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Chapter 1
The brave man is not he who feels no fear,
For that were stupid and irrational.
But he whose noble soul its fear subdues;
And bravely dares the danger nature shrinks from.
As for your youth whom blood and blows delight,
Away! with them there is not in their crew
One valiant spirit.
—WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE
Tennessee—1865.
The rains had become continuous. The mud was deep. The rivers were overflowing, the roads nearly impassable for wagons. The colors of the uniforms of this Civil War regiment were scarcely discernible through the layer of mud and grime, the mood of the soldiers matching the gray that they had worn so nobly this past year during the war.
The horses upon which many of the soldiers rode through the dismal, rainy day, grunted and blew steam from their nostrils as they attempted to make their way through the ankle-deep mire.
The soldiers walking behind the horses, their steeds having been shot from beneath them during the last ambush, cursed the Yankees beneath their breaths.
The war was officially over, but not inside the hearts of those who had given up so much for a victory in the South.
They coughed, sneezed, and clutched themselves with their arms as chills raced across their cold, wet flesh. They had now gone three days and nights without sleep except for those brief moments that had been snatched at the watering places.
Lieutenant Colonel Boyd Johnston surveyed his men. His aching, cold fingers tightened around the horse’s reins, helpless against what had happened to his regiment.
He drew his eyes from the sick, downtrodden men. He looked over at Joe Dancing Cloud, a Cherokee Indian who had joined his regiment a year ago. Although Joe was only eighteen years old, he had fought as valiantly as a man of thirty.
Long before the war a bond had grown between Boyd and Joe Dancing Cloud, one that fathers and sons sometimes never achieved during a lifetime. He hated saying goodbye to the lad, fearing he would never see him again.
“Damn shame, isn’t it, Joe?” Boyd said, calling Dancing Cloud the nickname that he had given him when he was ten years old.
“The surrender of Lee and Johnston?” Dancing Cloud said in perfect English. For the most part he and his people attributed their knowledge of the English language to Boyd Johnston, who before the war had been an Indian agent assigned to look after Dancing Cloud’s Wolf clan of Eastern Cherokee.
“Yes, the surrender,” Boyd said gloomily. “But when our forces suffered greatly in the valley campaign of 1864, after the Battle of Cedar Creek, I saw the end then, Joe, of everything that we had fought for.”
Dancing Cloud’s jaw tightened and his dark eyes narrowed angrily. “Surrender is not a noble thing, o-gi-na-li-i, my friend, but unavoidable after the collapse of the Southern railroads,” he said flatly. “All of Lee’s regiments began to suffer from slow starvation. This, together with Sherman’s victories in Georgia and the Carolinas, undermined the morale of our soldiers. When desertions began, it was then that Dancing Cloud saw the true end for the Confederacy.”
He looked over his shoulder at his Cherokee warriors who had moved valiantly onward even when they knew that the North had all but won the war. There had been no deserters among the Wolf clan Cherokee faction of the Confederate troops who, when not fighting, made their homes in the Great Smoky Mountains.
Although they were worn and weary, their stomachs distended from hunger, they had been true to their word and had stayed loyal to the South, to the end.
Dancing Cloud became lost in thought, recalling the day that Boyd had come to him attired in the gray uniform of the Confederacy.
The young Cherokee had not seen Boyd for three winters at that time. He was surprised to see that he was no longer coming to the Chero
kee in the capacity of an Indian agent, but as a soldier who held much rank with the Confederacy.
Boyd had come to tell the Cherokees that in order to protect them from other dishonest leaders who might ask them to join the fight, he had gotten permission from his superiors to ask his friends to enlist in his infantry regiment.
Boyd’s motive was to keep the Wolf Clan of Cherokee out of danger.
James Talking Bear, Dancing Cloud’s chieftain father, had seen no other way than to allow his son and his warriors to go to war. Better it be with Boyd Johnston, than total strangers.
Dancing Cloud’s eyes became troubled when he thought of his father, mother, two younger brothers, and baby sister. He said a silent prayer to the Great Spirit that they were all safe from those who were in the mountains now who did not belong.
Dancing Cloud and his warriors had joined the fight. He felt that by aiding in the war he could secure respite for his people. His ultimate hope was that they might be allowed to remain in their own mountain country.
If he had rejected the offer to fight, he feared that the whole force of the Confederate troops might come down upon his people in one fell swoop.
Until recently, Dancing Cloud had felt that he had succeeded well enough. Just before the news of the end of the war had reached his regiment there had been reports of deserters from various parts of the Confederacy who were arriving in numbers to hide in the mountains where the Cherokee lived. Those deserters preyed on the innocent, robbing, killing, and performing other outrages.
“Joe, I said from the beginning of the war that if I lived through it, I would have done enough to be satisfied to spend the remainder of my life in retirement with my wife, Carolyn, and daughter, Lauralee,” Boyd said, interrupting Dancing Cloud’s train of thoughts. “Soon you and I will say goodbye, but not for long. I shall bring my daughter and wife to the mountains. It’s high time they get to know my Cherokee friends.”
“It will be good to have you at our village again,” Dancing Cloud said. “My family will share their lodge and laughter with your family.”
“Joe, do you fear for your family’s welfare?” Boyd asked. He wove his fingers through his wet shoulder-length brown hair, to smooth it back from his narrow face. “I have never feared so much in my life as I fear for my family now. Did they survive the damnable Yankees? I have heard of such atrocities committed by the Yankees that makes my blood run cold. When I entered the war, I thought Carolyn and Lauralee would be safe enough on our land in Tennessee. It was on the very edge of the mountains, set deep into the forest. I hope to God the Yankees didn’t spot it as they marched their way south.”
