The Fishing Creek Confederacy

Jacob slept a deep and peaceful sleep. It was a sleep born only from the merger of a hard day’s work and a clear conscience. He did not hear the distant sergeant barking orders to his blue-clad troops. Perhaps, it was best.

Across the room, close, but not too close to the hearth, lay Toby. Nine years before, Jacob’s mother had died. The boy was inconsolable. In hopes of lifting his depression, his father presented him with Toby. Of course, no mere puppy could ever replace a boy’s mother. However, Jacob and Toby would form that bond known only to a boy and his dog. In his younger years, Toby would run down rabbits, squirrels and other animals. Groundhogs were not much of a challenge, but often gave a pretty good fight. In recent years, he had noticed that the animals ran faster. Perhaps, this was proof of Mr. Darwin’s new-fangled theories on animal evolution. Toby’s sleep also was deep, but fitful. In his sleep, he was young again and able to chase down his prey. His chase resulted in foot spasms and occasional yips. He did not hear the rumble of canteens on leather belts or the rattle of bayonets on rifle barrels. Perhaps, it was best.

Neither the boy nor dog heard the muffled whispers outside or the stealing of boots across the wooden porch. Suddenly, the sergeant’s boot rammed the front door. The top of the door was blasted away from the upper hinge and the latch was shattered into dozens of wooden shards. In an instant, the room was filled with angry voices. “Traitor, Copperhead, Rebel”. Toby was immediately on the defensive, barking and growling. Jacob sat bolt upright in his bed. Surely, this must be a dream. No, no, he could feel the morning air on his face and the cool of the floorboards on his feet. He made an attempt to get up and engage the men in conversation. He took no more than a few steps when a rifle butt ripped into his sternum. Jacob stumbled backward falling over his bed and hitting his shoulders and head on the wall. He was in a daze and, for a short time, could not breathe. He was jolted from this condition by a shrill yelp. Looking across the room, he saw Toby suspended in mid-air. His small paws fighting mightily but vainly for traction. Suddenly, his body went limp. Slowly, Toby began to move forward in mid-air. Then, with increasing velocity, he was hurled backward off the point of the bayonet. His small body smashed into the wall and slithered to the floor leaving a crimson trail behind. “No,” shouted Jacob. He sprang forward attempting to assist his friend. He made it no more than a few steps before he was tripped and slammed to the floor. In an instant, he forgot about Toby as he was pommeled by boots and rifle butts. He instinctively curled up to protect himself. It seemed like an eternity before the beating ceased.