgence, sir,” the sergeant interrupts and offers another roll of paper. “But here are my orders for you to examine. See, sir, this area is a restricted perimeter by order of the provisional deputy of engineering operations, a Mr. Harwood Gast.”

“Who? A civilian issuin’ military orders? I don’t recognize civilian decrees—”

“Oh, no, sir, it’s a military order, which is countersigned by General Caudill.”

“Hmm…” The major reads the order, perplexed. “I see…”

“But thank you for the glorious news about General Bragg, sir! Lincoln’ll surely sign an armistice now, won’t he?”

The major seems distracted, looking quizzically at the barn. “Oh, yeah, Sergeant, he likely will, now that he knows he can’t get his hands on the Tennessee railheads. Once Europe hears of this great victory, they will surely recognize the C.S.A. They’ll threaten to stop trade with the North if they don’t call a truce and recognize us as an independent nation now…” But he shakes his head, at the barn. “You may carry on, Sergeant.”

“Yes, sir!” and the sergeant runs back to the sentry post.

Now the major is looking—

At you.

He walks up and you snap to attention. You do not salute because you are under arms.

“Good afternoon, sir!”

“At ease, Private.” Behind him, the major’s men are watering the horses. “Can you tell me what the hell’s goin’ on in that barn?”

“I’m sorry, sir, but I don’t know.”

“Strangest thing…” The major squints up. The prisoners previously filed into the barn are now coming out at the farther entrance, and getting back in the wagon. The wagon departs up a hill.

“And who is this man Harwood Gast? I ain’t never heard of him.”

“He’s a civilian appointee, I believe, sir,” you say but have no idea where that information came from. “A private financier I’ve heard him called. He built the alternate railroad that comes here from eastern Tennessee.”

“Oh, yeah, the one out’a that junction in Branch Landing, right?”

“I believe so, sir. What I heard is he paid for it with his own money, laid five hundred miles’a track, sir.”

“Hmm, yeah, okay. Just another rich guy in cahoots with the new government. Probably tryin’ to buy his way onto President Davis’s cabinet or somethin’.”

“Yes, sir, I guess that’s the case.”

The major seems aggravated, fists on hips as he continues to stare at the barn, where the next wagonload of naked civilians is being off-loaded.

“Oh, well, orders are orders. Carry on, Private.”

“Yes, sir!” you snap.

The major gets back on his horse. One of his men points behind him, to the field…

“Now what the hell is goin’ on there I wonder?” the major mumbles.

“Looks like they’re sun-dryin’ peat,” the other rider says.

“They use peat to make coal easier to light,” says the third rider, “and the barrel works is just up the way.”

“Yeah, peat,” the major concludes, though without much conviction. “I guess that’s what it is…Come on, men, let’s get out’a here…”

They ride off.

You resume your post around the barn. Yes, the wagon is heading up a hill, and behind the hill you see smoke. You look back out to the field and notice slaves raking up some of the dark stuff off the ground and putting it in more wagons…

On your rounds you overhear other soldiers talking…

“Seems a waste’a time to me…And where do they go after this?”

“Other side of the hill it looks like.”

“The old rifle works?”

“Ain’t old no more. Been completely rebuilt by that Gast fella. You seen him. I heard it’s now the hottest blast furnace in the country. He was around a lot last month when they was finishin’ the train depot down yonder.”

“Oh, the guy with muttonchops…”

“Yeah, and the white horse.”

“And there must be a big stockade somewhere beyond the works. As for what we’re doin’ here—shee-it, armies been doin’ that for a thousand years. The spoils’a war is what it’s called. Usin’ the enemy’s resources ’cos they sure as hell’d do the same to us. Shit, now that Lincoln won’t exchange prisoners no more, what else can we do? I been hearin’ some ungodly stories ’bout that Yankee prison in Annapolis. Starvin’ our men, beatin’ ’em.”

“Goddamn Union can go to hell, and we’ll send ’em there. A’course what we’re doin’ here is all right. You heard that, Major. We just kicked the Yankees out of Tennessee. General Lee’s army’ll surely be capturin’ Washington by December.”

“Yeah, and they got cold winters up there. Our boys need good sleepin’ bags…”

You still don’t understand yet you march your post via some order beyond your consciousness. They’re drying something in that field, you realize. And it’s NOT peat. It’s something coming from the barn…

Your perimeter march takes you around the other side. No doorways on this wall but there is a half door, with the top half open.

Go look inside…

As you approach, a stench rises. It’s an appalling smell and also an incomprehensible one. These civilian prisoners probably hadn’t washed in months but only part of the stench was body odor. Their clothes had all been stripped, obviously, to reuse the fabric for the war effort, but now that you thought of it, why go to all this trouble to confine and feed women, children, and old men? They were of no military value…

Then you look into the barn—

Large wood fires burn in each corner, and over each fire sits a kettle six feet wide. The kettles are boiling, gushing the foul-smelling steam, and each is being stirred by a male slave with a long wooden paddle.

“Boil it good, boys,” a pistol-bearing officer barks.

But what are they boiling in the kettles?

“Gotta kill all that dirty Yankee lice ’fore it’s fit for our men…”

You still don’t understand…until you look to the center of the barn where there is an incessant snick—snick—snick sound…

The mostly nude prisoners are standing in a silent line. They’re all very skinny, ribs showing, knees knobby. Some of the women show signs of pregnancy; in fact, so do some of the female children just entering puberty.