Mankillers

A bald little man wearing a green eyeshade yelled, “Somebody shot the president! Lincoln’s dead! It just come in over the telegraph. All hell’s broke loose in Washington! Union troops here and everywhere placed on alert. There’ll be hell to pay now.” As quickly as he’d arrived he was gone.

“Let the damn Yankees worry about it,” Buck muttered to himself. His main concern was to get Kentucky safely home, then find the red-haired killer of his brother.

Where the hell was that bastard, anyway? Which way was he headed?

#

Easter sunrise began with Buck preparing the animals and buggy for the long ride from the hills and valleys of south-central Virginia to the low country, swamps, and tidal flats of the coast. While driving the rig he passed the hours talking to Kentucky who remained mute and unresponsive. Buck glanced over, saw droplets staining his friend’s pants and realized Kentucky was sobbing.

“What’s wrong, my friend?”

The young man wagged his head but said nothing.

Buck pulled over to the side of the road and looped the reins over the brake handle. “Are you in pain? Is your back hurting?”

After a moment, he heard the whispered response, “It ain’t the pain, Buck. It’s the shame.”

“Do you feel like talking about it?”

“I can’t, Buck. I can’t. What they done . . .”

“It’s not your fault. You’re not responsible for what happened. Those fiends who hurt you are guilty.”

And deserved to die. I killed them like I killed Zeb Feeney. No regrets.

Buck waited for the point to sink in, then took up the reins again and clucked his tongue. “I guess we both have memories we need to put behind us.” The mule tugged at the traces and they moved forward.

“For the rest of my life,” Buck went on, “whenever I see a man who’s missing an arm or a leg, a hand or a foot, I’ll think of all the limbs I cut off during this accursed war.”

“You’re a good doctor, Buck,” Kentucky finally objected. “You saved more lives than you know and gave men a chance to live, maimed or whole. If they were here now they’d thank you.”

“Yet I’ll always wonder if I made matters worse. How are those men going to support their families? How will people treat them now that they’re cripples. I ruined so many. It’ll always haunt me.”

“You done what you had to, Buck. The rest is up to them.”

He smiled. “Exactly. You have nothing to be ashamed of either.” Mule clip-clopped along. “The man called Kentucky was an orderly, but you’re my friend, Asa. Let’s take it from there and move on.”

The younger man straightened and winced with the pain in his back. A minute went by before he wiped his eyes and said, “Thanks, Buck.”

#

Long before reaching the coast they could see the masts of the sailing ships. Black smoke streamed from the paddle-wheelers that chugged through the harbor as regularly as horses on a carousel. Near the waterfront Buck found a satisfactory livery stable next door to an i

“Look at all the boats out there, Asa. Ever been on a steamship?”

Asa’s eyes darted but his only response was a detached shrug.Buck tried again. “Didn’t you tell me your brother ran off on a ship?”

“Yes.”

Buck waited for elaboration but after a few seconds realized there wasn’t going to be any. “I went to medical school in Charleston and did a little sailing in the bay, but I never went anywhere on a steamship. Always wanted to, though.”

His friend said nothing.

“Well, this’ll be a new experience for both of us.”

The hotel on Water Street was an ugly two-story clapboard hulk with bedrooms upstairs and a dining room and saloon on the ground floor. The place was crowded, mostly with men in shabby civilian suits, frayed uniforms or mixtures of the two. A few overdressed painted ladies were also scattered among the tables, all conveying the impression they were impatient or bored with their companions.

He found a table as far from the out-of-tune piano as possible. The menu he soon learned was limited—fried fish, fried potatoes, hot biscuits and coffee. They would satisfy his appetite.

“Food smells good,” Asa suddenly a

Buck’s heart sank. He was pleased to see Asa showing interest in something, at the same time he had to tell him he couldn’t have it.

“I don’t think you’re ready for fried foods yet, Asa. How about some grits with melted butter?”

Asa seemed to lose interest in the subject. “Whatever you say.”

Fortunately the kitchen was able to accommodate him.

Buck felt guilty when his platter of fish arrived and Asa was given a large bowl of grits with a generous pat of butter in the middle.

“This makes me homesick,” Asa remarked after his first spoonful. “Pa makes good grits. Mine was always lumpy.”

With Buck’s encouragement he finished the entire bowl, along with a glass of buttermilk.

“Can I have a biscuit?”

Buck smiled and passed him one of his. “You’re making good progress, Asa.”

As they climbed the stairs to the second floor, it was clear to Buck that the young man was in pain, though he said nothing about it. Their room was small and not very clean, and the raucous sounds of the barroom directly below filtered through the floorboards. Buck insisted Asa take another dose of laudanum. A minute after Asa closed his eyes, Buck lay down on the other cot and fell instantly asleep.

The noise of freight wagons, buggies, horsemen and hawkers in the street under their window awakened Buck early the next morning. Asa snored through the racket. Buck left a note that he’d gone to make arrangements for their boat passage and would return soon.

At the steamship ticket office two blocks away, he received a pleasant surprise. A large passenger sternwheeler was due to arrive from Baltimore the next day on its way to Jacksonville via Charleston and Sava

While Asa continued to sleep fitfully the rest of the day Buck negotiated the sale of Mule and the buggy. In the early evening, Buck woke Asa and changed the dressing on his back. He was pleased to see the lacerations were healing. Encouraged by this small progress, he asked cheerfully, “Well, my friend, are you ready for your first sea voyage?”

Asa’s response was a toneless “I guess so.”

#

Next morning the frenetic activity at the pier reminded Buck of a disturbed ant nest, except now a cacophony of alien sounds had been added. Whistles blew, men yelled and cursed, vented steam hissed, while animal cargoes bleated, bawled and whi

A narrow gangplank extended from the pier to an aft deck that was covered with straw and ringed with a rope corral. Canvas roofing shielded the pe

Buck dismounted and led an apprehensive Gypsy up the gangplank. Once the gelding was accommodated, he and Asa found their stateroom. Buck chose the top bunk, knowing his companion’s slashed back would make climbing into it extremely painful. Asa immediately lay down on the lower bunk and closed his eyes. Buck was troubled by how much the normally energetic former orderly was sleeping, but considering the discomfort he must be experiencing, decided sleep was probably the best medicine for now.